TWO HEAVENLY FRIENDS

A magician and a bloodhound meet up in the old west with timetravelling vikings. They have to escape from an evil witch. A fairytale western for all ages, young & old

 

These were the last of the bed time stories my mother and I recorded before we left for Vienna in 1984. The stories were fascinating, because they encompassed time travel and promoted the understanding between humans and animals.

These tales represent the magic of every bed-time-story ever told.

This characters were also invented by my mother Gun Kronzell.

 

         He was a Travelling Wilbury and journeyed the country on his magic horse and cart, selling his enchanted potion to whom ever would buy it from him.

         Everything he owned was in his old wagon. A crystal ball, tarot cards, juggling balls, tons of serum made out of a mixture of crème de menthe and spices and many things that a magician might need right in there, bed and attire, towels, brush and perfume, books, paper, fountain-pens and a guitar. Whenever he needed to go somewhere, he went. Whenever he needed a wash, he jumped into a river and soaked. When he was hungry, he ate. Free as a bird, his role model not as much Robin Hood as Huckleberry Finn.

His magic tricks were real. When he told his audience that rabbits came out of his hat, they did. The only secret was that the hat had an extra compartment and the bunny usually lived in a cage in the wagon. The magician loved the unexplained.

         However, he could tell people’s fortune. He did travel in time and he could give animals the power of speech by just looking at them. Mind you, this was back in the 19^th century when a man like that still could earn a living.

 

His wagon bore the inscription

 

MACADABUS’ AMAZING TRAVELLING MAGIC SHOW

 

         There was a picture of himself in a high hat holding a dove, sparks of lightning protruded out of his ears and formed a ring around his head. He had painted this picture himself on a wagon built with his own two hands.

         His ability to travel in time was legendary. He used the enchanted stone an Arapaho Indian had given him in 1832. It had never been explained to him how this stone worked, only that it did. His psychic abilities were inborn.

         The story about Macadabus’ first encounter with a bloodhound, who really could speak, is an unusual one. Macadabus really didn’t have the habit of taking up new animals. This dog, however, was very special. No one knew from where he had come or why he spoke, but the fact was that he did.

         Macadabus had been travelling for days that summer from a small town named Gothenhaven somewhere in the mid west of the United States. He had been a remarkable success. In the week he had stayed there, he had performed his show on each calendar day. He sold so many bottles of magic liquid remedy that he had to buy more crème de menthe in a store in the next town in order not to run out. Macadabus had a lot of money, more money than he had had with him in a long time.

         He had a minute ago bathed in a lagoon, taking soap and a towel with him and put a fresh set of clothes on after the soak. The old clothes were drying on the provisory washing line on the top of the lorry. His horse Little Thunder was a nice stallion that could gallop fast when he could. This day, he knew that his master’s clothes were drying on the roof of the cart and so he trotted slower. He didn’t bother to chat today, for he knew that his master was tired.     

         Macadabus had been lacking a side kick. No, what Macadabus needed was someone he could share things with. Animal or not, he needed someone that could take the weight off his shoulders now and then. An equal. A confidant. Someone that would shoot off great ideas when his own ideas were low on inspiration. He needed a muse.

         Well, he was travelling on a dusty road that day next to a forest. The avenue of trees behind him had been filled with the green leaves of summer. Now the sun was so hot that Macadabus had taken off his tailcoat and was travelling in his undershirt and pants rolled up to his knees. He was worn-out and almost ready to fall asleep when he heard a voice behind him.

         It said: “Excuse me, sir, can I ride with you?”

         He halted the wagon and stepped out.

         “Whatever on God’s green Earth was that?”

         As he looked down toward the ground, he saw a bloodhound. Red-brown and with long floppy ears to call his own, he looked reasonably pleasant.

         The dog smiled. It actually smiled.

         “I’ve heard you can tutor animals to speak, sir,” the bloodhound said. “You seem like quite the gent a dog can trust, if I may be so bold, dear sir.”

         Macadabus went down on his hands and knees and petted the dog on his head.

         “I’ve seen a lot of things in my days,” Macadabus said, “but never have I seen a dog that could speak out of his own avail. What’s your name?”

         The bloodhound shrugged. Macadabus had never seen a dog shrug before. It was an amazing sight. How did he do that? He almost elevated off the ground.

         “Oh, I never had a name,” the bloodhound said. “My master always called me Hound, but you can call me Bloodhound.”

         “Were you ill treated by your last master?” Macadabus asked.

         The bloodhound looked down.

         “My master only cared about his farm,” the bloodhound responded, “ he was drunk, for the most part. I was a bird catcher. Then I split, because he chased me away. That was that.”

         “Did your master ever hear you speak?” Macadabus said.

         “He never knew,” the bloodhound said.

         “Did he ever listen?”

         “Only chosen people like yourself can hear me.”

         “Have you always been able to speak?”

         “Well, my mum spoke and my dad, but humans never listen. They only give you bones and say ‘Cootchie-Coo’.”

         The look on the bloodhound’s face was one so irritated and comical that Macadabus just had to laugh. The bloodhound winched up the sides of his mouth and closed his eyes in a way that told him what dogs really thought when people made cute noises.

         Collectively, Macadabus and the bloodhound started laughing. Obviously, the had become friends.

         Macadabus stood up and bowed.

         “Well, Bloodhound with a big B,” Macadabus said in baptismal fashion, “looks like you found yourself a friend. Not a master, a partner. I am Macadabus.”

         The Bloodhound stretched forward his paw and shook the magician’s hand. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

         “Pleased to meet ya.”

         “Would you like to meet my other friend Little Thunder?”

         The dog nodded and followed the magician to the horse that was tied to the wagon in front.

         “This is Bloodhound, Little Thunder,” Macadabus said. “He will be joining us in our crusade to provide humanity with a bit a magic.”

         The horse looked down at the dog. He paused.

         “Hi there, Bloodhound,” the stallion said. “I’ll try not to step on you. And if you manage to scratch my left hoof while you’re there, I’ll give you a bone.”

         Macadabus shook his head. “Try to be a little polite.” The magician turned to the dog. “He is in one of his moods.”

         Bloodhound laughed his special dog laugh. It sounded like a pump blowing air on a fire. “That is alright. I find the mount funny. You should’ve seen the stallions and steeds at the old farm. They had the sense of humour of elderly and exceptionally decayed and dire bread. This guy is hilarious.”

         The horse scratched with one hoof on the ground and whinnied.

         “At last, someone that appreciates my sense of humour,” Little Thunder chuckled. “This dog stays.”

         Macadabus caressed Bloodhound and patted Little Thunder on the back. “Do you want to meet Elsa and Jacob and the Turtle Twins?”

         Bloodhound raised one eyebrow. “Hmm?”

         “Come in the back. I’ll show you.”

         Together, they walked toward the back of the wagon. The magician reached under the entrance and fetched forward a small staircase. He opened the red and green entry and bowed before the dog.

         “If you please, your majesty,” Macadabus joked.

         Bloodhound pretended to be a king and strode up the stairs, one paw before the other and his eyes closed. Once he was up there in the doorway, he turned around and faced the magician and said:

         “You know, friend,” Bloodhound said, “you have a great sense of humour, as well. I like you.”

         Macadabus had to smile and strode in after Bloodhound as he wandered into the cart and made this place his new home.

         Once in the wagon, Bloodhound turned around once and then twice. He saw the red drapes, the green satin chairs, the golden urns, the whole cupboard full of magic things and the fold away bed. He could not understand how a wagon this small could have space for so many things.

         Macadabus walked up to a small table in the corner with two cages on it. They walked up to the table and the magician nodded toward the cage with the two bunnies.

         “This is Elsa, Bloodhound. She worships carrots.”

         Elsa looked up and gave Bloodhound and smiled.

         “Hey, Bloodhound,” Elsa said and looked up from her carrot. “Welcome to the family. Want a carrot?”

         Bloodhound shook his head. “No, Elsa. But thanks, anyway.”

         Macadabus gestured toward the brown bunny that was laying on his back snoring. “As you see, Jacob over there is busy.”

         Jacob lay in the same position with his paws on his stomach, obviously too many veggies to his name, and opened his eyes. Bloodhound put his front paws on the table and took a long look on Jacob, who gave the dog a surprised look. Without moving, he looked over at Macadabus.

         Macadabus smiled. “This is Bloodhound, Jacob.”

         Jacob sat up and started talking really, really fast. “Hey, we have a fresh member of the family. Someone to play cards with. You play cards? I do. I taught myself, you know. Actually, Macadabus taught me. It is really easy. My favourite is poker. I also love running.”

         Jacob started running around the cage in a high speed.

         Then, he stopped running and continued talking.

         “I also love laughing.” Jacob started laughing like crazy. “See? Laughing is fun. Or farting.” Jacob gave off a terrible thundering fart. It oozed off a stench. He smelled it and fell over on his back and immediately started snoring.

         Macadabus laughed. “Jacob is special.”

         Bloodhound was flabbergasted. That bunny certainly did talk fast. There was no way in catching up with him.

         “Now, let us turn to the pigeons,” the magician said and smiled.

“This is Téa Turtledove and Theo Turtledove. We call them the Turtledove Twins or Turtle Twins for short. They aren’t twins, they are married couple. They look like twins, though, don’t you think?”

         Bloodhound nodded. The two doves were chattering about something, speaking in a language he didn’t know.

         “We met a pigeon that was a messenger for the Apache Indians,” Macadabus said. “He was a holy bird that had the right to perform marriages. So, he wedded these two a year ago. They are in every way turtledoves.”

         The two pigeons Téa and Theo looked up.

         “Hello,” Téa said in a very high and posh English accent. “We were reciting Lord Byron. Do you know Byron at all, doggie?”

         “Say hello first, Téa,” Macadabus said.

         Téa said: “Hello!” and Theo followed suit.

         “The turtledoves are quite the poetry fans,” Macadabus said. “The English poets are their favourites.”

         “We are also familiar with Shakespeare,” Téa said and Theo began reciting Jacques’ monologue from “As you like it”. There was something John Barrymore about him as he read, his intense eyes glowing as he emoted.

         “All the world’s a stage and all the men and women are merely players,” Theo said and bowed. The assembly applauded. “I was the only acting pigeon at the Palace Theatre in London in 1845.”

         The pigeons started chattering amongst themselves.

         “Now, let us get a move on,” Macadabus said. “We have places to go, money to earn.”

         And as the magician and the bloodhound took a seat at the front of the stage coach, the sun shone down upon the American road and gave the assembly hope that this was the launch of great partnership.

         “Macadabus?”

         “Yes, Bloodhound?”

         “Where are we going?”

         “Anywhere the wind takes us,” the magician answered. “That is the joy of travel. I am my own boss and can decide on my own where to go and what to do. Now you, too, can decide with me where to go. What would you like to see?”

         “The world,” Bloodhound answered.

         “Then that is what you shall see,” Macadabus responded.

         The seven friends travelled onwards until arriving at an abandoned barn. It was obvious that this had been the home of many a horse. Now, there were none here. Only hay and lots of it. This was the perfect place to eat and sleep.

         The animals were let out of their cages and Macadabus took out his magic wand and created a campfire at the blink of an eye. Soon enough, flames were dancing and throwing lights on the barn door.

         “What is your pleasure?” the magician said.

         The dog was rolling around in the hay with the bunnies.

         “Hmm?”

         “Do you wish anything to eat?”

         The dog said: “What have you got?”

         The magician lifted his wand and said: “Whatever your heart desires, Bloodhound. I can create anything you want.”

         Bloodhound smiled. “Hey, big guy. Can you make turkey steak, stuffing and mashed potatoes?”

         The magician lifted his wand and said: “Consider it done!”

         Soon afterwards, the dog was sitting by the fire and eating the most delicious grub he had ever eaten.

         The bunnies had carrots, although God knows that Macadabus had tried to persuade them to eat something else: cucumbers and onions. Macadabus had travelled to the future and learned that potential generations would love something called a pizza.

A gypsy from Naples had taught him a magic chant that could produce this dish:

         “Zilligie-Moola, Trillibie-Troola. All and sundry likes a good dish, this is a stomach-loving wish. Even a neat Tsar likes Pizza! Whoosh!”

         Macadabus soon saw a pizza, like the one he had eaten in Naples on his time trek to the turn of the century, appear before his eyes.

         Bloodhound soon came to the magician with a look of bewilderment. He was still chewing on his turkey steak when he asked: “Excuse me, Macadabus?”

         “Yes, Bloodhound.”

         He chewed, swallowed and sat down. The reverberations of the other animals playing inside the barn gave the entire delineation an atmosphere of miraculous play acting. Was this real or not?

         “Do you travel through time?”

         Macadabus looked up. He nodded. “I do. I have been almost everywhere. Enough places to know that home is where the heart is.”

         Bloodhound began to wonder how he did it.

         “Uhm, how do you travel through time?”

         Macadabus picked up a blue, transparent stone with white stripes. It was as big as the palm of his hand.

         “I was travelling through the American wilderness and met a very interesting tribe,” Macadabus began. “I performed magic tricks. In return, they gave me more beef jerky than I could ever eat. I was flatulent for a week.”

         Bloodhound laughed.

          “An old medicine man named Calm Wind Over The Plains told me that he would give me a precious stone that could help journey through time. All I had to do was hold it, say the magic chant and everything in a twenty foot radius around the stone would be transferred to the wished time. I have taken more squirrels and toads to other periods than I can articulate. There are probably about twenty otters still in the Roman Empire and two dozen cats in the 22^nd century.”

         “You are very experienced,” he moaned. “I am lucky to be here with you.”

         “That same medicine man told me my fortune,” the magician continued, “and revealed to me who I had been in an earlier life. My name back then was Rodrigo de Triana and I was the watchman/ sailor on the flagship Pinta that sailed to the West-Indies on August 3^rd 1492. After 17 years of preparation, Admiral Cristobal Colon, as he was called back then, sailed away on a over nine week cruise across the Atlantic Ocean to find what he thought was India. I sighted land on October 12^th 1492 at two in the morning and it was told by her majesty Queen Isabella that this person would receive 10 000 Maravedi yearly as a prize. Unfortunately, Columbus had seen a light at the horizon the day before and this was regarded as the first sighting. Anyway, it is no wonder I have become an explorer in this life when I was one back then.”

         Bloodhound pondered over what he had just heard. What had he been in his earlier life? A cat? Unthinkable. Maybe a bear. A nice, cute and cuddly one, anyway.

         Suddenly, the two friends heard a noise coming from the back of the house. It sounded like someone stepping on a branch.

         The voice of a woman spat: “Fiddles and freckles!”

         Macadabus looked up and threw down his last piece of pizza.

         “Bad news,” he swore. “Mishawashalinga!”

         Bloodhound shook his head. “Mishawasha-what?”

         “She is a witch from the 8^th century,” Macadabus responded. “There is only one person of any century that has such crazy swear prose. She is very pretty, but very mean. I was stupid enough to start an argument with her about her ravens being foolish. She swore that if she ever found me, she would turn me into a toad. Even the Vikings hated her.”

         “You met the Vikings?” Bloodhound sang.

         “Shhhh,” Macadabus said. “Let’s go. Lucky we hid the wagon under the pile of hay in the back.”

         He rushed in and took Little Thunder way back to the corner of the barn. The other animals followed him up to the top floor of the lodging.

         Well, the animals waited with the magician as a rather dishy looking woman came in. She had curly short hair and walked like a cat. She looked about her, trying to decipher where the magician had gone.

         “Macadabus,” she bellowed. “I know you’re here!”

         She let her voice jump an octave at the word here. She sounded like a crazy singer when she did that.

         “Don’t say a word, friends!” the Turtledoves said.

         Macadabus nodded.

         “Don’t worry, Macadabus. I won’t turn you into a toad,” Mishawashalinga said. “I am just here to warn you that you brought me as well as three Vikings with you last time you travelled back from the 9^th century. They are very unhappy, because you took their sacred ring with you. Right now, they are raiding the inns for beer. They say it is the weakest crap they have tasted.”

         There was a long pause.

         “Magician,” Mishawashalinga screamed. “I have been looking for you for a week and hoped to find you before they do. They said they would grind you and turn you into meatloaf.”

         Macadabus spoke.

         “Mishawashlinga,” he said. “Aren’t you interested in killing me?”

         “Ah,” the witch groaned. “Seedless grapes, I know you are a good little fart. The ravens stole your pizza. Considering this is all you eat since you spent a week in 20^th century Naples, it is understandable. Trust me, I won’t hurt you.”

         Macadabus showed himself.

         “Come down, bunny,” the witch said. “I won’t hurt you.”

         Macadabus shook his head. “Get down to the wagon. I will give Mishawasha-what’s-her-face a taste of her own medicine.”

         “You mean that whole hubbub about the Vikings is horse raddish?” Jacob said.

         Macadabus shrugged. “The Vikings are probably here, but I don’t believe that they really want to kill me. I believe they want to kill her.”

         “What about the old ring?” the Turtledoves asked in unison. “Did you steal it? I can’t remember that.”

         “No,” Macadabus answered. “You were with me. I do not know what she is talking about. Now go.”

         The animals climbed down through nooks and crannies in the boards or down the secret doorways.

         Macadabus climbed down the main ladder and faced the witch.

         Mishawashalinga smiled. “So you bought my crap, after all?”

         “I know you are lying, Misha,” Macadabus said. He lifted his wand and exclaimed: “Wee-wah-west: fall into an hour’s rest!”

         The evil witch fell to the ground and started snoring right away.

         In no time at all, the horse was saddled and the animals put back into their cages. Macadabus wanted to be far away from the witch when she woke up.

         Within fifteen minutes Macadabus and his six friends, Bloodhound and Little Thunder along with the two bunnies and the two doves, were on the road to nowhere again.

         Fordinschapel seemed like a normal enough town here in the Midwest. The sign read:

 

3332 souls.

Perfect, if you like to snore.

 

         Not even a dog on the street, one road that lead out of town and this was the one that also lead into town.

         Macadabus knew that he would have to face her, but not before meeting the Vikings. Macadabus now had many friends to include in his agenda and if he was lucky maybe there was a couple of hundred dollars worth of cash in there.

         One man sat on a porch and was wondering what was happening “downtown”. He heard a very loud party coming from the saloon in the middle of the main square, parked the stagecoach outside and ordered the bunnies and the doves to attack anyone who tried to steal the wagon. Little Thunder would kick away the intruders and run off.

         The saloon, dusty and full of voluptuous ladies, had several mirrors behind the counter, masses of whiskey to its’ name. By the old, badly tuned piano sat the bartender playing old cowboy ballads.         What amazed the magician most was that Vikings were standing next to the pianist and singing with in songs like “Raunchy Rosemary”, “Waltz along with me, Willie” and “Sunshine in my drawers”. When they saw the dog, they immediately ran up to him and patted him on the back.

         They were huge fellows with long red hair, beards tied together in pigtails and full bull skin clothing. What impressed the magician most was their helmets. These things were huge with horns bigger than their faces. The one with the reddest and longest beard belched in his face.

         “I’m Olaf the Wild Warrior,” he said. “Back in Norway the call me Olaf den Vilde Hingsten. I like your dog, so welcome.”

         The second one was completely blond and had a beard that was tied three times around his waist and into a knot inside his belt.

         “I’m Leif the Crazy Drinker,” he said. “In Narvik they call me Leif den Tokige Sparven.”

         Leif slapped Macadabus on the back and petted Bloodhound, who began licking Leif’s hand until he noticed that it stunk of beer.

         The third and biggest Viking came up and hugged Macadabus.

         He gave off a big, oozing flatulence that had two people fainting.

         “I am Jan,” the Viking rumbled in such a low voice that it would’ve made an Australian didgeridoo seem like Rosa Ponselle. “I love you and your canine affiliate.”

         “Come over and sing some funny, American songs with us,” Leif said. “You guys have the melodies about HAVING FUN!”

         The three Vikings began laughing so loud that even the bartender held his ears.

         Macadabus convinced them to calm down.

         “Sirs,” he said, “how come you speak English?”

         Olaf took a long look at the other gents. It was the gaze of fear. Macadabus hadn’t known these men very long, but he couldn’t imagine these men ever being afraid of anything. They were now.

         “The witch with the impossible name,” Olaf said. “What is her name again?

         “Ulla-Stina Hillabritta Mia-Nina Kulla-Hinna Hoa-Goa Rutan Mishawashalinga, empress of 8^th century darkness and a cute chick,” Macadabus said this and the whole crowd inside the saloon gave off an impressed ”Ooooh!” as a reaction.

         “Whatever,” Olaf said. “We were actually very angry at you when you accidentally took us along with you to your century after you had eaten a bowl of our alcoholic apple pudding. But then we discovered that Misha-what’s-her-name also was here. When she discovered this, she concocted a plan to get her revenge on you for insulting her ravens. She told us: you had the ring and put a spell on us so we could speak your language and fight you. She escaped just in time, before we found out she had our sacred ring. Our ring does many things, among others it is our ticket to travel through time. With it, you have magic powers.”

         “She came to me and told me that you would turn me into meatloaf if you found me,” Macadabus said.

         Leif shook his head and laughed. “Have you heard such nonsense.” He walked away shaking his hands and waving at the other guests for support. He ended up by the bar, being comforted by one of the ladies.

         “Anyway,” Olaf said and winced, “we have a plan how we can get this witch.”

         They waited and sang. For the remainder of the day, Macadabus and his six friends joined the three Vikings and their thirty Fordinschapel drinking buddies and danced and sang their hearts out.

         Macadabus had learned a few songs from the future and since was quite the pianist he taught them to swing, rap and boogie. Soon enough, the crowd were jiving to tunes like “How much is that doggie in the window?”, where Bloodhound had a solo, “Ice, Ice, Baby”, where Jan definitely showed off his bass voice, and “Delilah”, where Jacob the Rabbit got to show off his parody of Tom Jones.

         You haven’t lived until you have heard bunnies sing Tom Jones and Vikings rap or the bloodhound howl.

         In the middle of this crazy saloon party, a shriek was heard from the saloon door. The noise ceased right away and the deadly silence that commenced made the eerie quiet atmosphere in the saloon so spooky that even Bloodhound got Goosebumps. He had been howling with in “How will I know?” by Whitney Houston when the shriek commenced. Now, the only thing you heard was that ticking of the clock above the door. That and the town drunk chewing tobacco.

         Ulla-Stina Hillabritta Mia-Nina Kulla-Hinna Hoa-Goa Rutan Mishawashalinga, empress of 8^th century darkness and a cute chick, jumped over the forty party goers, now standing still, and landed on the bar. Again, the ticking of the clock made the whole scene eerie. The clicking of her heels striding along the bar challenged the sound of the clock in a funny kind of syncopation. It almost turned the rhythm into a fugue with the town drunk chewing tobacco in rhythm with the Bloodhound’s panting and the bunnies’ clicking of teeth. It was live percussion. She enjoyed this attention. At last, it was her time to shine.

         “You are pathetic,” she began. “These songs stink. How will I know?” she started whining. “You will know when I give it my raspberry,” she said and farted through her mouth. She laughed. “When Macadabus arrived in my time, he challenged my place among the Vikings. I use to be respected, but now I am a nobody. He insulted my ravens and now he is going to pay.”

         She lifted her hand and showed everyone the time stone. There it was, blue and white and transparent, in her hand.

         “Macadabus stole this from me,” she said.

         “Bull’s droppings,” Macadabus said. “That stone was a gift from an old man. He gave it to me, because he liked me.”

         The witch started imitating Macadabus.

         “He gave it to me, because he liked me.”

         She began singing the bridal march by Mendelsohn, but with another text: “Here comes the bride, hairy and tall, time stones and bull’s droppings make a great fall.”

         Mishawashalinga smiled.

         “That was good, wasn’t it?”

         Bloodhound couldn’t stand it anymore. His friend was being threatened by a stupid and evil woman. Proud and very mad, he jumped up on the bar and threatened the witch by growling at her.

         “Oooooh,” she answered. “If it isn’t the little doggie defending his master.”

         “What are you going to do?” Bloodhound spat. “Send us all back to your time?”

         The three Vikings started moaning their agreement.

         “Yeah, that wouldn’t be so bad.”

         “Well, that was the idea,” Mishawashalinga cackled. “That and dunking Macadabus in mud and serving him with dirt.” She laughed. “I am so full of good ideas. I am incredible.”

         Bloodhound jumped up on the witch, who grabbed the stone even harder. She looked like a shaking jellyfish where she had landed upon the bar.

         The dog was biting her foot and the whole throng was now slapping her in their effort to retrieve the stone. The Vikings were slapping each other in the efforts to get through the crowd and Macadabus was frenetically searching for his wand.

         In that moment, the witch uttered her magic chant:

         “Alakazoola-Alakalzime, this crowd will now travel to a different time. Norway, 792. Hello, God Oden! How do you do?”

         There was a very sharp light that had everyone hold their hands before their eyes. The whole world seemed to rotate into a round rainbow and shake. It seemed to transport them through a tunnel, where they saw the events of the world whiz by like they would witness the landscape next to a road while riding by on a horse.

         Within minutes, they were on a field and now what they heard was not the clicking of a clock. They heard the mooing of a cow.

         The entire saloon had been transported to 792.

         “I thought you said that only everything in a twenty-foot radius gets transported to another time,” Bloodhound whispered.

         “More or less,” Macadabus said, holding his wand in his hand.

         Bloodhound looked at the wand. “I guess you found that a little too late, huh?”

         Bloodhound added: “You didn’t say ‘Oops’!”

         The crowd stood up and saw the witch take off across the huge hill they had landed upon. Now, a crowd of forty people ran after Mishawashalinga. Macadabus tried to concentrate on aiming for the witch and getting back the stone. He jumped on the horse, had the pigeons fly and took the bunnies in his pocket.

         Faster than lightning, Macadabus galloped after the witch and jumped off the horse faster than it could ride. He wrestled her to the ground and said: “Will you now behave, if I promise you to restore your reputation here? Will you give me the stone and leave me alone if I promise never to return to this time again?”

         The witch spat in his face and tried to escape.

Bloodhound now grabbed her skirt and pulled her back:

         “Answer the question, witch, or I shall sing an atonal Schönberg version of “How much is that doggie in the window?” for you in C-sharp-minor,” Bloodhound spat.

         That did the trick.

         Now, the witch gave back the stone, the entire assembly returned to the Viking village, where animals and humans alike laughed and sang. No meat loaf was eaten, just fruit and vegetables and fish.

         The witch decided to become a good witch. The Vikings Olaf, Leif and Jan decided to go back to where they had had more fun than anywhere in the world: 19^th century America. The little town of Fordinschapel now became Macadabus’ headquarters. Macadabus fell in love. Bloodhound found a Collie.  

The time stone was in constant use. Who gave Hollywood the idea for Lassie? Who gave Barnum the idea for his three ring circus?

         Two heavenly friends.