Return of The Limpet!

Well, hello, greetings and the usual. Yes, it is I once more, the great and mystic master of, well, nearly... well, OK it's me again. It probably hasn't escaped your attention that posts on here have been a bit thin on the ground in recent times. Never fear! The Great Limpet does not desert his minions in their hour of need, I have returned, if not triumphantly then, well, at least I'm here. I think the recent bout of uncontrolled dimensional travel has caused an inevitable delay in the turbo-hyper-spacial-node-relay-uplink on my computer, or something like that. Come on, don't spoil my fun by saying I made that up, even if I did. That's the best explanation I can come up with, so I'm sticking to it. Having said that, maybe "turbo" didn't sound too convincing... Anyway, without further ado, on with the show!

Theme music: DA DA DA DEE DADA DE DA DUM! [montage of me messing various things up, Grott doing his trademark gurn, complex expressions of disbelief from Maevrin, Nigel emerging slowly from the bread bin]

Announcer: Ladies and gentlemen, it's Thurs-a-day night, it's-a half past two, It's time for... THE IVAN THE LIMPET SHOW!!!!!

I emerge through a curtain of shiny plastic strips, wearing a white top hat and tails and proceed to dance down a flight of fake marble steps which light up as I tap them with my wildly flourishing cane. Cheesy big band music blares, along with taped audience applause. The music ends with a flourish as I do a little turn on the spot, having reached center stage - this garners a whoop from the fake audience and increases my ghastly Pan Am smile by twenty percent.

"Well, good evening guys and gals!" I proclaim stridently in a strange, mid-Atlantic accent, "It's mighty fine you all came along! And have we got a show for you tonight!"

The audience whoops again. Was that the exact same sound recording as five seconds ago?

"But first, let me give you a quick round-up for those viewers unlucky enough to miss our previous shows. Our intrepid hero is currently travelling through space and time, trying to avoid the end of the universe!

Crowd track : Oooooh!

"Yes, that's right, folks! But where has Grott taken him this week? One things for sure, if their destination is more craaaazy adventures, we sure won't be disappointed! Right?"

Audience : general affirmative "YEAH!"

"Then, without further ado, on with the show!"

The annoying brass section strikes up again as the view starts to distort and fade...


***


The annoying brassy noise just seemed to get louder and louder and more and more discordant as everything else faded. What on earth was going on? Hang on a minute...

I opened my eyes to reveal the bedroom ceiling, but the strangulated trumpety noise refused to abate. I turned over and got the first shock of the day - Nigel standing on the chest of draws beside the bed and attempting to play a large trombone, his face red, cheeks and eyes bulging alarmingly.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" I asked, understandably slightly put out at being woken up by unauthorised brass music first thing in the morning. I personally thought the whole "dream merging into noise that's happening in reality as you wake up" type thing only happened in movies and dodgy old cartoons.

Nigel removed the trombone from his lips, sweat trickling down his brow from his efforts.

"It's a trombone," he said, blowing a ridiculous little sound on the thing as if to prove it - the sort that might accompany a clown falling over backwards.

I put my hands to my face and drew them down, groaning.

"How about we actually don't let this whole conversation run its course with a tedious, numbing and pointless inevitability - how does that sound? I suppose my next line is 'I can see it's a trumpet, what are you doing playing it in my bedroom at the crack of dawn?' And what would your witty comeback to that one be?"

Nigel looked slightly hurt.

"Found it down the back of an old cupboard. Thought it might come in handy for waking you up in the morning. It's not the crack of dawn as well, you lazy sod. We've been up for ages. Thought I'd better get you out of bed, you see, 'cos we've arrived somewhere."

"We have?" I said, jumping out of bed.

"Blimey," said Nigel, "Look at the state of you. Those have got to be the worst pyjamas I've ever seen. Where the hell did you get them from?"

"Shut up," I said, trumpeting gnomes momentarily forgotten as I strode over to the window.

I looked out. I wasn't really that surprised to see a strange landscape stretching out around the tower. A rocky, rugged sort of country met my eyes, bathed in bright morning sunlight - craggy lumps of stone dotted with patches of rough grass and small clusters of pristine pine trees. Actually, the view looked quite attractive, like some kind of poster advertising a national park or something. Or at least it would have looked that way if it hadn't been for the assortment of large buildings that appeared to be embedded solidly in the landscape at all sorts of odd angles, as if they'd simply materialised there, intersecting the ground like some badly programmed graphics. I realised suddenly that they were all theatres, most of them ornate but all seeming weathered, as if they had been in their present state for some time. I could clearly make out the sign above the front entrance of the nearest building, though it was facing almost up towards the sky. "Charrington Wick Variety Theatre", it proclaimed in large, black letters. Another ornate structure nearby, which was sunken into the ground at a crazy angle announced itself as "The Crubblewade-on-Sea Pavillion Music Hall". A few of the lights around the sign appeared to be flickering weakly.

"Well," I said as I pulled back from the window, "What sort of freaky, messed up place have we ended up in this time?"

I wasn't entirely predisposed to be in a good mood that morning - after all, I'd only just recently received news of the imminent end of the universe, that does tend to put a bit of a cramp on your style, especially when you end up wandering around the dimensions at the mercy of a small wizened lunatic that used to serve you coffee. How should I say this - it doesn't exactly leave you with a deep sense of satisfaction in the direction your life's taking, take it from me.

"I dunno," said Nigel, still standing on the chest of draws, still clutching his trombone. "Does look a bit weird, don't it? I personally say we round up that Grott, or whatever he's called and get him to send us back home. I mean, yeah, we might all get killed by that wizard, if he finds us, but it's not like we can do anything about it. He can just take his tower and shove off somewhere with it, can't he?"

"Yeah, that doesn't sound so bad," I said, sitting down on the chair by the computer. Talking about going home was strange, as this was, in fact, my home, though it certainly didn't feel like it when it was hurtling around the universe like a time lord with ADD. Actually, though I agreed with Nigel, I realised that in all probability we couldn't do as he said - Grott had told me he needed me to help power the tower and stop it falling into Eldrigar's hands, so I at least was stuck here for the foreseeable future. Still, right now there didn't seem to be much that was foreseeable about the future at all...

"I take it there hasn't been any sign of Grott?" I asked.

"Nah, but I expect he'll show up again soon enough, he usually seems to. Come on, let's have a bit of breakfast. How do you fancy beans?"

He blew a loud blast on his trombone (I made a mental note to destroy it at the first opportunity I got) then hopped down on to the floor and scampered out of the door.

"Oh well," I thought, "At least Grott said the universe wouldn't end while we were hanging around here."

Once again, the great gift of ignoring things had cheered me up no end.

***

I met the others downstairs. Gorgrod, Nigel and I shared yet another plate of baked beans, which I was well on the way to getting totally sick of. Whatever the strange place was that we'd ended up in this time, I hoped we'd be able to pick up a bit of food. One thing we all agreed - that after what happened the last time we'd left the tower, there was no way we'd go out without this time getting Grott to come along with us. That at least would mean whatever weird and unpleasant things happened to us, with any luck they'd happen to Grott as well. Maevrin seemed relatively upbeat - I had been slightly worried the last experience had left her a bit drained. I resolved I'd get her, at least, back to somewhere safe at the first opportunity, it really wasn't fair to make her carry on following me around in the bizarre existence we now found ourself in.

Just as we were finishing the washing up, Grott appeared, as if from nowhere, a beaming grin on his unpleasantly gnarled face.

"How are we all doing this morning," he said obsequiously, almost bowing.

"Where did you come from!" said Nigel, who had jumped at Grott's sudden appearance and nearly dropped a plate.

"That'll get him back for that blasted trombone," I thought, sniggering inwardly.

"OK then, Grott. Where have you brought us?", I said out loud.

"Oh, this place," replied Grott, as if it was something of so little importance he'd almost forgotten about it. "I don't think you should worry about this place at all. I told you I wanted to take you somewhere you could relax for a bit in safety. Trust me, I've been here before, I'm sure you'll find it in some way entertaining. Looking after a tower that can defy the laws of physics does have some advantages after all."

I opened my mouth to reply, but Grott cut me off.

"Now, I know what you're about to say, and rest assured, I'll be coming with you this time. Just as soon as I've changed."

Grott shot from the room with unnerving speed, returning less than a minute later in full Victorian explorer costume, complete with pith helmet.

We stared at him in silence for a moment.

"Well, it makes it more fun," said Grott, as if that was an adequate explanation.

"You know," said Nigel, "For a soulless, immortal creation of come god-like arch-mage, you really are a bit of a nutter."

Grott shot back a slightly unnerving grin, which seemed to say "you don't know the half of it."

***

About half an hour later, we set off from Zarfang, Grott leading the way cheerfully.

"I found this place by accident," he was saying, "It was much like yesterday's regrettable incident - I was on the way past, and simply ran into it."

"So what is this place, then?" asked Maevrin.

"You'll see," he said cheerfully, "all I can say is, the universe is a strange, strange place."

We walked on in silence after Grott, not exactly encouraged his words. There were no paths, we simply carried straight on, avoiding the larger rocks and other obstacles, skirting around the side of one of the mysterious embedded theatres. It was really odd to be walking beside something so incongruous to the landscape, but everything seemed very peaceful - there was no sense of danger or impending weirdness. That was, at least, until we encountered the door. It was a large and quite nondescript wooden door which wouldn't have been out of place just about anywhere, only that finding it standing there on its own in a patch of grass with no visible sign of any support was a little bit unexpected.

Grott looked over his shoulder at us, waggling his eyebrows. We looked at each other dubiously as we drew closer to the mysterious door. As we approached, I noticed the pattern in the wood was slightly peculiar. If I hadn't known better, I'd have said those knot holes in the middle were almost like eyes, that mark below was almost like...

"Oh, no," I thought, "It hasn't got a..."

"Oh, hello there," said the door in a sullen voice. Yes, it did indeed have a face. "It's you again, and you've brought some friends I see. Just so you know, I'm not doing any today, I'm sorry, but I'm not. I'm not in the mood for it, but I don't mind you hanging about the place. Nice to have a bit of a change of company, it is."

We stood behind Grott, looking at the talking door in dismay and wondering where things were going to go from there. How exactly do you address a door? Woodenly? Oh, OK, I'll shut up.

"Hello there, Charlie," said Grott, warmly, "Where are all the rest of your friends?"

"Oh, I'm sure they'll turn up soon enough, once they hear you've come back again. It's been quite a while, how've you been doing?"

Grott and the door then proceeded to launch into a long and tedious conversation of the sort that two old women might carry out over a garden wall. We couldn't help feeling a bit awkward.

"Anybody got any bright ideas about what the hell we're doing here?" asked Nigel after a while, quietly so as not to be overheard by Grott.

"Well, no, not really," I replied. "You know, I can't help wondering if all those years of isolation have made our old friend Grott go a bit... peculiar."

"You can say that again," said Nigel, eyeing the small figure in front of him with an unfriendly eye.

"Hold on," said Maevrin, "what's happening now?"

"Here we are," said Charlie the talking door, "Someone's coming through."

At this point, the door swung open, revealing a complex swirling pattern of black and white. Out of this appeared a short, fat, middle aged man with a large, grinning face. He was dressed in an ill fitting suit that appeared to have been selected for deliberate comic effect.

"'Ow yer doin' lads!" said the man in a thick northern accent. "'Ey up! 'Appen if it ain't old Grott! I shall 'ave to tell the mother in law - you know, I haven't spoken to 'er in 18 months. Didn't like to interrupt."

He didn't seem bothered that we didn't laugh at his depressing joke, as we instead stood there staring at him, bemused.

"Err, I don't really know what's going on here, but I'm Ivan, and these are my friends Nigel the Gnome, Maevrin and Gorgrod. Who might you be, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Nay, lad, I ain't mithered," said the man. "My name," he said grandly, "Is Trumblebert Scrubb."

"Err, pleased to meet you, said Maevrin.

"Pleasure's all mine, my lass. 'Ere, I went down 't chemist yesterday and tried to buy some arsenic, but they wouldn't let me 'ave none. 'Appen 't picture of me mother in law weren't enough."

Maevrin looked shocked.

"Is she really that bad?" she asked, apparently in all seriousness. I don't know, maybe she hadn't ever encountered awful comedy acts in the past.

"Bad? Bad! There were a bloke up 't road that were told 'ee had six months to live. He moved in wi' us cos living wi' her, six months wud seem like forever!"

"Oh my god," I said to Nigel out of the corner of my mouth, the full horror of the joke fully sinking in "if he keeps this up, I'm going to go mad."

Thankfully, we were spared by the arrival through the door of a man in a straw hat and stripy suit, who was playing the same chords repeatedly on a miniature banjo and grinning toothily. He was accompanied by a ventriloquists dummy that was walking about on its own.

"Oh my god," said Maevrin, "That's too creepy."

"Hey!" said the dummy in a squeaky, indignant voice, "I'm not creepy! How about I leave you alone with him and his flippin' mother-in-law jokes!"

"Alright, alright, she's very sorry," I said hurriedly, anxious the threat might actually be carried through. I decided that continuously asking what was going on was getting a little pointless, and decided to just go along with it all. From the expressions on the faces of my companions, they'd evidently decided to do the same (except Gorgrod, whose expression never changed based on what was going on around him).

The new arrivals greeted Nigel warmly, and a few moments later the door opened again. There emerged a strange, flickery figure coloured entirely in black and white. It moved oddly, slightly too quickly, but seemed friendly enough, doffing its hat and mugging at us silently. I almost shouted out loud in surprise as all of a sudden, I was plunged into absolute blackness. Had I been struck suddenly blind? Thankfully, almost immediately there appeared in front of me some enormous, flickery white letters, bordered by a white square which read:

"Hello!"

The next moment, my vision returned to normal.

"Don't worry," said the ventriloquist's dummy amiably, apparently having forgotten its earlier affront, "He doesn't talk to much. Saves us having to look at his words all the time."

There next emerged a sort of conjuring type man, who kept pulling various bits of coloured paper out of his sleeves, waving a magic wand all over the place and twirling his moustache. For some reason, he was accompanied by an otter walking on its hind legs. It's shiny black eyes met mine briefly for a moment.

"Hey, mon." it said casually, in a rich West Indian accent.

Next came another stripy suited man, this one rather rotund, with a round, shiny face and thin, pointy moustache.

"I say, I say, I say!" he bellowed, bobbing up and down, "My wife's gone to Saint Petersburg!"

"Is she Russian?" called back the man with all the mother-in-law jokes.

"No, she's taking her time!"

The sound of the short drum roll and cymbal crash coming out of nowhere made us all jump. Good grief! What sort of place was this?

"Have you figured out where we are yet?" asked Grott, who had sidled up beside me.

"I don't know, the land of terrible jokes?" I asked.

"They all kind of represent old fashioned types of entertainment that aren't mainstream any more, don't they?", said Maevrin.

Grott looked surprised.

"Ah, yes, well done", he said, his beady black eyes full of admiration, "You're almost right - it's good to know you aren't all stupid."

He gave me a stare. What was he trying to imply!?

Before I had a chance to complain, he carried on speaking, standing there in his pith helmet like Sir David Attenborough talking about a snake.

"This place seems to be a sort of afterlife - where the spirits of jaded old comedy acts go when all the creativity has drained out of them."

"Oh, I see," said Nigel, as if he had the slightest right to pretend this made any logical sense at all, "So he's supposed to be the spirit of dodgy banjo playing acts, that flickery guy over there is the spirit of silent comedy, and that geezer in the dodgy suit is the spirit of mother-in-law jokes."

"I am, that, aye," said the man.

Honestly, what a way to spend a day - hanging out with the physical embodiment of mother-in-law jokes.

"Alright then," I said, "if that's true, what's the bloody otter in aid of?"

"Ah ham de spirit of de dodgy accent dat everybody 'tink a bit racist dese days, mon," said the otter.

"And would it be appropriate to ask why you are an otter, maybe?"

"Nien! Zat is so zat I do not haf to appear to overtly racist and get ze blog you are writink shut down!"

"What?" I said in disbelief, "How did you know about that?"

"Because I also haf ze ability of breaking ze fourth wall for ze comic effect, ya? Bonjourno, all-a the readers! Mama mia! Give-a me some pasta!"

"OK, " I said, turning away quickly to preserve my fading sanity, "What about the door, then?"

"Oh come on," said the door in an exasperated voice, "Haven't you figured it out yet? Don't make me do the one about Doctor Who."

"The one about Doctor Who... Oh, I see."

Just then, the door burst open and two flying Punch and Judy puppets came hurtling out, zooming around our heads and cackling hysterically.

"Grott," I said, "why did you bring us here? Why does this place even exist?"

"I already answered the first question," he replied, "And as for the second, I told you, the universe is a funny old place."

"So what do we do now, then?" I said, sitting down weakly on a nearby rock.

"Well, I'm sure the guys here would only be too keen to do a show for you. They don't get to perform to anyone these days, and performing is the reason for their existence in the first place. Anyway, without further ado, on with the show!"

There was nothing else for it. The others joined me on the large rock, and as if by some unspoken cue the performance began. I can't really recount to you the structure of it, because there didn't appear to be any. All I can say is there were a lot of stripy suits, comedy banjos, terrible gags and a man who did impersonations of pre-war politicians using only his tuba. The otter made the odd cameo performance as various "comedy foreigners" of the sort that were very much in demand in the seventies. Everyone seemed to chip in at random moments - it was like the comedy equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting. The only ones that didn't join in were the door, which had leant itself sulkily against a tree, and the ventriloquist's dummy, which had sat itself beside us, spoiling the performance somewhat by chain smoking large and foul smelling cigars and heckling the performers shrilly. Grott seemed to be enjoying himself, whooping and rocking backwards and forwards in a slightly alarming way, but I supposed when you're many hundreds of years old you probably get a taste for that sort of thing.

At length, the bizarre act reached its end - a rendition of "Down at the Old Bull and Bush" by Punch and Judy, accompanied by the black and white silent comedy man, who made his dialogue plates come up at the key moments. We all clapped as the strange entities took a bow - there didn't really seem to be anything else to do.

Grott burbled his way off to mingle with the performers. I turned to my companions quickly.

"Let's get out of here at the first opportunity, this place is too odd."

The others nodded in emphatic agreement.

"How about we see if we can get some food off them before we go," suggested Maevrin, "If they even eat, of course. Then we can get out of here and decide what to do with ourselves."

That didn't sound like a bad plan at all. We had to break off our conversation hurriedly, as the various strange characters were approaching us again.

"Did you like our show?" said the banjo man, eagerly.

"Yes, yes!" I replied, wondering if they'd all suddenly erupt into hideous betentacled monsters if I said no.

We had a strange few hours hanging out with the various spirits of old-school comedy. I managed to offend the Otter by making fun of him saying "where's me wallaby?". Nigel lost an arm-wrestling contest with the ventriloquist dummy, which he was quite put out by, then him and Gorgrod shared a bottle of this stuff called "Glucose Stout", produced by the spirit of mother-in-law jokes. Actually, the spirit of mother-in-law jokes turned out to be quite helpful, he gave us a nice hamper of rather 1960's issue food which he retrieved from the mysterious other side of the door, plus I managed to stop him telling me who'd inevitably made it for him by screaming suddenly, then explain I had a disease which caused me to scream uncontrollably at random moments. It seemed to work – try it yourself sometime.

Well, everything seemed to be going well, or at least as well as you could expect in the circumstances. That was, at least, until I decided to say something that brought the visit to an unexpected conclusion.

I was in conversation with the ventriloquist's dummy, who of all the odd denizens of that place was capable of holding a relatively rational conversation.

"It gets so dull here, you know," he was saying, pausing as his mechanical jaw clamped unconvincingly on his cigar to take another draw, "We've got nobody to perform to, nothing much to do with ourselves. Presumably the Creator had a sense of humour, that's why we're here in the first place."

I thought for a minute. It had to be said that the various characters around these parts hadn't been bad to us, and the 1960's issue food would provide a very welcome alternative to the emergency apocalypse relief bean supply.

"Well," I said, "Maybe you just need a fresh look at things. I mean, the kind of entertainment you lot represent went out of fashion ages ago, most people aren't interested in it. How about taking it in a new direction?"

"What do you mean?" asked the dummy, his glassy little eyes intent on my own.

"Children's TV," I said, "Have you tried that? Those kids will laugh at just about anything, though you might have to tone down the dodgy accents and, err, the exploits of that man over there," I said, casting my eye in the direction of the spirit of mother-in-law jokes.

The ventriloquist's dummy's face took on an indescribable expression, like he'd had some kind of rapture (or rupture), which was quite a surprising thing to see on a face that had been carved out of a block of mahogany.

"That's a great idea," he said, jumping to his feet and dropping his cigar in excitement. "Hey lads, how about this - we get on a kids TV show!"

The various spirits suddenly looked very excited. Then, something began to happen. They all began to glow around the edges, a strange humming sound filling the air.

"Yes!" said someone, "We're going back! We're going back to the real world!"

All of a sudden, the door had flung itself open, and a blazing white light surged from the opening, which the spirits started to fling themselves into with cheers and whoops.

"Well, so long!" shouted the ventriloquist's dummy, who was the last to go, "Look out for us! See you!"

With that, he jumped into the light and vanished. The door slammed shut.

"Thank you!" said the door, and promptly disappeared with a loud thumping noise.

We stood a while in silence.

"Err," said Nigel, "What just happened?"

Before anyone had a chance to answer, a disturbing rumbling sound began, which was rapidly joined by a collection of ominous creaking and fracturing sounds. We could feel them vibrating up from the ground beneath us.

I turned to Grott, and wasn't entirely happy to note his wild-eyed expression of panic.

"What have you done!?" he squeaked in fear, "Without the inhabitants, this place will collapse - it'll take us with it!"

"Oh," I said, "This would be the part where we start running, right?"

"Get back to the tower!" came the shout from Grott's rapidly retreating back. The ground started to shake alarmingly as we caught each other's eyes for a split second, then turned as one and dashed frantically in the direction of the tower. A swirling vortex appeared to be forming in the sky above us, sending out dark tendrils of energy which began to flicker across the landscape like the lightning in a plasma ball. In short, it didn't look good.

Zarfang's reassuring black outline grew closer. I couldn't resist looking over my shoulder as I ran, which I regretted almost immediately. The buildings that were embedded in the landscape were being wrenched out of the ground, floating through the air ponderously before being sucked into the vortex in a stream of shattered bricks and tiles. I snapped my head back round and tried to increase my speed, cursing that my idiotic curiosity had caused me to fall behind the others.

An enormous rend shot across the landscape right in front of me with an ear-splitting crash. I realised then with a chill feeling that I might not actually make it. I had to leap across a rapidly widening chasm, the entire section of land that I'd just been running on disappearing into the void. The others were almost at the door. I saw Nigel jump inside, followed closely by Gorgrod, who was faster than he looked. Maevrin turned as she reached the doorstep, looking back in horror at me running up hill as the ground collapsed beneath me. The situation was not looking good - I could feel the force drawing me back - another few seconds and I'd be as non-existent as Gorgrod's personal hygiene.

There was nothing else for it. I jumped.

For the second time that day, something happened that I'd thought only happened in the movies. As if in slow motion, Maevrin jumped towards me, her hands locking with mine, just as Gorgrod grabbed hold of her shoes. Nigel rode on his back, waving his arms like some kind of demented jockey. We all hung there for a moment like a Christmas decoration defying the attack of the Anti-Christ Vacuum Cleaner, as the earth beneath us slid into the abyss. Then, Gorgrod had dragged us through the door where we collapsed in a heap on the mat.

"Gorgrod, you're a genius!" burbled Nigel from somewhere near the top of the pile, "Fancy hooking your foot round the boot scraper!"

I got shakily to my feet and looked out of the still open door. All I could see was the familiar swirling emptiness that usually surrounded the tower when it was travelling. It seemed the weird world we'd just been in had disappeared entirely. I shut the door and leant on it to stop my legs giving way.

“Well, that was fun, wasn't it?”, I said, dreamily.

After a brief effort to pull myself together, I helped extricate a rather squashed Maevrin from underneath Gorgrod, who was only just getting up. I installed her at the kitchen table, where she sprawled face down.

"You saved my life," I said

"Urghh!" she replied.

"Well I hope you're happy!" said Grott, grumpily from the corner of the kitchen, "That was the closest I'd come to certain death in all my long years!"

"Oh, shut up and put the kettle on," I replied tersely, "And how can you blame me? I was only trying to think of something encouraging to tell them, I didn't know the whole world would collapse in on itself, did I?"

"That was a bloody close one, eh?" said Nigel as he entered the kitchen, at least 75 percent of his general cheeriness restored. Gorgrod followed close behind, grinning.

"Gorgrod!" I said, "That was great stuff! How did you do it?"

Gorgrod did a credible impersonation of someone impersonating someone cool.

"Don't worry," he said, "Chill."

I know what Charlie Brown would have said at that point.

“And I suppose that hamper of food has been reduced to ether, then?” I asked the kitchen in general.

“Au contraire,” said Grott, nodding to the now rather battered hamper that had been shoved in the corner, “I brought it back.”

Well, that was something, at least. Anyway, I made a cup of tea for everyone, which cheered us all up a bit at least, even Maevrin.

"So," said Maevrin at length, "What are we going to do now, then?"

Before, I might have said "What are you looking at me for?" or moaned that I'd never actually stated that I was any good at doing anything, and hence couldn't be reasonably asked to solve anyone else's problems, but now I felt rather guilty after having been saved from certain doom. Furthermore, how could I actually allow myself to get swept along by events without trying to do anything, and yet still moan about things? Maevrin, it turned out, was a hell of a lot braver and more dependable than I was - I had to do something for her in return.

For the first time, I actually put my mind to the possibility of doing something that might actually yield results. But, what could I do?

"Hey!" said Nigel, staring at me with a look of concern "What's the matter with you?"

"I'm just thinking, shut up for a minute!" I said, irritably.

"Thinking, eh?" he said, "No wonder I didn't recognise the expression..."

I ignored him. What could I do that might actually get us out of this hole? Let's see - what did I have? A crew of random people? Not actually astonishingly helpful in the situation, but that wasn't their fault. My own magical abilities? I doubted I could train myself up into someone that could last half a second against Eldrigar, even with a whole lifetime to train. And one thing that was out of the question was trying to wield the same power he was using. What with the fact that the universe was apparently coming apart at the seams already, without there being two people tearing it up, I also refused to get involved with something that sounded so dark and corrupting. No, that wasn't the way. How about the tower itself? I supposed that having a tower that could travel just about anywhere was quite an asset in itself, but what use would that be if you didn't know where you were going? I racked my brain, trying to remember the things Grott had told me about the tower's capabilities.

"This tower can warp reality, even transcend time itself in some capacity."

"If you happen to know the address of any powerful white wizards in the neighbourhood who could do battle with the greatest sorcerer imaginable, maybe that would work."

Hmmm....

Transcending time, eh....

That was it. Yes! I'd had an idea. An actual, genuine idea that might just work, unlikely as that sounded, though it wouldn't be without its dangers. I could scarcely believe it myself.

"Grott," I said, trying to sound casual, "You said this tower could could transcend time, right?"

Grott looked at me in surprise.

"Yes, I did," he said, slowly, "but it requires tremendous amounts of energy and is really quite dangerous. I wouldn't recommend it, plus we'd have to know exactly where and when we were going."

That was good enough. I assumed my own cool person impersonation, pitching it somewhere between a late eighties action hero and Jeremy Clarkson.

"Well, in that case," I said, narrowing my eyes and trying to strike a commanding pose with limited success, "I've got a plan. So without further ado..."

I paused for dramatic effect.


"On with the show..."


***

Nothing like the deployment of a really cheesy line, eh? Oh well, see you next time! Onward to victory! I hope.