long time ago. See the boldface at the very end of the quote below for details of the first lot of EK DECs.
“.....There beith men who canst teacheth our young warriors these mysteries. They art knownst as cameleers.”
“Dost thou speaketh of the rabble who leadest the beasts of the foreigners’ caravans?”
“Verily, Sire.”
“But… but to a man, they seemith a rowdy, ill-bred caste who causeth no end of trouble. Whilst their camels resteth, dost they not frequenth only the lowliest sherbet stands and pursueth maidens of the illest repute?”
“That beist so, Sire. It beith widely said that in any city along the far-flung caravan routes, should a stranger follow a cameleer, he willst surely findeth the cheapest sherbet and comely maidens of the lowliest kind.”
“And thou sayest these devilish foreign cameleers be needeth here, to live amongst our people in Knoteetinghamm?”
“Yea, Sire, but only until they have shown our own young warriors the ways of the camel.”
“So be it. We willst suffer these mannerless ruffians in Knoteetinghamm for a short time. But I fear they willst sully our fair land. Wouldst that We knew how to controlleth such an ill bred rabble.”
“We willst employith a Master Cameleer to controlleth them, Sire.”
“A Master Cameleer? But wouldst he not be like unto the rest of his tribe, perhaps worse?”
“Nay Sire, for we willst findeth a Master Cameeleer from within the ranks of the Expurtexpat tribe.”
“The Expurtexpat tribe? We knowest this tribe not.”
“The Expurtexpat careth not one whit for the others in his tribe, Sire, but only for himself. There are many such men among the cameleers’ ranks, men who will do Thy every bidding if Thou payest pay him enough gold.”
“Then findeth Us such a man and summon him here.”
“There beith a score gathered at Thy door as we speaketh, Sire, for the Exurtexpat canst smellth the promise of gold from a thousand leagues away. They pitched their tents at Thy gate the moment Thee bought the autocamels.”
And so the Cherif of Knoteetinghamm and his trusted courtiers chose one Yasser Wateverusay as their Master Cameleer – by far the smoothest talking Exurtexpat from the many supplicants at their city gates. Yasser Wateverusay promised that with a single snap of his fingers, he could gather together a band of seasoned cameleers to teach the young Knoteetinghammi warriors the ways of the autocamel – and then begone.
And so the messengers hastened forth, far out across the burning sands, in search of cameleers. But alas!, the messengers returned fearful of their Master’s wrath, for at that time, seasoned cameleers were in great demand in their own lands, and few were willing to come to the unknown, burning deserts of Knoteetinghamm for the trinkets and beads Yasser Wateverusay’s messengers offered them.
The Cherif sat back upon his throne. What was he to do(eth)? The silver-tongued Wateverusay’s promises were like unto an empty drum – all noise and little substance. Without cameleers, his expensive camels would doeth naught but eat what little precious grass the sands of Knoteetinghamm provided, and his visionary plans of a mighty caravan wouldst be stillborn.
Fearful of losing his nicelittlearner in the Cherif’s court, Yasser Wateverusay whispered into his master’s ear. “Sire, gold wouldst tempt cameleers to our shores.”
The Cherif pondered on this advice. These camels werest already more trouble than they werest worth. But what was he to doeth? Marcelhardcel had long since disappeared across the dunes, his saddlebags heavily laden with the Cherif’s gold.
He clapped his hands, commanding his court to silence. “Let it be so. Offereth these cameleers gold. So let it be written.”
Yasser Wateverusay called unto the weary messengers. “Resteth not, O footsore, dusty ones. Harken to our Lord’s command – go forth again forthwith with promises of gold for all cameleers and effohs who will cometh to our shores.”
The Cherif commanded silence. What had his Master Cameleer said? “We commanded thee to seeketh cameleers. Pray tellest – what beith this word eff-oh of which thou speakest?” He rolled the strange-sounding word across his unaccustomed lips, almost fearful that it was some vile and secret curse, for it had a base and nasty ring to it.
Yasser Wateverusay smiled his most ingratiating smile. “Sire, the effoh beith the poorest excuse for a man – the lowliest of lowly castes that willst worketh for the scraps and leavings fromst Thy table. However, they beith a necessary evil on every caravan.”
“Effohs. We have heardeth not this strange name before. Whence commeth it frometh?”
“Sire, the effoh beith the caravan’s effluent orderly.”
“Effluent orderly? Dost thou meanest he collecteth the !!!! from the autocamel?”
“Yea, Sire, but not just from the autocamel. The effoh’s lot in life beith to taketh !!!! from all quarters as he walketh close behind the autocamel in the dust.”
“Dost thou sayeth he walketh under the autocamel’s tail and taketh !!!! from all quarters?”
“Yea and verily it is true, Sire – from everyone. All tribes considerth themselves the superior of the lowly effoh. Why, even the Miserly bin Beancounter tribe looketh down upon them.”
“They must taketh !!!! from such as the Miserly bin Beancounters?” The Cherif shook his head in wonder. “’tis extraordinary, truly extraordinary. But pray tell, what else(th) doth this effoh doeth?”
“Sire, whilst taking !!!! from all quarters, the effoh watcheth the road ahead to warn the cameleer of potholes or falling rocks from the cliffs above.”
“And if the cameleer heedeth him not, what then of this effoh?”
“Sire, ’tis then the lowly effoh must singeth loudly the effoh’s ancient mantra. Whenever the cameleer directeth the autocamel into a pothole or causeth it to loseth its load, it beith the effoh’s task to chant this ancient incantation: “Yessiree, cameleer, the road sure is bumpy.” From whence this strange chant cometh is lost in antiquity, but ’tis sung with great gusto by this craven caste. Those who doeth it not are spurned by their cameleers and damned to remain lowly effohs forever.”
“A lowly caste they beith indeed to liveth on scraps and tuggeth their forelocks so! But We cannot seeith the need for such a caste in Our caravan. The deserts are wide – Our caravans canst scatter !!!! to the four winds without the need for such as these effohs to gather it up.”
Yasser Wateverusay bowed low. “Sire, Thou art wise and we hasten to do Thy bidding. But pray, wouldst Thou reconsider, for ’tis from these lowly effoh ranks that the cameleers we now seeketh doth cometh. Why, Thy own young warriors must joineth their ranks ere they become cameleers themselves.”
“Mocketh Us not, Master Cameleer. Our own young warriors shouldst join such a lowly caste? Joketh thou at Our royal expense?”
Yasser Wateverusay trembled and was silent, at once in fear of his head – (or was that ‘his job’?) – for already he had learned that the Cherif’s anger when aroused was awesome indeed and feared throughout the Land.
The wise old courtier came to his aid. “Nay, Sire, he speaketh truly, even if ’tis said that most cameleers hasten to forgetteth this be so. Before any man becometh a cameleer, he must first servith as a lowly effoh. This way, he learneth the many ways of a cameleer, most importantly how to avoideth the autocamel’s bite. The day his Master sayeth “Riseth up, I dubdeth thee cameleer,” – this beith for the effoh the sweetest time of all, and one for which every effoh waiteth impatiently. It then becometh his lot in life to heapeth !!!! and scorn upon his own lowly effoh and quickly forgetteth that he wast ere once one himself.”
“Cannot we findest cameleers aplenty already skilled enough to dodgeth their own potholes?”
Yasser Wateverusay grovelled in subservience at his Master’s feet, mindful that here, earlier than he had thought, was his chance to prolong his nicelittlearner in the Cherif’s court, perhaps indefinitely. “Alas, would that it be so, Sire, but no. We must taketh unto ourselves foreign effohs as well, for as Thy caravan groweth, Thou willst needith more cameleers than Thou canst find among Thy own young warriors.”
The Cherif held his hands aloft for silence, for such had not been his plan at all. “Why beist this so?”
“Ahh, Sire, because the autocamels willst walketh the caravan routes all through the longlunchbreak and night as well.”
“Through the longlunchbreak?” The Cherif hadn’t considered that. Very few Knoteetinghammi warriors would work through the longlunchbreak.
“Yea, Sire. And on feast and holy days as well.”
The courtiers muttered among themselves at this startling news. The caravans wouldst continue to walketh through the longlunchbreak, at night and on feast and holy days? Their sons wouldst taketh some convincing before they’d want a slice of that cake, boyo.
Yasser Wateverusay saw that he had scored heavily with this point. His face impassive, he clenched his fist under the folds of his long robes in silent glee. Yess-ss! Golf club membership, a company phorwealdryve and a spacious tent with three comely servant girls – and not just for a shorttermcontract, but right up to retirement! Ahh, life was sweet!
He carefully adopted a ponderous tone. “Yea Sire, whenever possible, a wise Master Cameleer will entrusteth his autocamels only to the hands of cameleers whose skills he knoweth well. What better way to learneth the true worth of any aspiring cameleer than first to observeth him as an effoh calling warnings of oncoming potholes and falling rocks? For it is written that many cameleers who willst seeketh to joineth Thy caravan will cometh not from the caravan routes, but from the tribe of Parker bin Pehn.”
“This tribe of Parker bin Pehn. We knowest it not.”
“Ah, Sire, the Parker bin Pehn beith a secretive sect and one which plyeth its trade behind tightly closed tent flaps with but a single quill. Many an unwary Master of Cameleers hast fallen foul of this widely scattered tribe. They willst enter Thy house glibly, bearing stirring testimonials from masters who in fact knewest them not. These richly bound scrolls willst speak of wondrous deeds on caravans they have travelled – but, alas! they willst have travelled these routes but only in their dreams.”
“Then surely We must avoideth such vile creatures.”
“Verily, ’tis so, Sire.”
(The full ‘Caravan’ transcript is available somewhere in the Pprune archives. Sorry, can’t find it, or I would post the URL.)