The Tibetan Ankle-Grabbing Death Vine

Baron Britpop Blastfurnace • Chapter 2

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The sun shone brightly on the morning of my departure. It matched my mood perfectly. I woke early, told my household staff I would be leaving for France that very day, and asked them to pack me a lunch and a jacket. 

My housekeeper, Amelia, a dear lady who had become like a mother to me, immediately protested. 

“My Lord, surely you will need more supplies for such a trip. Please allow me to prepare a case or two for you.”

“No need,” I replied. “A true adventurer relies on his wits and skill to sustain him. And if that doesn’t work, I will simply purchase what I need.”

Flustered, she continued her appeal to reason, but I would hear none of it. My mind was made up. 

“Your concern is heartening, but today I will leave for France.”

While we were discussing the matter, the head butler, Stenfelt, entered the room and said, “Know your place, woman. If Baron Blastfurnace desires to leave without a case, he shall do so. You do not question him.”

He then turned to me and said, “I apologize, my Lord. I will see that she is dismissed for her brashness.”

“You will do no such thing,” I stated. “Amelia is a fine housekeeper and is only concerned for my safety and health.” 

“As you wish,” he replied. 

After a hearty breakfast of waffles, I gathered my meager supplies and stepped outside, right into the clutches of a rare Tibetan Ankle-Grabbing Death Vine. It quickly wrapped around my right ankle, causing me to fall painfully to the ground. 

Since Tibetan Ankle-Grabbing Death Vines are only found in Tibet and are nearly extinct, I reasoned that someone must have placed them there deliberately, no doubt, with evil intent. Perhaps an arch-enemy came with the position of Baron, and the Emperor had neglected to inform me. Regardless, the situation was dire. 

Tibetan Ankle-Grabbing Death Vines are one of the strongest vines on Earth and cannot be cut with anything but the sharpest folded steel sword made by master craftsmen in old-world fashion. 

Truthfully, I did not know anything about Tibetan Ankle-Grabbing Death Vines before the incident. But Andelbert, my faithful valet—who seems to have an entire library full of knowledge in his head—informed me of these facts as I lay on the ground. 

Fortunately, I am the son of a blacksmith who apprenticed with an old-world craftsman in England who happened to specialize in folded steel swords. As luck would also have it, my father was given a folded steel sword as a gift when he ventured out on his own.

Obviously, my new enemy didn’t know this fact, or he would have chosen a more vigorous vegetation to do the deed. I quickly dispatched Andelbert on my swiftest horse to retrieve the sword. 

By the time he returned, the vine had encircled my leg past the knee. 

“Hurry, man, this vine is relentless,” I cried.

With great anguish, he replied, “Your father says the sword was stolen just last night.” 

This could not be a coincidence. It became apparent that there was only one thing to do. 

“Fetch me a sword from inside the estate,” I said.  

“But Lord, an ordinary sword won’t cut the vine.”

“I know. I do not plan to cut the vine.” 

A look of horror crossed Andelbert’s face, but he faithfully obeyed. 

When he returned, I said, “Take the sword down to the market and trade it for as many Brussels sprouts as possible.” 

Andelbert exhaled greatly and ran for the horse cart. 

After an agonizing quarter-turn of the glass, he returned with a cart full of the vegetables. By then, the life-strangling vines had encircled both of my legs.  

“Dump the whole cart on my legs in all haste!” I cried. 

He did just that, and the vine instantly unwound from my legs and began to recoil. 

“How can this be?” Andelbert asked. 

“It is quite simple, really. There are few things in the vegetable kingdom fouler than Brussels sprouts. I correctly assumed that even a Tibetan Ankle-Grabbing Death Vine would pull away in horror. Now, quickly, build a fire and burn the evil vine. Be sure to use a pole to lift it, and do not let it near your legs.”

 I arose and went inside to replace my wrinkled pantaloons. No need to start an adventure with my garments in such a shocking state of disarray.

Next Chapter:

Grand Duke Gruston Goatbeard