Rough Travels

The trip to Paris was a rough one, especially for Cronk. The first leg of the journey wasn’t bad, as Quinn and Cronk traveled by horseback from Dunkirk to Dublin. Cronk’s horse had to be a farm horse, big enough and strong enough to carry his stature. Even then, it couldn’t go all out.

At Dublin, the two travelers caught a large iron clad, equipped for passengers. Cronk got seasick all the way to Brest. Most of the trip, it was Cronk on the aft side with everyone else in the fore. Nothing stinks up an airtight ironclad like an ogre’s big stomach heaving ho.

He survived, and both disembarked at Brest. Cronk wiped his mouth with his arm and said, “Cronk like the name of this city…heh heh.”

Quinn chuckled. “I agree, Cronk. Come on! We’ve a dirigible to catch”

“What der gerbil?” Cronk inquired.

“A dirigible is an airship,” Quinn answered.

Cronk turned his torso to take a long gander at the iron clad. “Better than that?” he asked Quinn.

One of the sailors was rinsing out a deck mop. He saw Cronk looking back and shook a fist at him.

Quinn chuckled again. “Lets hope so, Cronk. You were looking like your greener cousins back there.”

Cronk exhaled a deep breath and shook his head. “Cronk like feet on land,” he insisted.

“Sorry Cronk,” Quinn attempted to empathize, “we’ll get there quicker by dirigible.”

The two made their way to the air station. Quinn paid for their passage and gathered their tickets. Soon, they load themselves aboard, the dirigible lifted skyward, and they were on their way.

Cronk was amazed by the gears, levers, and cranks making this possible. He wasn’t skilled at how they worked. He was more like a child attempting to figure out how it worked and wanting to pull at the levers.

The joy of watching these mechanisms was short lived, as the ship hit an updraft in the current. The dirigible lifted quickly upward, lurched and dropped. Cronk’s face turned green, and he made a mad dash to the side of the ship heaving over the rail.

Quinn approached him, asking, “Cronk? How much does your stomach hold?”

Cronk stood back up and wiped his mouth. “Cronk sorry.”

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?” Quinn suggested, hoping the big guy would be able to do the job he was asked to do.

“Thanks Boss!” Cronk appreciatively replied. “Cronk try.”

Thus they traveled into Paris, the Boss and his sick protector. At the Paris airstrip, Quinn joyfully awoke Cronk.

“We’ve made it!” Quinn exclaimed. “Safe and sound!”

“Cronk glad over,” Cronk awoke, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m sure you are, Cronk,” Quinn responded back. “I’m sure you are.”