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The giant crab invades the periphery of my concious mind.eELkeeee%%%%%K

FKfj ^^*&& Wandering, like long lost jelly, moonshod, oh Gflipdabs!FFFMFNFFFMFFMFMFMFMFM
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^^^^ Oh! THe horror; fanastical knees bend thyselves! Escape this haberdasheryRIFFFIHIHFIFFO""""""""

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Hello? Are you getting this?*??****?*******?********end of line

"It's the intrepid Limpet here. I think there's some interference, which isn't suprising.### Don't worry about the giant crab part""EEKKKK%%%%

^^^£%%$EPART7Everything's under control. Well, sort of. I can't believe the internet connection's even working! Let's just say, there have been some interesting developments. Don't ask me where I am, I'll tell you all about it as soon as I can. Bye for now!!!!&&&&&&77777 T...*

^^^££Flypaper in my soul.>£">>>development staged for the aubergine god...,ddd^PICKLE THEM!,e,e,***e,mak8e
/my name is Kalumantu//
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£f

Am I going to get horribly killed?

Well, the question on everyone's lips is - am I going to get horribly killed or not? Maybe I should do a poll, or something, or maybe a sweepstake or general gambling opportunity. Place your bets!

Horribly killed : 6/1
Normally killed : 3/1
Embarrassing situation : evens
waste of time : 2/1
unexpected triumph : 200/1

Well, I suppose I'd better go through with actually going over there - seems a bit rubbish to back out now, plus a bit of all-out sneaking usually does the job. Also, I'm usually wrong about most things, so this allows me to cheerfully shuffle off any worries about any alarming things I might have read in certain books recently, which are probably a load of nonsense anyway, like a lot of stuff in life in general.

Well, I'll be heading off this very evening on my intrepid mission. I've already downed a few drinks (weeeee!), just to calm the nerves, so sorry if this message doesn't make a whole lot of sense. You know, the only thing that's getting me down right now is the absence of my former most valued minion, Grott. I just can't understand it - why one earth would he desert me in my hour of need? How could anyone possibly find being my minion anything other than the best that life could possibly offer them? Ah! How I would like to see his knobbly, eager face staring up at me at a time like this! *sigh*

Well, this is it, time I was going. Mourn me, the mighty Limpet, should I fall! Sing laments of me, stuff like that. Still, in many ways a good mission is a lot better than heading over to the Ebon Tower of Unyielding Gloom - better dangerous than depressing and giant spider befouled. Yes! Believe it! One day I'm going to get my magical powers sorted out! The day will come that I'll be able to live up to the promise of the early posts I put on here. Yes, indeed! And then, the time will come when I do indeed command an army of minions, and ride about on the back of a big, black dragon! You wait and see!

Some more stuff that happened (couldn't think of a title)

Greetings once more, my fellow humans. Here's a question for you - why is everything always incredibly difficult and frustrating if it's any good? Well, I know the answer to that really, I'm just in a bad mood. Well, there's probably a theory to be made on that subject, but I for one can't be bothered to make it.

Anyway, what I'm really talking about is trying to do spells, i.e. I STILL CAN'T DO THEM! Well, OK, that's maybe a bit of an exaggeration. After yesterday's triumphant performance, I bounced out of bed ready for a fresh effort. Yes, the life of arch-mage was beckoning, but it turned out to be harder to get to than I thought.

Curses! It was a lot more difficult than it had seemed at first - I suppose it must have been beginner's luck, or something. After an hour of straining (I really must see a doctor, it really could be a hernia coming on) I managed to get a small flicker of light, which at least was something, I suppose. Right then I would have been glad to see my diminutive green friend make an appearance as I sat grumpily down on the bed to get my breath back, but no such luck - I have a feeling he'll only show up at random or inopportune times instead of when needed, kind of like the police.

Pretty soon I realised it was time to head back to the library - I needed some kind of instruction. As I shoved open the rather grubby door to the flat, I noticed the old beggar from yesterday was still slumped against the wall, staring at me impassively. I couldn't help feeling a bit embarrassed - I'd been just a little bit over excited when I saw him last night, so I gave him a few bits of loose change that were rattling around in my pocket to make up for it. He took them without a word, transferring his gaze to the wall opposite. Not even a flicker of gratitude! He almost looked disdainful, honestly. I suppose I could have made some comment or other, but there really wasn't any point - hanging around on the street all the time probably wouldn't fill me with joie de vivre either.

After returning the previous library book, I returned to the magical books section and began scanning the titles. I thought of asking for anything featuring lightning bolts or any kind of cool and destructive beam, but the librarian looked like she was the type locked into a permanent state of disapproval, and I thought better of it. As I looked through the various tomes, I wondered if I'd still be able to wear black robes like before, after all, robes don't come cheap and I kind of liked the ones I'd got, despite the holes and stubborn curry stains.

Annoyingly, the number of books didn't seem as great as that for the dark magic section. That seemed to prove what I'd suspected - dark magic was way cooler. Also, the titles seemed very discouraging. Most of them seemed to be about healing, or purifying things, how lame is that? I've got nothing against healing people, of course, but you've got to admit, making large explosions has got to be more fun. Also, how many things in do you encounter on an everyday basis that actually need purifying, whatever that means? Can you return gone off yoghurt to its pristine state? How about purifying a newspaper of all it's rubbish journalism? Purification of Nigel the Gnome's dirty mind? (admittedly, that would probably be impossible). I don't know, it just doesn't sound that handy in the modern day and age, where as offering people a light at parties in the form of a great big green and purple flame that comes out of your palm in the shape of a skull has got to be a whole lot more impressive.

In the end, I managed to find a book entitled "The Dark Forces: A Practical Defence" by someone calling himself Arnold Gribbington. Arnold Gribbington? What sort of name was that for a self-respecting wizard? Where was the impressive and over complicated title followed by abnormally spelt moniker, usually followed by an arcane sounding place name? It looked a bit old and moth eaten, and full of quirky, old fashioned language and the occasional "colour plate" proudly trumpeted on the preceding page. Leafing through it, it seemed to have some fairly promising looking spells in it: making magical barriers, repelling physical attacks, neutralising enemies, the sort of thing that sounded entertaining enough to try out. It also appeared to have histories about the famous dark wizards of the past which looked pretty interesting. They'd probably make me feel a bit jealous, even though you know the wizards in question would unquestionably meet a disappointingly sticky end, right before their evil schemes came to fruition. I really must get myself some evil schemes one of these days...

Back at home, I was leafing through the book, hoping it would begin to make sense at some point in the near future. Like many an older book, it seemed to be full of pompous prefaces, complicated drills set out in tables and assumptions of previous knowledge in seemingly random areas, i.e. it took you ages to work out what the hell you were supposed to be doing with it. Plus, there was the problem of testing stuff out - it wasn't as if I had anyone to try stuff out on, though who would accept that duty was beyond me. The only spell I'd tried out so far had been the one for deflecting attacks. At least something actually happened, which was good in a way, though I'd have preferred the curtains not to have detached themselves, then shot wildly around the room and onto my face like some kind of juvenile delinquent ghosts. Yes, I did fall most impressively flat on my face, which I'm sure would have been very amusing had there been anyone there to see it. On second thoughts, maybe learning a bit of healing would be a good plan after all....

After a few hours, I got fed up with reading the book, so I decided to go and walk about randomly outside for a bit, always a good thing to do before the shift at that blasted sandwich factory started. The weather that day wasn't really that bad, just a bit overcast and gloomy, a sort of low grade unpleasantness similar to that beggar from outside the flat, who incidentally had disappeared. At least that was one good thing. A combination of gloomy weather and walking around with no particular purpose or place to go gives you a strange sort of feeling sometimes, as if you're displaced, disjointed, a sort of interloper. Everyone around you seems alien and other-worldly; they're all hurrying, intent on their own purposes, they flitter about with the restless movement of an ant hill and fade away into a sort of fog, the only sense of reality being a kind of acute introspection. I snapped out of it suddenly, though, when a familiar face hovered into view. Unfortunately, it was too late to pretend I didn't see her, which was a shame, considering the embarrassing episode the last time we met.

"Oh, err, hello there," said Maevrin.

"Umm, yes, err, hello," I replied.

Needless to say, both of us were ready to enter the Awkwardness Olympics.

"Err, how's it going?" I said, hopelessly.

"Ah... not too bad. How about you? How's the sandwich factory?"

I grimaced involuntarily at the mention of the place.

"Oh, not too bad. By the way, don't I still owe you some money?"

"Oh, err, don't worry about that," said Maevrin, shuffling, "you did loose your home, after all. A bit of loose change doesn't really matter."

"Don't worry about that," I said, as cheerfully as I could, "I've got a new place."

Maevrin appeared suddenly to remember something.

"Hey," she said, almost excited, as far as I could tell from behind her glasses, "That reminds me. That tower you used to live in, I bet you thought that wizard was going to knock it down, right?"

"Yes, he's done that already?"

"Well, I got kind of curious, I was in the general area last week, I couldn't resist taking a look."

What on earth could she possibly be doing in the general area of the howling waste? It's not exactly known for its picturesque scenery. Still, never mind.

"So, it's a big smoking crater, then?"

"No," she replied eagerly, "It's still standing!"

For a moment, I was so surprised I couldn't think of anything to say.

"That wizard's been pulverising it, by the looks of things. The whole area's been totally torn to bits, but there's not a scratch on the tower. Can you believe it?"

This was too weird for words. What the hell was going on?

"I can't understand it," I said in disbelief. I thought for a moment. One thing was certain. I just had to go over there and see for myself, though of course with the maximum possible level of sneaking.

"I'm going to go over there," I announced, "I've got to have a look. You never know, I might even somehow manage to get in there, stranger things have happened. Plus I left all my stuff there."

Maevrin looked at me, her expression unreadable behind those impenetrable glasses.

"I'll come along," she said, unexpectedly, "I can help you carry your stuff if you get back in. Don't worry, I'll not charge you."

"Why on earth do you want to come?" I said incredulously, "Not that I'm complaining, any help would be really handy, actually."

"Well," she said, shuffling about again, "You know, even stamps can get a bit boring, I need a bit of excitement now and then. You know what I mean."

Well, personally, it wasn't my idea of excitement, more like mortal terror, if that Eldrigar spotted us.

"I suppose we'd better go under cover of darkness. How about tomorrow night? I'm doing days at the factory from tomorrow. Meet in the town square at 10pm?"

Maevrin agreed, then I realised I had to hurry back to start the shift on time, so I said my goodbyes and hurried off. Isn't life a rich tapestry, eh? Just when you think things are looking a bit down, something like this happens....

***

Oh yes, just two more things to let you know, before I sign off for this exciting instalment!

Later that evening, in the factory tea room, I was grimacing my way through part one of the library book yet again, hoping the repetition would somehow make it make some kind of sense. Gorgrod the horrible troll was sitting there as usual, reading the newspaper with his finger slowly tracing the text, occasionally reading bits out which were largely ignored. Nigel the Gnome, well, you know what he was up to.

The subject of my former position as dark wizard extraordinaire came up (well, that's the impression I was trying to give, it passes the time) and I couldn't resist bringing up the subject of tomorrow night's nocturnal escapade. To my surprise, Nigel the Gnome wanted to come along to help me carry stuff, provided he got to keep anything from the tower I didn't want. That's assuming we could actually get in, which remains a bit doubtful. Still, I supposed the more the merrier, it somehow made it seem less likely that I'd need a change of underpants during the coming mission.

I decided the technical parts of the book were giving me a headache, so I switched over to the historical wizard section. I noticed, with interest, that the first wizard featured was the legendary Venedir Telvarin himself, who of course was the one who'd given Sir Henry his abnormal appearance all those years ago. Come to think of it, I was a bit hazy about his life story, even though he was incredibly famous. Bit of an exception to the whole accepted pattern of magic in general. Nobody in history had ever had the power to do anything other than becoming a kind of localised menace, at which point they would generally get defeated by some kind of heroic action of some sort. Actually, looking at it, it was almost depressingly predictable, you kind of wondered why people ever bothered with any serious effort at taking over the world. Anyway, that's the way the world that we (or rather I) live in is set up. The exception was Telvarin.

I read through the short section. How Telvarin's childhood and place of birth was a complete unknown, yet later he'd become a dark wizard of note in the region of Calgaran, eventually rising to such incredible power that he was able to utterly destroy the combined forces of several nations sent against him. After that, it was acknowledged he ran everything, there was no resisting his will, despite a few hopelessly failed assassination attempts. He became entirely reclusive in his later years, and nobody was known to have seen his face in the last twenty years he was active. Though it was true that Telvarin only every really acted in self defence, the period he cast his god-like power over the world was regarded as a dark and fearful time. Most mysteriously of all, one day he had simply disappeared, and was never seen again.

It was then, unexpectedly, that I ran into a passage that made my blood run cold.

Come to think of it, had I ever actually heard of anyone able to do what was mentioned in the passage? Yes, I had. Only one person. The passage read:

"Venedir Telvarin was known and feared from very early in his career for the three chief powers he possessed at that point. First was his ability to unleash incredible destruction by way of a beam of pure energy, said to be bright purple in colour and dazzling to the eye.

Second was his ability to fly by way of a cloud that surrounded his legs, also of a purplish colour.

Third was his complete mastery of self-transfiguration, commonly known as shape-shifting."

Suddenly, the darkness outside seemed incomparably darker than it had been, like a black abyss, ready to swallow me without a trace. I had the awful feeling I'd uncovered something serious, especially as I'd idiotically agreed to go back to Zarfang the very next night.

Just who exactly was the man who had kicked me out of my home?

It's Limpet time (break it down now)

Hello, my minions, it is I, The Limpet! Bow before my great presence! Yeah!

OK, sorry I asked; be seated, my minions. If you're wondering why I just did that grandiose intro, the reason is this.... (four dot pause) The Limpet's making a comeback! Yes, it's that long awaited good/pretty good day I've been waiting for for all too long now, after the long succession of bad/diabolical days I've come to get used to.

As I stated in my previous post, I'm fed up with Barry the Gnome and his evil sandwich empire, despite only being a part of it for a few weeks. Yes, I foresee better times ahead, in which there should be no need to end up knee deep in entrails due to a blockage in meat reclamation. An end to pilchards!

Anyway, I went down to the library to try and find some fresh inspiration on the magical front. It wasn't one of those flash, city-ish libraries with all the fancy stuff, no, it was one of those small town, out of the way kind of libraries, where any enquiry is regarded as a deliberate attempt to spoil the great time the librarians were having previous to your arrival. By great time, I mean discussing the merits of various labelling systems in hushed tones, or something like that.

When I'd finally managed to sign up as a member, I made my way through the uncomfortable, dusty silences to the magical tomes section. I noticed the library copy of the Obsidian Tome was on the shelves, generally regarded as the most fundamental work on the subject of dark magic, the dark magic bible you might say. To tell you the truth, I personally could never get on with it. I'll never forgive it for coming up with such a silly name for me when I suck my finger into it to find the first word I came to, which is the supposed method that masterless dark mages have used to derive their name of power for several millennia. The innate arcane power of the text is supposed to help out the acolyte in this task, I think the thing had it in for me, what's worse, the section my finger alighted on told me that Limpets don't even have any practical magical use except the alleviation of that smell you get if you've been eating too much asparagus. Yes, hilarious, I'm sure. I can't help wishing there was a way of getting back at that book...

I had a quick look through the titles on offer.

"The dark testament of the Shadowed Monk" - no, that was a load of rubbish, that monk had been hitting the elderberry wine too much, as well as himself on the head if you asked me.

"101 practical summonings" - no, that was no use, never really cared for the idea of summoning, and recent experience had backed that conviction up.

"Teach yourself Diabolical Incantations" - yes, I'd had a copy of that in Zarfang - couldn't make head nor tail of the pronunciation guide. How the hell are you supposed to pronounce "Phzrzrshharggl" anyway, whether it's the name of some obscure ancient god or not?

"Ways and Signs of the Occluded Ones" - this looked promising, but when I opened it up, I found someone had written a whole load of obscene haikus all over the margins, personally I didn't know such a poetic style was even possible, plus it kind of ruined whole occult feel of the book.

In the end I settled on "Modern Sorcery of the Shadow, a revised approach", by Third Archon Zalgaris of Hagamandron, which sounded just the job. Maybe it had just been the teaching methods used in these old fashioned books that been the cause of my problems all along. Plus, this new one had FLOW DIAGRAMS, you can't get much better than that.

The afternoon found me lying on the bed, alternately reading the book and making increasingly awkward attempts at following the instructions. Curses! I thought it would work this time! The instructions said to focus your malign spirit into a point to create a miniature fireball. However, the liberal amount of straining I was engaging in led to nothing except a sudden and alarming internal sensation possibly indicating an impending hernia. Why does nothing ever seem to work? The desire to strangle Harry potter flitted disturbingly across my conciousness. I threw the book aside petulantly, thinking I'd give it a go later.

* * *

It was a normal day in the tea room at Barry the Gnome's sandwich manufactuary, if such a place could ever really be described as "normal". Nigel the Gnome was squinting and grimacing horribly at some unsavoury publication or other, thankfully I hadn't yet witnessed the contents of this one - the expressions on the face of the reader were enough to put me off the already questionable sandwich I was eating as I read through the library book once more.

You know, I never really thought I'd ever meet a young gnome. Funnily enough, I thought they always came pre-wizened with the archetypal bulbous nose and cunning, artificer type fingers. This one was youthful, usually slightly sweaty without any apparent reason and had an unhealthily public interest in adult magazines. Still, Nigel the Gnome's not so bad - he's got a good sense of humour and healthy dislike for the management (despite being some distant relation of Barry the Gnome) which helps the day pass quickly, by way of a bit of synchronised moaning.

Just then, Gorgrod the troll shambled his repugnant, pot-bellied form into the room. Just for your information, not all trolls are stupid, but I think this one was even before he took to heavy drinking about 40 years ago. He had a truly remarkable smell, almost a sickly, sweet sort of odour, probably caused by the fact that he had never been known on any occasion to have changed his shirt. One of the things I like to do to pass the time during my lunch break is to attempt a sane and sensible conversation with him, under no circumstances bursting out laughing during the attempt. This is harder than it sounds, and today's attempt looked doomed to failure based on Gorgrod's first line.

He slammed the door, shuffled over to the kettle and made himself a cup of coffee. Then, sitting down heavily, he said:

"I've lost me flip-flaps."

After a few internal convulsions, I attempted to reply.

"Umm, what exactly are 'flip-flaps?'"

"Flip-flaps!" he bellowed back, small eyes meeting mine with an expressionless intensity, like those of an Orang-Utan. "Flip-flaps, for feet. Goin' on holiday."

I thought for a moment.

"Do you mean flip-flops?"

The troll paused for a moment.

"Yes!"

Well, what witty and insightful repartee that was. Nigel put down his magazine.

"So, where're you going?" he asked.

Gorgrod held up a holiday brochure for him to see. Nigel's gnomish features assumed an expression of surprise.

"Blimey, that's a bit steep - that place? You must need your bloody head examined"

He was right there, that was long overdue. Gorgrod made an non-committal grunting noise. Doubtless the inside of the local bars was all he was likely to see.

"That's that place that bird off the them wossname films goes, isn't it?" Nigel continued, "You know, I heard when she goes in her hotel, she has to have fifty white lilies delivered fresh to her rooms every time, a special attendant just to hand her her towels and no less than seven different types of meat and a specialist masseur for her dog. What do you think of that, then?"

Gorgrod's face assumed an expression of disgust. He disliked all that was ostentatious intensely. He turned to me and grinned horribly, exposing green teeth arranged like tombstones after three hundred years of weathering and subsidence, a sly expression passing across his revolting countenance.

"I'd like to go in there," he said, "And have a good FART!"

That was too much for me, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. So that was operation "normal conversation" over for another day.

" 'Ere, what's that book?" said Nigel, who'd noticed the one I was reading.

"Oh, this?" I said. "Nothing, just a bit of a hobby of mine"

" 'Ere that's a dark magic book, that is, in't it? You been doing dark magic? I had an uncle what tried that, blew his eyebrows off, grew back the wrong way up. Didn't half look a pillock."

I figured I might as well tell him, it's not as if it really mattered.

"Well, I used to do a bit of it," I said, casually, "I wasn't any good, really. Used to have a tower, though."

Nigel the Gnome looked slightly impressed, which I found kind of gratifying.

"So what happened to your tower?" he said eagerly.

"Oh, well, some wizard came by and kicked me out of it. It's probably rubble by now."

Nigel looked disappointed.

"Well, if you ever get back into the magic business, give us a tinkle - I've got a mate who can do you some discount potion stuff, you know," he tapped his finger on his nose, "Fell off the back of a lorry, that sort of stuff, eh, eh?"

"Err, yeah, I'll bear it mind," I said, trying to sound vague and mysterious. Just then, the factory siren sounded, and it was time to fire up the offal boilers once again.

***

Later that evening, I was back at the flat, lying on my bed and once again trying to make sense of the book. The much vaunted flow diagrams didn't seem to make as much sense as I'd hoped. Then, out of the blue, there was a sudden snapping sound that made me nearly jump out of my skin, and who should have appeared, but Sir Henry the Brussels Sprout, standing there in his customary costume on the headboard of the bed.

"What ho!", he said, jovially. I think Nigel had a magazine called that, come to think of it.

"Not disturbing anything, am I? Just popped by to see how you were getting along!"

He looked around the room.

"I say, this isn't the same place as before, is it?"

"No, I've, err, moved." I replied, with the usual slight uncertainty I felt I really should maintain when addressing animated plant matter.

"What's that you've got there?", he said, spotting the book. "Dark magic? You know, my dear fellow, you really shouldn't be bothering with all that dark magic balderdash! I don't mean to be rude, but any fool could see you're not dark magic material."

Honestly, one moment he appears, the next moment, he's making out I'm useless! Plus, does anyone else think he's bizarrely over familiar? Just asking. Anyway, the feeling must have showed on my face.

"No, no, dear boy!" said Sir Henry floridly, jumping alarmingly to land on my shoulder. Coming into such close proximity with him was slightly disturbing, but he certainly seemed in an energetic mood, compared with the last time I'd seen him.

"No, no, dear boy" he said, "I don't mean that you couldn't be any good at magic at all! You must remember, I've read all the finest books on the subject of wizardry and the related arts, though it hasn't done me much good, I admit. No, what I'm saying is that you're barking up the wrong tree entirely. Haven't you ever considered following in your Great Uncle's footsteps?"

"Well, err, now you mention it, that's kind of the reason I wanted to be a dark wizard in the first place."

I spoke rather awkwardly, trying to keep my face away from the strange apparition perched so uncomfortably close. Sir Henry hopped from foot to foot excitedly.

"And didn't I tell you he was a wizard of the light?" he said.

"Well, yes, I suppose you did," I replied, "But I didn't really know that when I started out. My family weren't really into wizards, for some reason - they made out he was pretty bad, so I thought he'd have been a dark wizard. Plus, I always kind of liked the idea of dressing in black, living in a tower, riding around on dragons, that sort of thing...."

Sir Henry gave a contemptuous snort.

"What would your Great Uncle have said? Your aura is all wrong, you're not even vaguely vindictive enough to be able to cut the mustard. Why on earth haven't you ever thought of trying a bit of light magic?"

Hmm. The problem I'd always had with that is the whole image thing. "Dark Magic" - this gives the impression of heavy metal chords and thunderbolts, "Light Magic" this gives the image of someone prancing about in sky blue saying and things like, "the path to goodness lies in every human heart!". In short, even the name of it is a bit rubbish. "Still," I thought, "I suppose I've got nothing to loose."

"Well, OK, I'll give it a quick go. Can you show me what to do?"

"Of course, my boy, of course," boomed the sprout, hopping to the foot of the bed, his cape flapping behind him, "We'll soon find out if you've got the knack."

Sir Henry folded his arms, and assumed a lecturing tone.

"As you are, I'm sure, well aware, the most fundamental power of the light is to dispel the shadows of dark places. So therefore it follows that the most elementary light power is to summon physical light itself. All you have to do is close your eyes and feel the energy right down in the heart of your body, and very slowly and gradually tease it out along your arm and into the tip of your finger, where you focus it, eventually sparking a source of light."

"Oh." I said, not really thinking of anything much more intelligent than that. There was nothing else for it, I closed my eyes and gave it a go.

For a while, nothing at all seemed to be happening, but Sir Henry kept on making encouraging noises, so I thought I'd better keep on trying. After a while, I began to imagine what it might feel like if I actually did have some kind of inner force flowing from within, and all of a sudden it felt almost as if I had; like glowing spiral filaments of energy amidst deep black. I suddenly realised these glowing filaments were entirely following my invisible thoughts, though it was impossible to tell clearly if the thoughts were shaping the filaments, or the filaments the thoughts. Yes, OK, sorry if I'm getting a bit Luke Skywaker on yo ass, but it was a pretty (if vaguely) profound moment. I realised I could indeed draw the energy out into my arm, into my finger, and then....

I opened my eyes, to see Sir Henry's grinning face from the vantage point he'd resumed on the headboard. His face, and the entire room was lit by a brilliant, pure white light, and the light was, unbelievably, coming from a dazzling pinpoint of light at the end of my outstretched finger. At the sight of this, I was understandably overcome with excitement.

"I can't believe it," I said, breathlessly, staring at the incandescent mote of light, "I've actually done some magic!"

"There you go," said Sir Henry, proudly, "I told you it was worth a try, good show!"

My attention wavered, and the light flickered out, but it didn't matter. This called for some celebration!

1. Three times around the room shouting, "Woo!"
2. Knee slides with the occasional "Get in!"
3. Throwing open of window and bellowing stuff like "The Limpet had returned!" or "Look out world!"

Actually, rather disappointingly, the only person out in the street was a rather sour looking old beggar over the other side of the road, who only stared sullenly at me, despite my shouting "Yeah!" at him multiple times. I returned to my sproutish acquaintance.

"Will you teach me some more?" I asked him. "Preferably something involving lightning bolts this time?"

Sir Henry assumed a somewhat coy expression.

"Hmm, I might be persuaded to," he said. "Do you have any... liquor by any chance, hmm?"

"I've got half a bottle of whiskey somewhere," I said, and went to find it. Sir Henry, against all expectations for his size, was able to pick up the bottle. He stared at it for a short while, then said:

"See you later!" and promptly vanished. Was that all he had really come for?

Still, even the customary, inexplicable and altogether utterly unnecessary dire smell that heralded his passing couldn't dampen my spirits one bit.

THE LIMPET'S MAKING A COMEBACK.....