Rani Ricked Visits Narrate Yolk

The extensive travelling he’d undertaken recently was taking it’s toll and he knew he needed to take it easier for a couple of days. He grumbled about being retired and sat back in his recliner watching the Mandarin ducks on his large pond. There was a stiff cool breeze and he knew better than to leave his head unprotected. Sure, he looked like some deep sea trawler’s captain, but he didn’t care. This was who he was, and he didn’t give two hoots what the kids who pointed and stared thought.

He reached out and took the Tweed Heads Bugler. He checked the weather forecast and saw that spring was on it’s way. He had enjoyed the hot sun in Saudi and wondered whether this year would be as hot as the last. He turned to the front page and wasn’t surprised it featured a photo of the mayor. The headline shouted “Moronic Mew Trill Wakes Mayor”. The poor height challenged soul had woken to a large feline cavorting with his placid Siamese twins. His family explained the noise the cat had made was a cross between a cat and an excited emu. Not for the first time he wondered at the education of the ‘reporter’ and moved onto the Neighbourhood Watch page. Narrate Yolk had been burgled again and had lost her Winter Woollies. He decided he really should drop by and offer some of his to keep her warm.

Still lacking the vitality so easily spurned by the youth of today he decided he needed to rest further. Helping himself to a perfectly cool beer he picked up a book he’d been recommended by one of his many friends. But try as he might, he was asleep after page four of ‘Keener Showy Teeth’ by A Jenny.

Tweed Heads was a small town popular with retired folk like Rani. With money and even more time these folk needed hobbies to fill the gaping holes left in their diaries when they’d clocked out for the last time. Many resorted to trying to turn back the years by a cacophony of Botox, personal trainers and face lifts. Some of the less fortunate had to make do with less expensive ways of passing the time and these would be found strutting the greens at the South Tweed Bowling Club or powering their way along the miles of golden beaches. It was clear which group Rani found himself in, but today he made do with resting.

The following day he followed up on his intention to help poor old Narrate out. Quite how she had so much stolen was beyond him. Maybe he would check her security whilst he was there. After breakfast, always muesli, he headed to the former mill area dominated by retirement homes, so uniform in their architecture. He meandered through the rows of identical looking flats frightening passers by with his strange slow gait. He figured that the nickname, Intecom Mill Row, given to this area suited it well. For on every door there was a button with an intercom. The more upmarket ones had small cameras which allowed the owners to view with suspicion any caller before pressing their buzzers.

He found the number and pressed the bell with relief. He’d spent ten minutes wandering aimlessly, his eyesight not being as good as it once was. A small sign read “WARNING: NUDGE LIVES HERE” with a picture of a snarling obviously rabid dog. Clearly that doesn’t work thought Rani as the he replied to the demand requesting his identity. The door buzzer rang and he made his way inside.

Narrate Yolk was a friendly type and offered him a beer as he made his entrance. The inside of her apartment was festooned with dolls of all sizes and colours. Those who had never visited before were often overwhelmed, and Narrate knew better than to rush Rani. Even though he’d been before he stared with open wonder at the plethora of talent on display. A full ten minutes later Rani remembered why he’d dropped round and mumbled something as he passed Narrate a bag of black woollen hats. She looked at him affectionately and offered her thanks.

“Narrate” said Rani, “I’ve a favour to ask.”

“Be my guest” replied Narrate. “After all, it’s not just anyone who brings me winter woollies when I need them.”

Rani blushed a little, and replied “It’s not a problem. I have plenty. Really.”

“You wanted a favour” reminded Narrate. She knew that it was late afternoon and he must have forgone his usual nap.

“Yes, thanks for reminding me” he replied somewhat sheepishly. “You were telling me about a book you were reading, and I got to thinking that it may help me with my plight.” And with that he told her his most extraordinary tale.

“Well Mr Ricked. You really have been busy. And of course you can borrow ‘Damn That Owlet’. As a matter of fact I’ve just finished reading it, and what a fine piece of writing it is too.”

She went to fetch the book and remarked “It has everything that book, despite the title. It has whispers, food, love, war.. It kept me in suspense, made me cry. It really is a great book and I hope it gives you the answers you are looking for.”

Rani took the book as if it held the Queen’s own jewels and thanked Narrate.

“No problem” she replied. “I can recommend another completely unrelated book if you’re interested.”

“Of course, anything you recommend I’ll read. What is it?” asked Rani.

“It’s by an American author” she replied. “It’s called ’Why Kerosene Teeth?’ by A Jenny. I’ve read it cover to cover and it really makes sense.” She gleamed her best smile at him.

Rani looked at the cover and a flicker of recognition crossed his mind before it was washed out in a fuddle. This business really was getting the better of him. They talked a while longer which included some security tips and Rani was gone.

Rani Ricked Visits Narrate Yolk

Mark Bateman

Joined August 2008

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Artist's Description

Chapter 4 : Rani continues his adventure in his quest to find who wrote the letter addressed to his true self. Careful inspection will reveal the true RB identities of those written about..

Next chapter Rani Ricked Finds Romance

If you missed it, Chapter 1 : Rani Ricked

More to follow..

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