The Questory of Root Karbunkulus - Quill by Kamilla Reid Read Free Book Online

the lustre of a
baby sun. A Sunling, he fancied and picked it up for the eleventh
time that day. The slim brick of platinum fit with perfection in
his palm and his thumb delighted in the smooth glide across its
face. With nothing of circuitry or knobbery or other such bells and
whistles, the Tempometre fell squarely within Ernest Skubblenob’s
well-preserved opinion that less is more.
    But the Tempometre was not what Ernest
Skubblenob had been looking for. As he remembered this, he set it
down and returned to his original search. Perhaps the luggage?
    He rose from his worn out wooden chair and
aimed for an even more worn out suitcase. It lay like a big bruised
sandwich on his bed, only a few paces away. Ernest Skubblenob’s old
body took to these paces with great care. Great, cautious, leaden,
slower than molasses care. The kind of care that would have been
painful to watch.
    When at last he arrived he bent over his
suitcase and found it locked. A bit of confusion set in between his
ears. Where was the key? Ernest Skubblenob began to pat himself
down. He dug deep into his pants pockets and pulled out the liners.
Nothing.
    Tsk, tsk. Now two things were lost.
    Ernest Skubblenob shuffled and patted and
rummaged around for a good length of an hour until he entirely
forgot what he was shuffling and patting and rummaging around for.
He sat down. And spied his Tempometre on the table. It found its
way into his palm once more. This time Ernest Skubblenob brought
along a tune. He didn’t know the name of the tune, only the melody,
a cheery hum that strengthened and weakened with the rhythm of his
aged breathing.
    He decided that he should probably pack the
Tempometre for the journey. But where was his suitcase? He looked
in the fridge. Hmmmm...There was no suitcase but a lovely pudding
smiled up at him. His shaky hands cupped it and pulled it out; this
too accompanied with a hum. The bowl was set on the table and now
all he needed was a…Where was a spoon?
    The melody paused. The cogs of his ancient
brain creaked into gear. Perhaps too fast, for they shifted the old
man far past tasty pudding into more practical lobes, like getting
dressed. Yes, a grand idea. The pudding was abandoned while the
efforts of finding his suit were soon put to another breathy hum.
He eventually found his closet, right where he had last left it and
opened the door. The suit hung on a hanger. It was the only thing
in this closet and it looked grateful to be visited.
    The black jacket covered Ernest Skubblenob
like a tarp over a Skullk. The width sagged past his shoulders and
his hands drowned in the long sleeves. He looked for his mirror and
found it quite by accident, having thought he suddenly had a guest.
A twin no less! He laughed at the silly mistake and posed for
inspection. Here he discovered the slackened red bow tie. Can’t
have that. He tangled it to further humming, the odd lyric
venturing out and about.
     
    Twist and tie, tie and twist,
    flick of the...flick of the…flick of the
wrist.
     
    Once completed the reflection was admired.
Ernest Skubblenob’s long pointed nose rounded out at the tip with a
blush of pink. He rubbed his hand over his bald forehead and across
a ring of white hair. A couple burps of white fluff occupied his
eyebrows and further down he realized he was missing his… where the
heck did he put them?
    He didn’t find his glasses until he stepped
on them. Now they rested on the end of his nose magnifying the
brown eyes to cartoon point. The new crack in the glass was hardly
noticeable. Ernest Skubblenob smiled.
    And noticed….Dag nabbit! Where were his…
    He was still looking for his teeth when a
knock arrived at his door. When there was no answer, the caller
rapped again. And then three more times. Finally, the handle
turned.
    “Ernest?” Jorab peeked his head in and upon
spying his friend spoke louder. “Ernest?”
    Ernest Skubblenob turned mid-hum and spotted
the familiar braided beard and warm eyes of his dear