Not QUITE the Classics by Colin Mochrie

sister who could challenge his right to the throne.
    Tyro’s reverie was interrupted by a kerfuffle outside. He ran to the window of the shop. Adam Two-Blow, the most accomplished kerfuffle player in the land, was playing “The Rise of the Rebels.” Tyro cringed because (a) public kerfuffle music had been recently banned by Fairdwych, (b) “The Rise of the Rebels” was always used to incite violence against tyranny, and (c) Tyro hated violence and tyranny. Violence and tyranny resulted in danger, and Tyro was not a friend to danger. He wasn’t even a casual acquaintance. He tried to avoid danger at all times. He was no coward—he truly wasn’t—he just didn’t like being bothered.
    Tyro stepped back from the window, hoping no one had noticed his interest in the kerfuffle, when the door of Tinnywinkle’s House of Magic and Mystical Oddities slammed open and a pair of Siamese twins, each brandishing a broadsword, blustered in.
    By the eyes of Lumptor, Tyro thought sourly, I believe I’m about to be bothered.
    â€œBig Brother, did we lose the jackals?” the slightly smaller of the twins gasped, twisting awkwardly to look at his mate.
    â€œI believe so, Little Brother, I believe so. Their blades shall not taste our flesh today!”
    Tyro couldn’t help but stare. The brothers were strapping specimens, broad shouldered and muscular, with large, fine heads devoid of hair. Except for the fact that they were attached, the left buttock of one to the right buttock of the other, and could never truly stand side by side, they looked as any other pair of twin brothers might.
    Little Brother motioned to Tyro. “Big Brother, cast your eyes on yon merchant.”
    Big Brother turned to look at Tyro, forcing Little Brother to face the door and almost injure himself on the doorknob. “You! Are you Tyro Tinnywinkle?”
    â€œYes, yes I am. And how can I help you gentlemen today? Some itching powder, perhaps, or our most popular item? Mystical Trick of the Fish?”
    â€œDo not waste your silver tongue on us, Merchant Tinnywinkle. We wish not to purchase your wares. You must depart with us now! There is no time to waste with explanations! The future of Geologa depends on you and you alone!”
    Tyro stared. Except for his tendency to constantly exclaim, Big Brother seemed a reasonable fellow. But the future of Geologa depending on Tyro Tinnywinkle, seller of toys and tricks? It strained credulity. No, it was insane. Tyro cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, I think there may have been some mistake. You see—”
    With an upward jab of his broadsword, Little Brother spun himself to face Tyro. (Big Brother was wrenched around to face the window, getting slightly tangled in the curtain for a moment.) “There is no mistake. The Oracle has spoken. You are the One.”
    Tyro cleared his throat to address the small one. “Please don’t think I’m not flattered. I am. But—”
    For the second time that day, the door of Tinnywinkle’s House of Magic and Mystical Oddities slammed open. This time, four of the King’s Guards in bright purple livery burst through the door. The largest of the group, bedecked in ribbons and medals that proclaimed his status as leader, sneered. “Kill them all!”
    â€œExcuse me,” Tyro said with a nervous chuckle. “There seem to be a lot of mistakes being made today. I am but a simple—”
    Tyro’s words were drowned out by the battle cry of the brothers. “By the Power of Aphrodesia!”
    The brothers rushed at the King’s Guards. They moved remarkably quickly and gracefully considering their disadvantage. They were as fast on their feet moving forward or backward, and they seemed to have an almost telepathic knowledge of how the other would move. They spun like a child’s top, striking out with their swords, whirling like dervishes, cutting a bloody swath. Three of