The Adventures of Tarquin Jenkins Chapter Two

[The Bloated Shaganat]

Dear All,

This is the opening to chapter two of my YA science fiction fantasy novel all about a fourteen year old boy who goes time travelling.

jump is the word used to describe for time travel

Various seating implements are used as time machines, e.g. comodes, sedan chairs, bath chairs, dentists chairs...

I would be grateful for some thoughts on the punctuation and dialogue of this piece if you have the time.

-----

A loud bang followed by a blue flash made them jump and look toward the Silvery Moon. An old man’s wizened face sprouting a nest of grey hair appeared at a portside window, his wide eyes ogling them.

"Oi! What yer think yer doin'?’" shouted Cavendish, just as the face disappeared. He galloped on deck and charged down the boat’s stairs, followed by Tarquin. Sitting in a broken sedan chair, clutching a book to his chest, was an old man wearing a monk’s habit, and an outrageous, gold embroidered black hat festooned with coloured plumes.

"Don’t yer dare hit ta button yer old rascal—," said Cavendish scowling, but it was too late, the chair started spinning. "Yer hairy goat, come back ere!" he shouted, trying to grab the sedan.

‘Die dulci fruere,’ hollared the man, as a blast of scalding steam forced Cavendish and Tarquin to duck. When they turned back the chair was gone, only the man’s hat remained.

Cavendish kicked a pile of ‘NarrowBoat’ magazines hard across the floor, and roared. "Have a nice day indeed!" He looked down at the magazines, books and furniture scattered across the boat. "I must ’ave missed a ruddy bulletin, and ta top it all, that daffy dollop ‘as ‘arf inched me Scouting for Boys!"

Baffled, Tarquin surveyed the chaos. "Do you know him?" he asked, very confused.

"Heaven’s ta Betsy’s, know him?" shouted Cavendish, turning purple and waving his hands in the air like a demented traffic policeman directing a Milanese rush hour. "Know him!" He dropped to his knees with a loud thud, and rummaged through the mess on the floor. He grabbed an unopened envelope and waved it at Tarquin. "He’s ruddy well come back, and I’ve missed him!" Ripping open the covering he flicked through classifieds at the back of the magazine. "There, you see? I knew it!" Cavendish poked the page so venomously that Tarquin had to steady his hand to read the small box advert.

Old Friend returning to the Union Canal, arranging a surprise welcoming party in June, Contact Julius Rigsworth P.O. Box 1212.

More confused than ever, Tarquin handed the magazine back to Cavandish who hurled it to the floor, pulled out his ear trumpet and massaged his head like a disgruntled bear having a wash. After several minutes of awkward silence Cavendish huffed, replaced his ear trumpet and looked at Tarquin.

"I was a Scout...once...but I was never very good at making fires, well not in the places they wanted me to make them. I remember—"

"Scouts? What yer talkin abou' young un’?" said Cavendish, in a loud accusing tone, pointing his ear trumpet at Tarquin like a primed blunderbuss.

Shaken by seeing his friend so annoyed, Tarquin quickly changed the subject by suggesting he make them both a cup of tea. Cavendish’s shoulders drooped and he took a deep, calming breath. "Nay lad, tis my job, yer me guest. I’ll clear this up later." He said, sighing and heading for the galley.

Cavendish’s grumbling rumbled through the boat like distant thunder. Occasionally, he launched into a tumultuous rendition of an aria and seared it through the boat. The welcome whistle of the boiling kettle arrived not a moment too soon. "Tea’s up!" said Cavendish.

Tarquin put the old man’s hat on his head and peered into the galley.

Cavendish roared with laughter. "Ah, It be alright lad, Cavendish ain’t gonna do nothin’ silly."

Tarquin relaxed, happy to hear his friend’s voice warming. He took off the hat and sat down.

"Tis the second time I miss the old codger. He’s lost his marbles what with all his travellin’. Jules’ will have me guts for garters," said Cavendish, as he placed a mug of steaming tea on the table in front of Tarquin.

"Who was he?" asked Tarquin, looking at the hat and sipping the tea.

"A right royal pain in the wedding tackle is Monsieur Nostradamus."

At the sound of the name, Tarquin’s jaw dropped and he resembled a goldfish. "You’re kidding me?" he said, the hairs prickling on the back of his neck.

"I wish I were, young ‘un. Plain fact is I am not. Jules has been after ta rascal since he stole an chair during a jump...and now he's pinched me Scouting Book...who knows what damage he could do wi' that. It's a manual see...you've heard of car workshop manuals? Well it’s the same sort of thing...but for time machines...and he's ruddy well got it!" Cavendish’s eyes wandered to the hat and he took it in his hands. "Tis one of Marshall Murat’s hats. For some reason the old sod keeps goin’ back to see Napoleon." Cavendish left the table and went to his bookcase and took down a leather bound journal, The Book of Nostradamus. He flicked through velum parchments and started reading.

The great Empire will soon be exchanged for a small place,
Which will soon begin to grow.
A small place of small area,
In the middle of which he will come to lay down his sceptre.

"That looks like a new bit. He must have been in Paris after Waterloo."

Tarquin sat open mouthed, his brain having a hard time digesting the concept of a time travelling Nostradamus with lost marbles. "The book is writing itself?" asked Tarquin incredulously. Before Cavendish could answer, the Grandfather clock struck four.

"Riddle me giblets! Is that ta time? Quick, we must get ready for yer journey," said Cavendish, gulping down his tea and rising from his chair. "Where yer wantin’ ta be goin taday’?"

In the excitement Tarquin had forgotten about his jump. "You put down Montmarte on my wish list. I want to visit Toulouse Lautrec at the Follies Bergere," said Tarquin, getting out a poster to show Cavendish.

"Right then, clothing in the back, I’ll sort yer equipment.

----

The Bloated One...

[chrispenycate]

Yes, I know I left this one for a long time. That's because it really didn't need me.
The comments I've added are really only to prove I looked at it, and from my point of view it's fine.

said Cavendish scowling

comma after "Cavendish"

he launched into a tumultuous rendition of an aria and seared it through the boat.

Are you sure about "seared" It carries an image of heat...

Jules’ will have me guts for garters,"

Why the apostrophe? It can't be for a possesive, so presumably there are some letters missing at the end of the word; but I don't know which.

Tarquin’s jaw dropped and he resembled a goldfish

for some reason the "resembled" doesn't sit quite right in that sentence (although it is grammatically perfect, and the correct meaning).

[Leisha]

Once again, good work, Bloated! I enjoyed the read. As Chris said, you don't really need us. Here are the few things I spotted.:




"Oi! What yer think yer doin'?’" shouted Cavendish [You've got an extra apostrophe after the question mark]


"Don’t yer dare hit ta button yer old rascal—," said Cavendish, scowling [You only need the dash; you don't put a dash and a comma]


‘Die dulci fruere,’ hollared [hollered] the man,


Cavendish kicked a pile of ‘NarrowBoat’ [You just italicise the name, you don't put it in quote marks] magazines hard across the floor, and roared.


"I must ’ave missed a ruddy bulletin, and ta top it all, that daffy dollop ‘as ‘arf inched me Scouting for Boys!" [I'd put the book title in italics -- that's what published authors do. And is "half inched" hyphened or not? I've just checked online, and some people do hyphenate it and some don't. So I'm stuck on this one!]


Cavendish’s grumbling rumbled through the boat like distant thunder. Occasionally, [I'd lose this comma] he launched into a tumultuous rendition of an aria and seared it through the boat. The welcome whistle of the boiling kettle arrived not a moment too soon. "Tea’s up!" said Cavendish.


Jules will have me guts for garters... [I'm not sure about the words in red... Is this idiom a cliché now?]


At the sound of the name, Tarquin’s jaw dropped and he resembled a goldfish. [Do you need the "and he resembled a goldfish" at all?]


Jules has been after ta [Is "ta" the right word? Later on you use "ta" for "to", as in "Where yer wantin’ ta be goin taday’?"] rascal since he stole an [a] chair during a jump...and now he's pinched me Scouting Book [Is the title actually "Scouting Book". If it's not, you don't need the capitals. If it is, I'd italicise the title]


"Tis ['Tis; you need the apostrophe at the beginning]one of Marshall Murat’s hats.


Tarquin sat open mouthed [need a hyphen (open-mouthed)], his brain having a hard time digesting the concept of a time travelling Nostradamus with lost marbles.


"You put down Montmarte on my wish list. [I'd lose the "You" because it sounds as if the boy is accusing Cavendish of putting it on his wish list! Without the "you" it sounds as if the boy merely wants Montmarte on his list -- which is correct, yes?]

[areader]

I am so totally accent dyslexic (comes from living on an island). However, battled through the dialogue LOL. Your writing has a great feel to it...characterisation,details and flow...works great!

[The Bloated Shaganat]

Thanks Chris, Leisha for your help. I have done a lot of work on my dialogue punctuation, so I am pleased it's paying off.

Areader, I don't understand someone speaking in a Somerset accent so congratulations for sticking with it! Glad you liked it.

Chris - I have a picture in my head of Cavendish's aria as a fireball searing through the boat. Is it a bit clumsy?

I'll drop the goldfish altogether.

Leisha - Yes, it is a cliche, 'guts for garters'. How about;

"After this, Jules will stick fingers up me nose, a thumb in me mouth and use me ruddy 'ead as a bowlin' ball."

Might be a tad too long though?

My mistake. Cavendish gives Tarquin a list of possible time periods he can jump to when he next comes to the boat (twice a year on a Friday 13). Montmarte was one suggestion on Cavendish's list. I'll rework it.

Thanks again,

The Bloated One...

[Leisha]

"After this, Jules will stick fingers up me nose, a thumb in me mouth and use me ruddy 'ead as a bowlin' ball."

I'd perhaps reword it to "After this, Jules will stick his fingers up me nose, his thumb in me mouth and use me ruddy 'ead as a bowlin' ball" -- that way it doesn't sound like the hand is unattached! But yes, I prefer this line to the cliché, and I don't think it's too long.

Occasionally, he launched into a tumultuous rendition of an aria and seared it through the boat

Have you thought about turning it into a simile instead of leaving it as a metaphor? E.g. Occasionally he launched into a tumultuous rendition of an aria, and it seared through the boat like a fireball.

[The Bloated Shaganat]

Leisha,

Thanks. I like the idea of unattached hands, but not here!

I wish I had your clarity of thought;

he launched into a tumultuous rendition of an aria, and it seared through the boat like a fireball

100% better.

TBO

[Leisha]

Ah -- your next story, then: The Curse of the Unattached Hands!

Glad to help.

[The Bloated Shaganat]

Mmmm, I see the plot of a very bad 'B' movie coming on -

Fists of Fury!

The disembodied fists of a logger, killed in a freak logging accident go on the rampage through a quiet Southern town...