He sailed the Grand Rapids in a happy chair while his dog counted from a bag of rice. Sir Spoonington was ready for almost anything.
Although his fingernails were bloody and his eyelids, rotten, Spoonington felt no pain. Only love. And specks of ice cold water from the Rapids. It was strange then that it should be something close to revenge that fuelled his mission. Someone had fondled his clocks and it was up to Spoonington to issue his own brand of justice- by chopping off the perpertrator's hands.
The Grand Rapids were coming to an end. Soon he would reach the mines. And the perpertrator. He readied his axe and removed the rice from the dog's paws.
It would take the combined skill of both of them to locate the perpertrator.
