Trafford Publishing: The Prosperian Papers Vol. I: The Rock Candy Bandits

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The Prosperian Papers Vol. I: The Rock Candy Bandits

by Donald R. Gordon

62 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-0743; ISBN 1-4120-0374-1; US$11.55, C$14.95, EUR9.75, £6.76

Moustapha and his bandit band members kidnap Sergeant Patricia of the Royal Prosperian Flying Desert Corps and her camel, Sobersides, and threaten to turn Sobersides into camel stew for a feast if a ransom of rock candies os not paid. Corps members hurry to Fort Mischief, the bandit headquarters, on a rescue mission. Will they succeed? Will they be there in time?

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About the Book

Introduction:

The Prosperian Papers were originally prepared by James M. Gargle following a visit to the Kingdom of Prosperity some time ago. Gargle, a forgetful man, took to writing down events as he saw and heard about them, so that he would know what was happening to him.
During his career, selling tiger lilies to Prosperians and buying potted Grungeon cactus plants, he recorded many adventures. They were the stuff of the day-to-day life of people and creatures in Prosperity, neighbouring Asperity and, sometimes, the Outside World. His notes became the basis of the Prosperian Papers which we offer to you here.
The Kingdom of Prosperity is, in fact, a mixed blessing. While Prosperity has the famed Euphoria Pleasure Gardens and the renowned Royal Flying Desert Corps, it also has the Great Grungeon Desert with its fearsome heat, Grungeon Cactus and Gormless Grass. It is rather rainy in the winter too and desert tracks and trails are sometimes blown away by summer winds.
Asperity, for its part, isn't much fun at all. In addition to the Great Vinegar Works with its pucker-causing fumes, Asperity's capitol, Woe, is about as tumbledown as a Prince's home town can be. The Prince Wilbur Swamp has two and a half times more creepy- crawly things than most other swamps. Asperians, talking through puckers unless they have rock candies on hand, tend to sound irritated a lot of the time--sort of like older sisters.
In their part of the world, Prosperity and Asperity are more appreciated for their people and animals than for their geography. They make friends easily. They aren't too suspicious. And they think it is silly to work too hard. A Prosperian or Asperian--person or creature--is fun to have around, most of the time.
James Gargle's stories provide Prosperian and Asperian history as it really happened. From them, it is possible to understand the rock candy-vinegar trade between Prosperity, the candy source, and Asperity, the vinegar producer. The problem of puckers--long a puzzle to scientists in the outside world--is explained in Zachariah Wince's monograph "Thoughts on why vinegar fumes make us pucker." The international scope of Prosperian rock candy is revealed in the sales records of Sweet*Tooth Farms. And the Prosperian belief in Asperian vinegar for Prosperian french fries is revealed as the obsession it truly was.
The Prosperian Papers also tell us about the Royal Prosperian Flying Desert Corps--going past Watch Reports to the flesh and blood of General T. Oliver Grumble and his feisty band. Their efforts to protect the rock candy-vinegar trade from Moustapha and his Rock Candy Bandits offer tales of blood-tingling daring.

For more information about the rockcandy bandits please visit www.rockcandybandits.com

About the Author

Donald R. Gordon is an author, teacher and consultant. His publications include Language Logic And The Mass media and The New Literacy on communications, four novels, several children's books and hundreds of newspaper, magazine, radio and TV reports and articles.
After working for The Canadian Press, The Financial Post, and as a CBC European Correspondent, he served as a consultant to groups as diverse as the Screen Writers' Guild of Hollywood; the Alliance of Canadian Cinema, Television and Radio Artists, Toronto; The Task Force on Government Information, Ottawa; Design Canada, Ottawa; The Federal Sports Secretariat, Ottawa; The Royal Commission on Violence in the Communications Industry, Toronto and the Special Senate Committee on Mass Media, Ottawa.
He was also a member of the Royal Commission on the Status of Women in Canada.
Formerly an Associate Professor of Political Science and Communications Studies at the University of Calgary and the University of Waterloo, Gordon now is a Senior Instructor with the Long Ridge Writers' Group, West Redding, Connecticut.
Born in Toronto, Gordon was educated at Queen's University, the University of Toronto and the London School of Economics and Political Science. He is married, with three grown sons and has made his home in Waterloo since 1967.

Excerpts

CHAPTER TWO
"Hurry up, you two!" growled the bandit chief. "We got a long ways to go before dark."
"Oh, Moustapha," said Sergeant Pat, her voice heavy with concern, "you know Sobersides can't keep up! Not with a deadly electric erg! We're doing the absolute best we can!"
"Well. . .do better! We got a nice, cool Grungeon dungeon to get to. And the guards gets nasty if they is kept waitin'. Real nasty!"
With a clatter of harness, Moustapha and his bandits pressed their captives on a route ever deeper into the wilderness. Now, the goal was Fort Mischief, the international crossroads of crime, intrigue and bad manners.
Pat and Sobersides were victims of an ambush. Coming across their cart tracks on the trail, Moustapha and his bandits crept up and positioned themselves behind a low-lying screen of palmetto shrubs. As soon as the Colonel and Sergeant Mike went down the desert hole, they pounced, grabbing Sobersides first and then Sergeant Pat when she came back.
Moustapha knows the bandits will be safe at Fort Mischief. They'll be able to relax with the bad food, bad temper and bad company of their friends. They'll be able to hatch plans to trade the stolen vinegar for rock candies.
"Patience men!" Moustapha shouted. "Four leagues and a left turn to go!"
The bandits riding with Moustapha exchanged happy curses and urged their deadly electric ergs onward. The giant creatures, barbed wire fur glinting in the sunlight, loped tirelessly forward. Thoughts of a snug erg pen and a tasty meal of Grungeon cactus gave them extra strength.
Sobersides, Sergeant Pat riding bareback on his hump, strained to keep pace, his hair heavy with sweat. From time to time, he rolled his eyes in helpless fury.
"Patience, old friend," whispered Sergeant Pat, feeling the clenching and unclenching of his jaws. "Virtue will triumph in the end."
Sobersides directed a hearty "Bzwert!" at an electric erg's foot, neatly dodging a tail swipe in return.
"What's the plan boss?" asked Swarthy Scullion, Moustapha's chief lieutenant. "Camel stew? And a nice lady to wash the floors fer us?"
He laughed aloud at the thought.
"Tell ya what," replied Moustapha with a grin. "We'll give 'em a day or two in the dungeon. Then, they'll be ready for a bandit banquet! Har! Har!"
Swarthy Scullion directed a red-eyed leer at the captives. How well he remembers past troubles with the hated Desert Corps! How sweet revenge will be!
The electric ergs moved on steadily, snuffling and panting. Sobersides paced along with them, straining every muscle to keep up.
Soon the topsy-turvy shacks of Mischief Village came into sight, with the grim walls of Fort Mischief behind.
Outriders came out to join the bandit band. Grimy children came running alongside, shouting a welcome, throwing fruit and vegetable peels at the prisoners. By the time the party reached the garbage-strewn main street, they all were part of a patchwork parade.
"Straight to the Fort, men!" shouted Moustapha. "We wanna put up our guests in style! Har! Har!"
"Courage, Sobersides," said Sergeant Pat softly. "We don't want them to see we are frightened. It just makes them worse!"
She reached down and brushed away a banana peel from Sobersides' face.
Sobersides managed a wan "Bzwert!" and a muted "Phitooey!" He straightened up. No frowzy erg was going to hear him beg!
Moustapha galloped across the Fort Mischief drawbridge, saluting the tattered purple Bandit League flag as he did so. He reined up, dismounted, and tugged on the frayed bell rope by the door.
Slowly, the heavy wooden door creaked open. Three guards, clad in grimy ergskin jackets, took Sergeant Pat and Sobersides and prodded them down the stone stairs to the dungeon. They gave Pat a dirty towel and an old toothbrush. They gave Sobersides a kick or two. Then they locked them both in a dark, damp, cramped cell. In the distance, the first sounds of revelry drifted back from Moustapha and his men.
"Oh, Sobersides," said Pat "We are lost. No one will ever find us here!" A bead of cold sweat trickled down the small of her back.
Sobersides gave a long, low camel moan. Pat was right. All was lost. Even the camel stew would be forgotten in time. What a sorry end for a Desert Corps camel!

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