Six-Seven

Little Plump Jo had returned to Malory Tennyson’s Cloudbank Cabin for Arthurian Studies from her week away visiting family interstate. She spent the first day unpacking, doing three loads of washing, cleaning the cabin, catching up with emails and work projects, and taking several nana naps. And now it was time to get back to her writing.

She was well aware that there was an expectation that she would use her time as Artisan in Residence at Cloudbank Cabin to produce something which would be worthy of being added to the extensive existing canon of Arthuriana. So far she had finished two stories and was halfway through two more. She had written over forty short stories. But nothing had been published and she was beginning to wonder whether any of them were even worthy of publication. She was not sure which of the projects she should work on first and the New Year had a disconnected feel to it.

The Dabrowski Dogs, her five canine writing companions gathered round.

“Where should I start?” she asked, stroking English Springer Spaniel, Emotional Dabrowski’s silky chest feathering.

“Research!” barked Border Collie, Intellectual Dabrowski and “Walkies!” yelped Psych Motor Dabrowski at the same time.

“I don’t know whether to go on with one of the unfinished stories or start something new” said Jo.

“I understand” barked Sensual Dabrowski. “Everything feels a bit at sixes and sevens doesn’t it!”

“Why don’t we go for a walk and check out what is happening in the Fog Lake at the moment?” That was Imaginational Dabrowski’s suggestion and it seemed like a very good one.

As dogs have a different range of hearing, the Dabrowski Dogs could communicate with Malory Tennyson, the owner of Cloudbank Cabin and the Arthurian characters, who were reenacting the legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, in the Fog Lake at the foot of the cabin. The dogs enabled communication between the real and fictional realms for Jo.

Jester Dagonet came teeter-tottering past, balancing on a board which was balanced on a large ball.

“Where are they up to in the Fog Lake?” Jo asked.

“Six-Seven,” called Dagonet, waving his arms, like the scales of justice, to retain his balance.

“What happens in Chapter Six and Chapter Seven of Le Morte d’Arthur, Intellectual?” asked Jo.

“It depends which book is under discussion,” barked Intellectual. “If it is Book One Chapter Six it would be shortly after Arthur drew Excalibur from the stone. In later books chapters six and seven could be the early adventures of Sir Launcelot (note the spelling there) or the middle of the Quest for the Holy Grail or near the end of the story.”

“Well, that is not very helpful!” said Jo. “I will ask Sir Lancelot. He will know which chapter they will be retelling next.”

“I would not bet on it!” growled Intellectual.

They found Sir Lancelot sitting on a rock at the edge of the Fog Lake with his massive companion dog, Heureux, beside him. “What is the next reenactment coming up in the Fog Lake?” Jo asked.

Sir Lancelot gave the typical Gallic shoulder shrug and spread his hands. “I do not know. I never know these days. Events are happening out of order ever since The Glitch in the Fog Lake. Someone will tell me when I am needed, I imagine.”

“You should ask Sir Bors de Ganis” barked Emotional Dabrowski. “He always knows!”

Sir Bors de Ganis would be the ideal person to ask. He always knew what was happening and was the one who made sure that Sir Lancelot du Lac was there, in the right place, at the right time. He had been keeping a watchful eye on his cousin ever since they were boys together on the island in the lake, in the foster care of The Lady of the Lake. The Lady had saved the infant Prince Lancelot from drowning, when he was thrown into the lake by King Claudas’ men, when Claudas had conquered the kingdom of his father, King Ban of Benoic. Later Bors and his brother, Lionel, had been sent to the island in the lake for safety, as Claudas overtook the lands of Ganis, ruled by their father, Bors the Elder.

As the eldest of the three, Bors had felt responsible for the safety of his brother and cousin. Lionel was so impetuous. He always rushed into situations which he did not have the ability to handle. And Lancelot, although brilliant and capable, suffered the legacy of his near drowning in the form of occasional blackouts. The blackouts were usually well controlled by the herbals he took each morning. But Bors always remained vigilant. As an adult, Lancelot often needed to be reminded about things and Bors had quietly adopted the role of personal assistant.

Sir Bors proved to be just as clueless as everyone else when it came to what episode would be enacted in the Fog Lake next.

“Dagonet said Six Seven but not which book” Emotional volunteered.

“Ah, Six Seven! I hear that all the time! It is something the youngsters say. I do not think it has any meaning. It is just very annoying. I think little Limpet, Master Merlin’s harp apprentice introduced the saying.”

“Six sevens are forty-two which is the answer to the meaning of life, the universe and everything according to Douglas Adams” informed Intellectual.

“Does Malory Tennyson dictate the order in which episodes are acted in the Fog Lake?” asked Little Plump Jo.

“Usually we just follow the order of Sir Thomas Malory’s Morte d’Arthur.” Sir Bors replied. ”But ever since The Glitch happened, the episodes seem to be happening in random order.”

“Do you think you could actually be proactive and choose an episode yourselves?” asked Imaginational Dabrowski.

“I had never even considered that!” replied Sir Bors. “ But that could really be an excellent solution! We could pursue our forty-two! If we were to ride out on the Quest for the Holy Grail now, while Lancelot is still pure and innocent, before the decline of Camelot begins, maybe Lancelot could achieve the Grail as I do. Maybe he could be granted healing. And the rest of the story might proceed quite differently. If Lancelot experienced the power of The Grail, he might never behave in a manner that would lead (whether warranted or not) to the rumours which cause him to be banished from Camelot. He could be there to fight beside King Arthur at Camlann. The whole story could end differently!”

The usually placid, resigned Sir Bors had become quite animated. Little Plump Jo and the Dabrowski Dogs followed him and listened as he narrated the plan to Sir Lancelot.

“No, Bors! It would not work! The Grail is out of my reach. I am not pure enough!” Lancelot said.

“Do not let perfectionism stop you! You do not have to be perfect. That is not humanly possible” said Sir Bors. “You just have to still be innocent!”

“But that is the problem, Bors. I have already sinned in my heart and mind. I have had The Love At First Sight Moment already and it is with a lady who is not destined to be mine!”