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Mapmakers in Genoa begged me to stop moving islands. I only shifted two or three. One was in my way, and one had a bad smell. The third I gave to a girl in Malta as a birthday gift. It fit nicely in the bay outside her house.

Baking was my father's one true gift. He once made a loaf so light that it got away. It rose over the barn and drifted toward Hamelin. We chased it on horseback for a week with butter knives. A passing crow got the crust, and we got the blame.

Turtles make slow ferries, but they are very sure. I boarded one at Cape Verde with a lunch, a book, and a folding chair. We reached Brazil after three years. On the way I wrote a long poem, grew quite thin, and taught the beast to nod at a lady.

Laughter was banned in Krakow by a sad old king. I arrived in town with a feather. I crept into his room that same night and went to work on his feet. The palace shook, the ban was lifted, and I got three castles and a lifelong tickling contract.

Moths ate every uniform in my regiment one night in Kiev. We woke in our skin at a bad time, for the enemy had come. The sight of six hundred bare men running at them in the snow was too much. They left at once.