Synopsis:
Knights of Dragonshire is a medieval comedy about a young knight who would frankly rather be reading books than wielding those awfully heavy swords. But, alas, Dragon Hunting Season is upon him! Join Sir Poindexter on his reluctant quest as he meets the most unlikely friends, and learns some even more unexpected lessons. Perhaps he'll live to write that novel after all...

Being an excerpt from ...

'Knights of Dragonshire'
By M. Wellington (AKA Viktoria Brown)

Characters in this excerpt:

Sir Poindexter the Pensive: A Bum Knight who wants to do nothing but sit and
read with his stuffed dragon, Mr. Scaly.

Valkyrie: A perky, talkative Viking Girl who believes she is being chased by
a Viking warrior, whom she thinks wishes to bury her with her deceased
master, as is Viking tradition.

Odin: Valkyrie's British cat. Extremely pessimistic.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Valkyrie: (brightly) Now dat your perpendicularish mit die ground, ve'll
schtart over! Mine name ist Valkyrie. I vas a Viking Servant of der Great
Nicor, who passed avay. (trying to remember) Odin, ven vas dat?

Odin: Let me think. it was a week before the ceremony where you would be
killed and so ran off...so that would make it...five years.

Valkyrie: Na ja! Naturlich! So anyvay, ve've been running und running und
dan ve meet up mit you und now I vas vondering.

Poindexter: (interrupting) What? I'm sorry. They were going to kill you?

Valkyrie: (forebodingly) Es ist Viking tradition to kill der departed
varrior's servants und animals for die funeral und bury dem mit him. It's
terrible! Don't you see, Herr Pretty Boy? Ve have novhere to go und haf had
novone else to schpeak mit fur years! Und ve vere vondering... could ve
bitte please stay mit you?

Poindexter looks at her, stunned.

Poindexter: I have no place to stay myself... See, I've been...

Valkyrie: But can ve schtand mit you?

Poindexter: I'm sorry, I don't understand.

Valkyrie: Schtand mit you! Do vat you do! Go vhere you go! All dat kind of schtuff!

Poindexter gives her a blank stare.

Odin: (translating) She wants to join you in whatever you're doing.

Poindexter: (horrified) Me, with a Viking? Oh no, no, no. Your ancestors
invaded my ancestors. There's no way! Even if you are fleeing for your...
(pauses unsure) life.... but!....

Valkyrie: (happily) Ach! You paused! You do vant me und Odin to schtand mit
you! Now, don't you try and hide it! (sniffs) Oh, I'm so happy! Hoorah!!

Valkyrie LEAPS into Poindexter's arms! Poindexter drops Mr. Scaly.

Odin: Valkyrie, you're behaving altogether disgracefully.

Poindexter throws Valkyrie back down and picks up Mr. Scaly worriedly,
dusting him off.

Valkyrie: Oh! Who ist dat?

Poindexter: (modestly) Mr. Scaly.

Valkyrie: (reaching out to cuddle Mr. Scaly) Oh, hello kleine Scaly!

Poindexter snatches Mr. Scaly out of Valkyrie's reach. He puts Mr. Scaly in
front of his face.

Poindexter: (as if Mr. Scaly's talking) That's Mr. Scaly to you, missy!

Valkyrie: (giggles) Du bist lustigly funny, Herr Pretty Boy Knight!

Poindexter: (annoyed) My name is Sir Poindexter.

Valkyrie: I'm sorry, Herr Pretty Boy Knight. Look it! I have ein schtuffed
toy also!

Valkyrie pulls out a tiny stuffed kitten with a family crest on in.

Poindexter: (uninterested) That's very nice.

Valkyrie: I've had her all mine life, meine kleine Kitty. I know not vhere
she comes from.

Poindexter: (reaching to see Kitty's crest) Say, isn't that a family crest
on her...?

Valkyrie snatches Kitty out of Poindexter's reach. She puts Kitty in front
of her face.

Valkyrie: (as if Kitty's talking) Ich bin nicht fur die finger poken und die
mitten graben!

Poindexter: (gritting his teeth) I'm sorry Miss. Valkyrie, but I cannot have
a Viking and her cats with me while I'm hunting dragons.

Valkyrie: (excited) Dragons! How zuper! Dragons! Dat vill be ganz fun!

********************************************************
(c) 2004-05 Viktoria Brown
All Rights Reserved
Nicht fur die kopying und diestributing!

It seems to me that everyone has some kind of strange hobby. Many people collect variations on the same thing, such as salt-and-peppershakers or jigsaw puzzles. I own a collect such as this myself, consisting of bookmarks. The reason I choose bookmarks is that bookmarks are an important part of the reading experience that has been forgotten. Though I knew this before vaguely, I didn't realize how unimportant bookmarks seem to the average reader until I recently made a visit to Borders.
While I was purchasing a book and bookmark, the cashier openly expressed his low regard for bookmarks. I was ready to state my case for supporting the gilded strip of leather I was purchasing, and would have, if I weren't so stunned that my own mother, my own flesh and blood, wholeheartedly agreed with him. I was greatly saddened.
Though it seems to be too late to save my mother and the cashier from experiencing incomplete reading for the rest of their lives, let me explain the importance of bookmarks in hopes of saving others from this similar heartrending fate and why I defend them so proudly: bookmarks serve as a companion. Like a loyal dog, they work around the clock to spare us just a few moment of discomfort in searching for the last page we read; to quote what one of my bookmarks that says, "I'll be here when you come back". Yes, be they free from the library and made of cardboard, or bound in an ancient text and made of silk, this sentiment is the heart and soul of all bookmarks.
Many people, such as the cashier and my mother, would argue that a receipt would work just as well. That would be true if this was all I had to say to defend the noble bookmarks. However, that is merely a fraction of the importance of bookmarks. I will first give my case against receipts, and then give my case for bookmarks by telling of the two times I read Emily Brontë's Wuthering Heights.
The first time I read it, I was reading it for school. We were borrowing it from the library. I had begun reading it immediately in the van on the ride home. While riding home, we stopped at a gas station. Since I was getting out, I stuck the library receipt into the book, for there weren't any bookmarks in the van. When I returned to my reading, my mind became scrambled with confusion by the information given on the slip of paper, since I couldn't help but see the Arial-typed late fees, crying to me that I had lent my little brother my card and I owed fifty cents for borrowing Spot Goes to School. Now that I had the parchment unwittingly in my grasp, my hands were using it to underline each row of words, as I usually do with bookmarks. The cellophane-thin and nearly just as see-through paper made it difficult to remember what line I had just finished and which one I was starting. Anyone in modern times who has read Wuthering Heights will tell those who haven't that it's difficult enough to understand. Imagine adding this stress of trying to remember to which Linton the narrator is referring!
Also take into consideration how this makes the receipt feel. A receipt's lot in life is to report on how much a client paid a salesclerk and other information just as vital, such as the date the item was purchased. Imagine being a receipt and believing that the time has come to be retired, only to try and fulfill the task of another kind. How demoralizing for the receipt!
Now, when I re-read Wuthering Heights, I used a leather bookmark with my nickname embossed on it, made for me by a secret pal at camp. It is simply and primitively made. The bookmark set the mood for the story of the ruffian gypsy. The thick leather also made it easier to keep track of where I was reading. It was a great load off of my already aching mind! Reading the book was so exceedingly simple compared to the first time, it was as almost as if I had gone from trying to read Russian, which I have never studied, back to my native language, English.
Perhaps others don't need their thoughts to be themed. After all, many people are very good at multitasking. I, for one, am not. So, my conclusion still stands that bookmarks are an essential to reading.