The First Eyrie

"Owls," James said, a word that seemed, to Lester, to be pretty much apropos of nothing.

"Where?" Lester said, making a guess that Lester was referring to some owls that might be somewhere nearby.

"Here," James said. "Or at least they used to be. I recognise this place from pictures. It's the First Eyrie."

"Oh," Lester said. "Good. So how far until we get somewhere less... remote? Ideally a place that is less imbued with feelings of lurking menace."

"James!" Rachel cried out running over to join the pair standing among the perches on the enormous stone slab. "You're safe."

"Yes, uh, yes Rachel, I am safe and well," James said. Lester believed that he detected a note of awkwardness in James's voice.

Without even saying 'hello' or 'how do you do' Rachel dipped her hand into Lester's pocket and fished the mouse out. She held James up to her face, wreathed in smiles.

"Well," she said. "This has been a fine adventure, but I think, perhaps, it is time we found our way home."

"I couldn't agree more," James said.

"Well, we'll wait for the gnome to wake up and I'll get him to take us home, or we can just get some directions," Rachel said.

"You meant the Skull Garden, didn't you?" James asked.

"Well, that's home," Rachel said. "I think we've been wandering around for too long now, although, to be fair, I mostly stayed in Bridgetown Market, it was you that travelled."

"Yes, I did," James said. "And I discovered a few things."

"Oh yes," Rachel said. "Like what?"

"Like..." James gave the sentence a short run up but it appeared to be a particularly tall sentence so it wasn't enough. The words sank back down into his throat as soon as they'd emerged.

Lester swapped a glance with Eos, who looked back at him with a cold gaze. He had to remind himself that he'd been the one who had played along with keeping her in captivity, if only for about three hours. Three hours was plenty to liberate an imprisoned mermaid. No one felt the sting of that more than Lester, well, possibly Eos did.

Right at this moment, however, there was one more pressing emotional concern. James had remembered, during his time with Lester, that he was Rachel's father, transformed into this rodent form, memory wiped and dumped into the Skull Garden. This was bound to be a charged moment, Lester could feel the air of anticipation like a low charge of plasma squirming across his skin.

"Well," James said, Lester recognised the music of that syllable, it was the lost, confused and helpless tone that Lester found so irritating in himself. "I remembered that... I don't come from the Skull Garden..."

"You don't?" Rachel said. "So where do you come from? Can we go and live there? Is there a giant bat where you come from?"

"Um, I don't think so," James said. "I just remembered that, and also, I used to be a man, not a mouse."

"A man? So how did you become a mouse?" Rachel asked.

"I don't really know, I don't remember everything yet," James said. Lester could now hear a sort of forlorn relief in James's voice and Lester imagined that he might know what that meant, although he couldn't quite believe it.

"Well we should definitely try to get you turned back," Rachel decided. "Then you could be like my big brother or something. Maybe you could take care of me, instead of the other way round."

"Yes," James said quietly. "Maybe."

And then he said nothing else, and neither did any of the others.

"Well," Eos said eventually. "I guess that we'd better have a look around this place, see if we can find an exit or something."

"Definitely," James said.

"What about the gnome?" Rachel asked. "He doesn't look very well."

Everyone turned their attention in the direction of the gnome who was laid out, unconscious under a perch about fifteen feet away from where they had gathered. They all moved over to examine the sprite.

"Is he breathing?" Lester asked Eos who was the first to reach the prone figure.

"I don't think sprites breathe," James said from Rachel's left shoulder. Lester found it both less annoying and a little sad not to hear the correction directly from his own left shoulder. Now that he had his daughter back Lester imagined James wouldn't want to hang out in Lester's pockets any more. That shouldn't have really meant anything to Lester, but he was confused to note that it did.

"How should we tell if he's alive then?" Eos asked, looking down at the gnome's bearded face.

"He exists," James said. "Technically I don't think you're supposed to be able to render them unconscious."

"So he's pretending then?" Lester asked.

"No," James said. "Magic: pure, coalesced, intelligent magic is a complex. What we're seeing is not an unconscious living being, we're seeing a translation of the state of the magic into our terms. So in our terms the thing that is the gnome is unconscious, unable to interact with us but still present and whole."

"So how do we wake him up?" Eos asked.

"That, unfortunately, I don't know," James said.

"You seem to know a lot more about everything than you did when I left you, though," Rachel said. "So that's a good thing."

"Is it?" James asked Rachel. "Sometimes I'm not so sure."

"Sometimes," Lester said, although even he couldn't quite figure out why. "What you remember is that you have, oh, I don't know, a huge secret or something."

Lester then got the opportunity to add 'pointed glare' to the number of facial expressions he had now seen first hand that probably had never been observed previously on a mouse.

"Yes, well," James said loudly before anyone could respond to Lester's comment with anything awkward or troubling. "We could have a look around for some smelling salts or something. That might help."

"I thought you said it couldn't breathe," Eos said. "How would smelling salts help it?"

"Like I said, it's magic translated into a physical being, sometimes the translation works both ways, it's a kind of interaction of archetypal metaphors."

James paused long enough to realise that no one had any idea what it was he had just said.

"Trust me," James said. "We can try smelling salts, they may work."

"You're much smarter than you used to be," Rachel said. "That's cute."

With that they all made a move away from the gnome to look for smelling salts.

"Wait!" Eos said before they could go four paces. "We really can't just wander off and leave the gnome by himself. I'll stay."

"You shouldn't stay alone," Lester said. "I'll just go and have a look for something, you all stay here."

"I should go with you," James said. "I might be able to spot useful things."

"I'm not leaving you," Rachel said. "I'll have to go too."

"But I already said," Lester said. "We shouldn't leave Eos to watch the gnome by herself."

"Then you stay," Rachel said. "I'll take James to look for the smelly things."

Although the logic appeared sound Lester didn't exactly relish being left alone with Eos at the moment.

"This is a strange place," Lester said. "A little girl and a mouse can't walk about it by themselves."

"We're adventurers," Rachel said, sticking out her bottom lip. "We can do what we like."

"Well, if you like to get eaten by monsters in strange castles that's certainly true," Lester said.

"Lester!" James said. "There's no need to be unpleasant. Okay, look, Rachel, I promise we are not going to be split up. I'll go with Lester and have a look around for some smelling salts, or anything else that might help the gnome wake up. Once we've revived the gnome we'll get out of here, together. I promise."

"But..." Rachel said, her bottom lip was now quivering, and her eyes shone with tears. "We've... we've only just found one another. What if there's another broom?"

"Lester," James said, "despite appearances to the contrary, is a smart cookie, he'd never been caught on a flying broom before but he never ever makes the same mistake twice. You're just going to have to trust us."

Rachel miserably acquiesced to this and passed James over to Lester. The two of them skirted the edge of the stone slab and, before too long, found a set of steps down on one side. The view around the other four edges of the slab told them that this perch was built high up near the top of a mountain on a small shelf of rock.

Underneath the slab was a single layer of domestic type rooms, a dormitory, a living area and a kitchen. Most of it was abandoned and bare but the kitchen still had some bits and pieces left in the cupboards and shelves.

"So," Lester said, as he gathered together all the items they had discovered onto a small table. "You didn't tell her."

"I don't want to talk about it," James said.

"Well, I do," Lester said. For some reason James's cowardice, as he saw it, had really upset him. Lester was not a man given to deep moods but in this instance he was certainly approaching something like anger on the topic. "Until now we've been in a very similar position, you lost your daughter, I lost my brother. Now you have your daughter and you begin the reunion by lying to her. I just... don't think it's the right thing to do, that's all."

"Well, what if I don't care about your opinion one way or another?" James asked.

"That's not the point," Lester said. "You can't agree or disagree with the right thing to do. In the end telling lies to someone you love is always the wrong thing to do."

"I'm not sure that's true," James said. "I think sometimes things are more complicated than they might first appear."

"Oh what nonsense!" Lester replied. "You think it's the best thing to lie to people? I don't. When Chester left on his great adventure he promised me that he would write to me every week. He promised me he would be home soon. He promised me that he knew what he was doing. All lies. I'm sure he would probably have said he was doing the right thing but it wasn't was it? Now he's disappeared and all I have left of my brother is this stupid bottle of - oh!"

As Lester fumbled in his breast pocket the vial of liquid flew from his grasp, spinning end over end through the air.

"Wurgh!" Lester cried out stepping forward, stretching out his arm to attempt a mid-air catch.

The first step turned into a second wobbling grasp as the vial remained enticingly out of reach. With the second step Lester's hand brushed the vial altering its trajectory. Trying to adjust course as he went Lester tangled his ankles and dove down at full strength, determined not to lose the only clue he had to his brother's whereabouts.

Lester heard James squeaking and felt the mouse's claws digging into his neck. The little mouse was clinging on for dear life as Lester crashed into the floor. The vial of liquid fell into Lester's outstretched palm and he curled his fingers, attempting to grasp the vial firmly. All he succeeded in doing was providing a ramp for the vial, powered by inertia, to run up before it flew a few more inches through the air to tap delicately against the stone floor of the kitchen.

The vial didn't shatter but a spider web of cracks spread out through its bottom half. The, now delicate, vial rolled to a stop, whole but not to be trusted, a few inches further on from Lester's position.

"Oh dear," James said.

"Not good," Lester said. "Really not good."

"Well, there is a small up side," James replied. "We are in a kitchen, however abandoned that kitchen may be. We should be able to locate some alternative vessel for the potion, if we're careful."

"Careful," Lester said, like the word tasted bad, "Right, careful."

Lester picked up the vial with a suitable amount of care and attention. He placed it, and James onto the nearby countertop.

"Hold on to this, very gently," Lester said. "I'm just going to find something to decant the potion into."

"Okay," James said, placing his paws onto the cracked surface of the vial. The cracks were so fine that even James could not really detect them by touch, only by looking at their gossamer white threads promising that, at any moment, the vial could shatter soaking its valuable contents into the wooden surface below.

"You know," James said, as Lester rooted through a cupboard filled with junk, "this could be the moment your brother referred to in his note, the one where you're supposed to drink the contents of the vial."

"You reckon?" Lester asked.

"Well, it would be one way to ensure that the contents would end up in their ultimate destination, i.e. your stomach," James pointed out.

"Don't you think that's a bit... arbitary?" Lester asked.

"To be honest," James said. "I find the whole business of gnomic prophecy to be a bit... eep."

"A bit eep?" Lester said. "I don't know that word. Is that another one of those terms from your place of origin, like interweb?"

James did not reply because James was looking into the shining, yellow, hungry eyes of the thing that had made him go eep. The shining, yellow, hungry eyes of a rugged looking tabby tom cat.

"Lester," James said, his voice low and urgent. "You might want to come and get the vial."

"Why?" Lester said standing up and seeing the unfolding drama of survival taking place on the nearby counter top.

"Because..." James said, as Lester hurried forward anticipating the probable impending second disaster, "I... think... I'm... about... to... have... to..."

Lester, showing a reflexive dexterity wholly absent from his last encounter with the forces of inertia and gravity, snatched the flying vial out of the air as James tossed it and scampered off toward the edge of the counter. Lester swiped out with his spare hand but it was just a little too slow to catch the, now energised, tom cat.

The stocky feline form exhibited surprising speed as it loped after James who was pelting hell for leather towards the end of the counter with no seeming plan for what to do when he reached his destination. Lester watched on in awe as James leapt from the end of the counter to dig his little rodent claws into the trailing edge of a dishrag which swung once forward and then once back before James hurled himself from the zenith of the rag's forward journey once more to land on the counter at the far end of the kitchen and lose himself in the pile of broken kitchen utensils someone had left there.

Undeterred the tomcat followed, keeping its eyes down and plodding amongst the twisted metal remains of pots, pans and various large utensils on its quest for fresh mouse.

"Keep moving, James," Lester said, trying to sneak up on the tom from behind. "Keep moving."

Lester could not see James, but then neither could the cat, as Lester came up behind the predatory beast. Lester attempted to pick the tom up by the scruff of the neck, but the cat was too fast for him. It wheeled around, eyes wide, mouth open, hissing and spitting at Lester. Lester, startled, recoiled from the creature's flashing white claws.

"Well," James cried, "here goes nothing."

Lester tore his attention away from the growling tom cat to see that James had reached an area near the wash basin. Stringing some dirty elastic between the exposed prongs of a ricer that had lost its head James had quickly improvised a kind of slingshot by wedging the ricer's handle into a slightly open drawer adjacent to the sink.

James pulled back on the elastic as far as he could before quickly spinning around in his 'seat' and being hurled from the counter all the way over to the opposite side of the room. He landed on top of a handle placed next to the hatch for some sort of dumb-waiter type device.

Despite the evident acrobatic impressiveness of this move the tom had since lost interest in James, continuing, as it did, to growl at Lester. James is safe, I guess, Lester thought, I'm not sure I am. No sooner had the thought formed than the aggressive feline launched itself at Lester's head, hissing and spitting. Lester braced himself for a face full of angry cat and was amazed when the animal failed to make contact.

"Oh," Lester heard James's voice filled with surprise. "Well, I guess that's okay then."

Lester opened his eyes, the tom was nowhere to be seen.

"Did it vanish?" Lester asked, somewhat befuddled.

"No, it's behind you," James said. "Just passed straight through your head."

"Passed straight..." Lester turned to see the cat sitting behind him, regarding him with naked, impotent hatred. "I don't understand," Lester said.

"I think it's dead," James said. "I think that's a ghost cat."

"A ghost cat?" Lester sounded shocked. "Can cats have ghosts?"

"Apparently they can here," James replied. "Oh, well, no harm, no foul, come get me and we'll... oh."

"No," Lester said. "Not, oh, we've had enough oh for today and I'm putting on an oh embargo. An embarg-oh, if you... oh."

"With a creaking, clanking slow inevitablity the lever next to the dumb waiter that Lester had landed on began to descend. Lester hurried over and scooped the mouse up before he could tumble off the end of the lever onto the floor. The lever, once it had started its journey, continued to move downwards until it had locked in the downward position.

"I guess that just brings the dumbwaiter up," Lester said. Examining the area around the device. "Probably nothing to... ah."

"Ah?" James said. "'Ah' is worse than 'oh', any man who says otherwise is a liar. What's the matter?"

Lester crossed to the dumb waiter and pressed a button next to the hatch immediately to the left of the lever that had just been activated. There was the slow and grinding noise of machinery operating behind the hatch. Eventually a broken bell sounded an off-key ping behind the hatch.

"I think that's the dumb waiter control," Lester said

"So what does that lever control then?" James asked.

Any answer was cut off by the sound of a low and eerie moan echoing up into the eyrie from some place far below thier feet.

"You had to ask, didn't you?" Lester said.

"I think, maybe," James answered. "It might be time for us to leave."

And so they did, but what happened after, and the tale of Saeed and Prince Weatherstrong catching the dastardly Miranda Felix, and the story of Phoebe September ridding herself of her burden and the answer to the question of how story books can change by themselves will all be told in another time and place, for the candle is low and it is, most assuredly, now time for bed.

END OF BOOK TWO

Avan Weatherstrong, The Storm and the Owl of Wisdom

When the time of the Vanishing swallowed the whole of the Terra Draconis the castle at Turbae had, built into its base upon the eastern side, a whole section of foundations that showed clear signs that they had been rebuilt from underneath, in a hurry. The beginning of this story details how it was that such rapid and essential repair work had become necessary.

It had all started when the ward of the travelling prince Avan Weatherstrong, a girl known only as Anna, or, more often, Hell Child, stole a cart and attempted to drive it at some speed across the limits of the Kingdom to evade the justice of the guard. The ins and outs of that particular situation were subsequently lost in a nest of contradictory data and half-remembered anecdotes, none of which settle down until the point at which Prince Weatherstrong was cast into the dungeons beneath the castle for fraternising with a suspected Hell Beast.

News of the prince's impending execution spread rapidly. Many were of the opinion that Lord Turbae had been rash in his summary judgement over the visiting prince. There were some who were concerned about Prince Weatherstrong's abilities as a worker of powerful magic, still more were concerned about the possibility of inciting a diplomatic incident.

As it turns out nobody needed to worry on either score because the night before the execution the aforementioned Hell Beast engineered a jail break as lacking in subtlety as it was efficacious. Not long past midnight bell the night before the execution the sound of a mighty explosion rocked the castle on its foundations. A potion of elemental destruction had disintegrated a large portion of the foundations on the eastern side of the castle whilst leaving everything not made of stone entirely unharmed.

The prince emerged, choking on the remaining clouds of dust, to find Anna sitting upon a broom that she had flown in on to pick up the prince. The account of the incident that resides in the main archive at Sommerslip does not include dialogue. To find the actual words that passed between the Prince and his ward at the point directly following the explosion one would have to travel deep into the dark and perilous stacks in one of the archive's sub-basements. In the region where the leatherbound scrolls scratch themselves into a dense and dangerous existence you could read, if you were brave or foolish enough:

"What is going on?" asked Prince Weatherstrong, his ears still ringing from the sound of the explosion.

"I'm not having any stinky lord execute you because of me," Anabyl replied. "Besides, rescuing you meant I got to play with your alchemy book. I think I did quite well."

"I thought I told you to leave my alchemical journal alone," Avan thundered, his temper getting lost easily in the drifting cloud of powdered rock that surrounded them.

"As I have explained," Anabyl replied calmly, "you are my travelling companion, you don't tell me what to do, if you fight me you will lose."

"In all of my travels..." Avan began, but his tirade was swiftly cut off by the sound of keys opening the jail cell door behind him.

"So, are you going to stay here and get decapitated?" Anabyl asked. "Or are you going to take your seat on this broom I made using the notes in your Druidic Journal?"

"I told you..." Avan began but it was no use. He did not relish the idea of killing Turbae guards, his name in these regions was already black enough. At the same time he did not want to be executed.

When he had presented himself before Lord Turbae asking for the mercy of his court, only to have that mercy declined, he had been angry and afraid. Maybe not angry and afraid enough to cause severe structural damage to Lord Turbae's castle in retaliation but this appeared to be the consequence of defying Princess Anabyl.

"We are going to have a very serious conversation about this," Avan assured Anabyl as he took his seat upon the broom. Anabyl coaxed their wooden steed into life, soaring up into the air, putting some distance between them and the scene of chaos below, speeding towards the edge of Turbae, away from immediate, painful and drastic retribution.

"Boring," Anabyl replied as the broom sped through the dark night sky. "Why don't we just put this behind us and try to have some fun?"

"Anabyl," Avan said, he used her real name now that they were flying through the night sky, well out of earshot of anyone who might record the girl's real name and enter inconvenient paradoxes into any subsequent record. "This can't continue."

"What can't?" Anabyl said. "Me rescuing you? Don't worry, it's fun. You get into trouble you can count on me to get you out."

"You've nearly destroyed that castle!" Avan objected.

"They nearly decapitated you," Anabyl pointed out.

"Because you stole a cart, set fire to a village and turned a flock of chickens into..." Avan found himself out of concrete descriptions. "Well, a herd of some kind of carnivorous lizard. It was only purest chance that no one got hurt."

"I didn't think that you would actually turn yourself in over it. Didn't you get my note?" Anabyl asked crossly.

"The one advising me to run for the border because you believed Lord Turbae to have shifty eyes?" Avan asked.

"He likes to throw his weight about that one. I know the type," Anabyl said darkly. "If we didn't have to leave I have something I'd love to put in his bed, that would teach him."

"Anabyl!" Avan shouted. "This is no way to live your life. One day all of this... this... chaos it will catch up with you."

"Catch up with me?" Anabyl asked. "I thought you'd have noticed, it's all about me, right now. I live in it. Oh and in case I didn't mention it earlier: boring."

"You can't evade the consequences forever," Avan said. "It's a basic principle of the Wheel. The longer it takes to turn the worse it will be for you in the end."

"It's a wheel, right?" Anabyl said. "I guess I will just have to find the brake."

"The... brake?" Avan echoed, his voice faint. "Anabyl, I don't want to have to fight you."

"Why?" Anabyl said. "Are you a bad loser?"

"You're going to make me, aren't you?" Avan asked. "You're going to force me to fight a little girl."

"I'm not forcing you to do anything, the same way you're not forcing me to do anything, even if you try."

"Very well," Avan replied. "If the one thing I can accomplish in the universe is to give you purpose and discipline then I imagine that mine will be a life well-lived."

"We can put that on your gravestone if you like," Anabyl said merrily. She turned around to flash him a grin.

Avan Weatherstrong did not smile back at his small companion. His face grave and serious he muttered a single word under his breath. The name of an elemental, a gift given in return for a service once rendered.

"What was that?" Anabyl said. "I didn't quite catch- oh."

The princess stopped talking, noting that the sky around them had gone from clear and cold to cloudy and charged with brooding electricity.

"You might want to land the broom," Avan said.

"What did you do?" Anabyl demanded.

"Something that means you should land the broom," Avan replied.

Avan's face lit up for a fraction of a second all pale white skin and deep shadow. Following the light came a dangerous rumble that appeared to shake the very air surrounding the broom.

"Alright," Anabyl grumbled. "There was no need to be such a grump about it."

By the time the broom had reached the ground the storm clouds had started to loose a downpour that was more like a deluge. Anabyl and Avan ran for cover in a cave that Avan had spotted from the air.

"So you can make it rain?" Anabyl said, looking out from under the sheltering rocks, wet and a little miserable.

"One way or another all things are possible," Avan replied. He muttered a minor cantrip he had devised for occasions when there was no wood to make a fire. A ball of heated white-orange plasma formed in the palm of his hand and then floated downwards towards the floor. About six inches away from the dusty rock at the mouth of the cave the ball stopped moving. Heat filtered up and out from the ball, filling the cave mouth.

"Fire too," Anabyl said. "You're a much better at magic than daddy's alchemist, and his warlock."

"I have a repertoire suitable for travel," Avan said. "I'm sure that your father's magicians have their own specialisms."

"One snores so loud the entire castle can hear him and the other is so deaf that many swear supernatural intervention," Anabyl shrugged. "Aside from that I couldn't tell you."

The pair sat either side of the plasma ball and looked out at the rain.

"This storm is awful," Anabyl said. "Can't you make it stop? I've landed now."

Avan shook his head.

"I had the power to call down a storm quickly," he said. "I have no power to make one stop."

"That's a bit rubbish," Anabyl said. "Why would you do something you can't undo?"

"Why do you?" Avan asked.

Anabyl shot Avan a peevish look and said nothing.

The prince and princess sat for a long time, staring out of the cave mouth. They sat so long that it began to appear as if dawn should be breaking. The whole sky was so filled with dark clouds that no light was allowed through.

Out of the dark woods west of the cave there came the flutter of wings. A shape darker than the dark clouds, as shadowed as the tree trunks but in motion. became visible. Eventually an owl came into view, its flecked brown feathers picked out in the light of the plasma ball.

The owl swooped in towards the cave and landed at the cave mouth. It stepped back and forth a few times dripping onto the stone at the cave entrance. Then it swivelled its head to look at Anabyl, after a moment seeming to dismiss her and turning his attention to Avan.

"You did this?" the owl asked.

"I'm sorry if the storm has inconvenienced you, I can only apologise," Avan said.

"I was soaring in the sky, following my thread," the owl said. "Then the clouds came down, and the pattern changed."

"The pattern?" Avan said. "Do you mean the Weave?"

"What other pattern could an owl of wisdom see?" the owl asked. "You changed the pattern, I don't think you intended to."

"I certainly didn't," Avan said. "A storm should not have the power to alter fate."

"And you complain that I break things," Anabyl said. "I've never broken destiny."

The owl spun its head again, studying Anabyl once more.

"No, indeed you don't," the owl said. "You are tightly woven, this is exactly where you are supposed to be."

Anabyl instantly looked uncomfortable. Avan had come to know his ward well enough to understand that if the princess found out that she was anywhere near where she was supposed to be she would want to be somewhere else as soon as possible.

"Strange for you to say," Avan said. "For my companion is a very long way from home, lost, trying to find a way to return."

"Well, I can't tell you anything about that," the owl said. "All I can see is that her road leads from here to the Academy at Dracopolis, after that I cannot see further."

"The Academy?" Avan asked. "That is where they train Dragon Warriors."

"What's a Dragon Warrior?" Anabyl asked in a tone of voice that said she was guessing what it was and hoped she wasn't wrong.

"Dragon Warriors are the elite armies of the Dragon Empire," Avan answered. "Some are draco, some folk, there are even goblins, sprites and trolls among their ranks. They have a fearsome reputation. It was the first Dragon Warriors that turned the tide of the Great Conflict in the opening verses of the Dragon Song."

"Indeed," the owl of wisdom chipped in, "Some say that the banishment of the Dragon Lord Decaroleth to his castle of eternal slumber was the completion point of the Weave's first pattern. Since that time the Dragon Warriors have pledged vigilance in the face of all evil for the growth and prosperity of the Terra Draconis."

"Well," Anabyl muttered. "They obviously didn't do a very good job."

"Anabyl!" Avan said. "We have talked about you keeping your knowledge of the shape of the Weave that we do not know to yourself."

"Besides," the owl said. "You are wrong about that. The Dragon Warriors play a vital role in some of the Weave's most intricate patterns. No great catastrophe or turn of the Wheel can dilute or fragment them, they are the most tenacious fighters in the entire land of Faerie."

"Well that doesn't sound so rubbish then," Anabyl said.

"Not rubbish at all," Avan agreed. "The Dragon Warriors, as I understand it, have martial powers allied to both the Weave and the Wheel. According to this owl we are supposed to travel to their Academy at Dracopolis. You have some business there, something destined to be."

"You mean I'm going to be a Dragon Warrior?" Anabyl asked. "Is that why fate brought me here?"

"I can't answer that," Avan said, he looked down at the owl.

"All I know," the owl said. "Is that your path leads to the Academy. My path leads the other way. Oh look, the rain is stopping."

As Avan and Anabyl had conversed with the owl of wisdom some grey light had started to filter through the clouds and the rains were abating.

"I must be on my way," the owl said. "And so must you."

The owl flapped its wings and made its way up into the cold morning air. As the moment of dawn ended the night Avan's plasma ball faded and died with a small pop.

"I'm going to be a Dragon Warrior," Anabyl said, a grin plastered across her face.

"The ranks of the Dragon Warriors are known for their unwavering discipline," Avan said. "That might be something of a stumbling block to your ambitions."

Anabyl stuck her tongue out at Avan: "You're just a grump," she said. "We'll see who becomes a Dragon Warrior and who doesn't."

Indeed they did, but that is a story for another time.

How Tabarnas Acquired A Mermaid

Rachel was right up close to the tank, sharing a wide-eyed glance with the fish-tailed woman. 

"...A story for another time? What kind of an ending is that?"

"That's the end of the story. The wolf is dead. Avan Weatherstrong bested his opponent. All is well."

"But what about the silver sword, and the Moon Maiden? And who was the servant, you know, really?"

"It's not important, it's just a story."

"It's a rubbish story."

"Then I won't tell you any more."

Before the argument could proceed any further another voice broke in:

"Tabarnas Riseandshine! Are you wasting your time telling stories again?"

Tabarnas Riseandshine looked over his shoulder. He peered into the shadowy interior of the 'Riseandshine and Titsadaisy Goblin Merchants' stall. He turned back to the small child sitting at his feet, a mouse sitting upon her shoulder. He put a finger to his lips indicating that the child should be quiet.

"I am just resting my old bones, dear!" he called back. "I was getting the back pains again."

"I'll give you pains," the voice came back. "We have too much stock that needs sorting out. It's Saturday Market tomorrow and we need to have all our most valuable wares on display."

"I'll be along directly, dear," Tabarnas said. "Just give me a minute to get back on my feet."

"Is that your wife?" the child asked.

"Wife? Ah, well, no, sort of, it's complicated," Tabarnas replied.

"Is it another story for another time?" the girl asked. The corner of her mouth turned down in a cute grimace. A clear indication that she was still not happy about the conclusion to the story of 'Avan Weatherstrong and the Stalker Wolf'.

"No, not a story it's just, well, Cressidia and I are Goblin Merchants, and very old with it," Tabarnas explained. "We're together, till death do us part, but it's more of a... er... contract than a marriage."

"Hmmm," the child said. "I have to say," she continued after considering this for a moment, "I'm not sure I understand the difference."

"Well, maybe when you're older yourself," Tabarnas replied. He got up from his step stool and shuffled along towards the flap at the back of the stall. "I should probably see what Cressidia wants. My eardrums have been known to burst with the shouting when I really annoy her."

"Wait!" the child called out. Tabarnas turned back to her.

"You still haven't told me where I can get some help. And I still don't know where I am."

"I told you that first of all," Tabarnas objected. "The first words out of my mouth! You are in Bridgetown, at the Patchwork Market. This is the only marketplace of significant importance to all creatures of all worlds."

"But where is that?" the child asked, a note of pleading in her voice. "You don't understand. I have come from, well, a very long way away, I'm not entirely certain how I got here. All I have is my friend James the Mouse, his pumpkin and an unreasonably grumpy gnome who comes and goes as he pleases."

"Look, Ruth..." Tabarnas said.

"Rachel," the child cut him off. "My name is Rachel."

Before Tabarnas could say anything else Cressidia appeared at the flap of the stall. Her expression told Tabarnas that he may have to find that ear-ointment before long. The soothing balm they had picked up the last time they had passed through Rolling Meadow. It was the only thing he'd found to soothe the ache of a jolly good telling off.

"Oho! Not wasting your time on stories, eh?" Cressidia asked. "I should have known. You're just unbelievable. Most of the time I don't think you care a jot whether the people you accost even want to hear your stupid stories."

"I only asked for a little help," Rachel said quietly. She had been a much louder girl before Cressidia came out of the stall. Cressidia had that effect on people.

"Help?" Cressidia asked, beaming broadly. "Well, you've come to the right place: Titsadaisy and Riseandshine..."

"Riseandshine and Titsadaisy," Tabarnas corrected her. Cressidia shot him a glance that could have boiled oil. "It's alphabetical," he finished more quietly.

"Either way," Cressidia said, her tone still smooth and warm. "You will find what you require in the finest Goblin Merchant's stall in the whole of Bridgetown and that's for certain."

"Don't bother, Cressidia," Tabarnas said. "The girl has nothing to trade, she's lost, as I understand it."

"There was a bat," Rachel supplied helpfully. "And a bright light... and a gnome."

"Do I look like I have spare time to listen to you prattle on about your life, child?" Cressidia asked, her tone much harsher now that she knew Rachel had nothing in the way of spending money.

"Er, no," Rachel said. "I was just explaining, because I'm on an adventure."

"Well go and be on an adventure somewhere else," Cressidia said. "We have work to do. Come on Tabarnas, I need you to find that sample box from Dr. Pygmalion's House of Potions. I think it's in that trunk from Old Araby."

Tabarnas followed Cressidia into the stall. He observed that Rachel, carrying her pumpkin, mouse on her shoulder, was following. She was being careful to stay out of Cressidia's line of sight. Tabarnas did not relish the idea of sitting alone and sorting through a box of junk, so he did not say anything.

Cressidia and Tabarnas had owned their warehouse stall for a very long time.  So long that it no longer struck him as even mildly interesting that the space within the three canvas walls was so great.  Considerably greater than the size of the small tent structure might have indicated from without. Tabarnas took some pleasure in Rachel's evident wonder and surprise as they made their way through the stock room. Her eyes were like saucers and her mouth hung slightly open as the navigated the maze of six-foot tall shelving units.

"At some point," Cressidia said, "we will have a major clear out, mark my words."

Tabarnas did not mark her words. He knew full well that she had been promising to clear out the warehouse for at least two centuries, probably longer. The amount of stock in the stock room had only increased in the intervening time.

Cressidia couldn't bear to part with anything, except in trade. The thing about a straight trade was that you got one item back in exchange for the item you traded. Cressidia was far too skilled a goblin merchant to only get back goods of equal value in any trade. The massive stock room was a mark of honour among the merchant class. So it grew ever larger. A clear out was not on the cards any time in the foreseeable future.

"That Araby chest is down there at the end and to the left, you need me to show... oh..." Cressidia had turned on her heel and Rachel had not been quick enough to duck out of the way.

"Sorry," the little girl said, her eyes shining with fear. "I just wanted to help out. So maybe you would help me out."

"When did I ever suggest that we needed any help?" Cressidia said. "Because we don't, get out, go on, on your way."

"But... but... I can't find my way out now," Rachel said miserably. "I didn't know that your stall would be so big and contain so many wonderful things."

Calling the stock 'wonderful' was a fine diplomatic move. Tabarnas saw an opportunity. Cressidia's heart was as cold as ice but, like ice, it could be melted with the right heat.

"I'll look after her, she can help me sort the trunk," Tabarnas said.

"What if she's a thief?" Cressidia asked.

"I'm not. I promise!" Rachel objected.

"And if she is we can report her to the Master of the Market," Tabarnas added. "Kalico doesn't tolerate thieving."

"Very well," Cressidia said. "But she helps for the joy of helping, no promises of help in return. And you," she pointed a finger at Tabarnas, "sorting only. No stories!"

"I don't think I can remember any more stories at the moment," Tabarnas lied.

"I'll be checking on you in one hour, I want that box of samples, do I make myself plain?"

"Oh, yes, quite," Tabarnas answered happily. "Come on Rachel, let's get to work."

Tabarnas and Rachel walked down the alley between the shelves that Cressidia had indicated. Tabarnas turned to the left at the end and sure enough the Araby Trunk was sitting on the floor at the end of the stack.

Tabarnas pulled his keychain from his belt. His nimble fingers quickly selecting the correct key from the massive bunch. He unlocked the trunk and peered within.

"So what are we looking for?" Rachel asked looking over Tabarnas's shoulder.

"Oh, don't you worry about looking for it," Tabarnas said. "It's just a box of love potion samples."

"Love potions," Rachel wrinkled her nose in disgust. "How soppy."

"Love potions sell, young lady," Tabarnas said. "Don't you forget it if you ever want to become a goblin merchant. There's always money to be made from fools and the miserable."

"That doesn't sound very nice," Rachel said.

"Got nothing to do with nice," Tabarnas said. "I don't like to go hungry, neither does Cressie, so we sell things, so we eat. Nice don't enter into it."

Tabarnas reached into the muddle of junk in the chest, he grunted as he pulled out a large, dusty book and tossed it onto the floor. Rachel instantly went over and examined the cover.

"Professor Tumblescrape's Elementary Defensive Cantrips," she read. "What's that?"

"Book of Spells," Tabarnas answered. "Just some basic alchemy. I'm trying to clear some room."

Rachel thumbed through the book.

"I can't read," she said. "Never needed to."

"Wouldn't make much difference if you could," Tabarnas answered. "Books like that are written in Alchemese, the language of Alchemy. I suppose it might mean something if you could read that. That would make you an alchemist, though, and they're... well... Let's just say you wouldn't be wandering around Bridgetown asking for hand outs if you were an alchemist."

"I never asked for a hand out!" Rachel said crossly. "I asked for help. It's not the same thing."

"Free help is a hand out," Tabarnas said. "Even I know that."

"Well, let me do something for you," Rachel said. "Then you can help me as payment."

"Well, you could start by helping me with this," Tabarnas said. "It's too big for me to move myself. Just take the end and be careful."

"What is it?" Rachel asked.

"Magic Mirror," Tabarnas replied.

"What's magic about it?" Rachel asked.

Tabarnas shrugged. "I tested it for magic, I don't know what kind it is until I identify and catalogue it, and I haven't."

Tabarnas slid his fingers under one end of the mirror's cool, hard frame. Rachel slid hers under the other.

"Lift carefully on three," Tabarnas instructed. "One, two, three."

Both of them strained but the mirror would not shift. It had fallen flat into the box and other items landing on top of it had wedged it tightly between the back and front sides.

They strained a little but the mirror wouldn't move.

"Drat!" Tabarnas said. "I'm sure the box Cressy wants is just down here, underneath the mirror."

"So what do we do?" Rachel asked.

"We should find something to ease it out with, some kind of grease or oil."

Rachel's mouse came up to her ear, it squeaked in her ear briefly.

"How do you know that, James?" Rachel asked.

The mouse squeaked again.

"But you said you'd never left the garden!"

More squeaking.

"We shall be talking about this later on," she said. Then she looked up at Tabarnas. "Would rainbow grease do the job?"

"Oh yes," Tabarnas said. "But you can only get that from the tail of a merperson. We don't have any in at the moment. It's highly prized as lubricants go."

"James says he saw another merchant with a mermaid in a tank about two minutes walk away," Rachel said.

"James," Tabarnas said. "Is that the mouse? You talk to mice?"

Rachel looked at the mouse and back to Tabarnas.

"I talk to this mouse, this mouse is my friend," she replied.

"So he talks?" Tabarnas said. "There would be some money to be made from a talking mouse."

"He's not for sale!" Rachel said. "He's my friend, not my possession!"

"Very well," Tabarnas shrugged. "But if you change your mind..."

"I won't. Now, shall we get this rainbow grease or not?"

Tabarnas nodded in agreement. He, Rachel and James the mouse wound their way back out of the stall to go in search of the mermaid. Sure enough about seven stalls away there was a small tent that displayed an unhappy looking mermaid in a tank.

There was a man stood next to the tank wearing smart pinstripe trousers and waistcoat over a cream shirt. He sported a thin waxed moustache and his hair smelled of butter and sugar. He'd combed it into greasy curved lines highlighting the style, short and neat at the back and sides, longer on the top.

"You looking to buy mermaid products?" he asked Tabarnas. "I got tears of the Undine, I got bottled songs, I got scales..."

"Rainbow grease," Tabarnas said. "In your smallest size."

"Certainly sir. I have one ounce tubs for a single silver piece," the man said to him. Tabarnas did not know much but he knew that one silver piece for an ounce of rainbow grease was overcharging of the worst kind.

Tabarnas looked over at the mermaid. Usually the poor creature's unhappiness would not have troubled him, but today Rachel was right up close to the tank. The little girl and the fish-tailed woman shared a wide-eyed glance that would make a golem teary. Tabarnas did not need to ask to know that Rachel was not happy seeing the mermaid cooped up in the tank.

Later on Tabarnas would tell himself that it was the price the merchant had attached to a single ounce of grease that had prompted him to act. Whatever the real reason he turned to the merchant and said:

"A silver piece? I don't have anything that small. It looks like I shall have to buy the mermaid, what do you want for her?"

The merchant looked a little surprised at the question.

"I cannot sell you Teleosti," he said. "She is my livelihood."

"You're a merchant aren't you?" Tabarnas asked. "There should be a price on everything."

"Well, maybe for a bag of no less than five hundred gold pieces," the man replied.

Tabarnas understood from that ridiculous price that whatever this man was, he wasn't a merchant. For a start merchants talking to other merchants didn't keep talking about coin. There was far more value and fascination in barter. Now Tabarnas wanted to purchase the mermaid out of a sense of outrage that such an idiot should be allowed a stall because of one.

"I can give you... a magic mirror," Tabarnas said. "Simpler business and fewer... ethical compromises. Those things are bound to do your bidding. You'd need a smaller, less expensive pitch in the fortune teller's quarter, you rake in the coin and the mirror does the work. Much more lucrative than fish by-products. What do you say?"

"Uh," the idiot had clearly never considered this as an option. No true merchant would ever give up selling and buying to become a sideshow attraction. This fool, on the other hand, was clearly considering the offer. "Yes, I think I will do that," he said. "But I want to see the mirror first."

"Well then, I will need an ounce of grease, and I will bring you the mirror directly."

The man looked annoyed.

"Do you think I am stupid?" he said. "I am not going to give you a pot of grease and never see you again. Pay for the grease or pay for the mermaid. No freebies."

"How would it be if I offered you a little... security?" said Tabarans reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a tiny broomstick between his finger and thumb. Once he had it clear of his pocket he shook the tiny object and it quickly grew to full size.

"It's just a portable flying broomstick," Tabarnas said. "But it's worth one gold piece. You can have that as security against the grease."

The portable broomstick would, indeed, have been worth one gold piece. Save for the fact that this broomstick had developed a fault since becoming infected by a virus from a pair of ten-league boots. Tabarnas did not consider that the foolish merchant needed to know about that. After all he would only have the thing for five minutes.

"Very well," the foolish merchant said, taking the broom. He handed Tabarnas a small tub that contained an ounce of rainbow grease.

"Come on Rachel," Tabarnas said. "We should get this man his mirror."

"James is staying here with the mermaid," Rachel said. "So that she isn't lonely."

"Whatever makes you happy, we'll be back before you know it."

"Let the mouse stay," the foolish merchant said. "All the more reason for me to believe you'll come back."

Rachel put her pumpkin down and James climbed inside it. Then she and Tabarnas went back to the stall.

Before long the edges of the mirror had been smothered in rainbow grease. Tabarnas and Rachel had slipped their hands under the free ends again.

"Once more," Tabarnas said. "On three. One... two... three..."

Unfortunately, the rainbow grease did far too good a job this time. The mirror did not stick at all it flew out of the chest and into the air. Spinning and twisting, end over end.

"Don't let it break!" Tabarnas shouted but he was too slow to catch the flying mirror and Rachel was too small.

The mirror landed on the floor and the glass in front of the reflective surface smashed outwards. The sound of the breaking glass rang loud throughout the tent, jangling with the added tone of magical power. Then there came another sound from the broken surface of the mirror.

A pair of gigantic clawed hands curled over the frame

"Cooooooooooooooooobb!" shouted a terrible voice from within the frame.

A pair of gigantic clawed hands curled over the frame, a head covered with shaggy hair followed. A pair of furious yellow eyes looked around as a gigantic troll pulled itself through the frame of the mirror.

"Where is that useless excuse for a knight?" the troll demanded, looking at Tabarnas.

"I haven't seen a knight!" Tabarnas responded, truthful but scared.

"You tell me where I can find Cobb!" The troll shouted. "Or I will smash this stupid place apart!"

"But I don't know!" Tabarnas objected.

"Graaaaaargh!" the troll shouted. "Yaaaargh!"

As good as his word the troll struck out with a meaty arm at the nearest shelf, intent on destruction. The magical security system at work in the stall detected the malicious destructive intent. The system zapped the troll away from the valuable stock outside to the market.

"Where did he go?" Rachel asked, terrified.

"The anti-vandalism charm!" Tabarnas answered. "It sent him outside."

"But James is outside!" Rachel shouted and she scrambled to her feet, running into the stacks.

"Wait!" Tabarnas cried out. "You don't know the stacks! You'll get lost!"

Tabarnas hurried after Rachel but the girl had gone. He looked around following the route out but Rachel had gone and got herself well and truly lost.

"One thing at a time," Tabarnas said to himself, looking about at the trail of destruction the troll had left outside. He made his way back over to the mermaid stall where the foolish merchant, James and the pumpkin were nowhere to be seen. The mermaid was still in her tank but a fresh crack in the bottom right hand corner allowed the water to leak slowly away.

"What happened?" Tabarnas asked the mermaid.

The young woman swum up to the top of the tank so she could speak in the open air.

"The troll chased away Lester," she said. "He swung the broom at it and it took off. It hit the pumpkin and then all three of them... vanished."

"Oh... oh dear," Tabarnas said. "Oh this is an awful mess."

"What's going on?" the mermaid asked.

"I lost the girl. I broke the mirror. I set loose the troll and I've sent that broomstick off with the little girl's mouse and pumpkin attached," Tabarnas said. "And I've cracked your tank."

"Where are my samples, Tabarnas Sunshine?" came Cressidia's voice from nearby.

"Oh, yes, and I still haven't found the samples," he said. "I think I will definitely need some ear ointment."

He looked up at the mermaid who was looking back down at him with an expression denoting utter confusion and despair.

"Come on, young lady," he said, undoing the brakes on her tank and putting his shoulder behind, rolling it back towards the stall. "We'd better find some way of sealing up your tank. Then we can sort out the rest of this mess."

He grunted as he wheeled the mobile tank back towards the stall. As they crossed in front of the smashed up store fronts of the other traders Tabarnas had time to examine the chaos. Nothing worse for business than an escaping troll. Tabarnas believed that he couldn't be any more miserable. In such circumstances there was really only one thing that could cheer him up.

"Young lady," he said, looking up at the mermaid. "Do you like stories?"

The Princess Visits A Haunted House

 It took Princess Anabyl approximately ten minutes to achieve the largest, and sootiest explosion of her young life with the aid of the alchemist's lab. She sat in the centre of the room, ears ringing, flashing lights before her eyes, and grinned from ear to ear.

Generally speaking the land of Spireshine is an average enough kingdom far from the crossways with the world of man. For many generations Spireshine has been completely unremarkable in about every important respect. It may have remained as such, were it not for the occupational choice of a prince from the neighbouring land of Weatherstrong.

Avan Weatherstrong, being the youngest of a large number of male children, had to carve out a niche to occupy in the small world of his court. Carve it he did when he founded the only library in the whole of Faerie in the faraway land of Sommerslip. The Faerie Archive, as the library is known, is a strange and wonderful building. One that most right-thinking residents of Faerie could only imagine existing in a land near by the strange world of mortal men.

The kingdoms containing roads to the world of mortal men have a reputation for troublesome times. There is a lot of what the folk refer to as 'fluctuation' at the crossways. Those who dwell away from such unreliable lands enjoy great periods of stability and happiness. This is generally how all things are expected to be.

So Avan Weatherstrong became the first Lord Sommerslip and opened a library. The people of both Weatherstrong and Spireshine heard the news and muttered in corners. They knew that it was only a matter of time before this strange career choice would have an upsetting effect upon their own lives.

For three generations, however, nothing untoward happened in Spireshine. Weatherstrong fell to civil war over a new design for the kingdom's coat of arms, but even this was not a great surprise. War is a part of Faerie life much as it is a terrible waste, inconvenience and evil in all other realms belonging to all other species.

The wisest, or perhaps most stubborn, heads in Spireshine insisted still. Before long, they declared, Sommerslip would affect the lives of the ordinary folk of Spireshine. The youthful exuberance of Lord Spireshine's youngest daughter, Anabyl was well known. Her antics were seen by most as the sign that things were starting to become much more interesting, and not in a good way.

There were tomboys, of course, throughout the Hundred Kingdoms and beyond. Girls who acted like boys were not an uncommon thing and, for some people, they formed the basis of some of their favourite romances. After all, at some point a tomboy met her match in the world of men. Tthe two of them settled down and he became a husband and she hung up her dungarees, grew her hair out and became a wife.

Some people are just suckers for that part where everyone realises she was beautiful all along.

It was possible there would be a day when everyone realised that Anabyl Spireshine had been beautiful all along. If that day was coming it is not due yet. Anabyl Spireshine wore steel toe-capped boots because they were comfortable. She wore pink, frilly dresses because they kept her mother from complaining. She put her hair in pig-tail plaits because it was easy to tie up. She completed her ensemble with boy's short breeches for the pocket space that she required.

There were other princess tomboys in the Faerie realms but none of them were willing to dress in frills and boots together. In fact, if you really thought about it, a tomboy of a certain age began to devote quite a lot of thought to their boyish ensemble. Far more thought than actual boys did.

Princess Anabyl didn't give any thought to what she was wearing, she had too much else to think about. Such as how to make a 'stealth' turnip catapult, or whether a pig could be used in a jousting tournament. Or which combination of cleaning chemicals could be used to produce the biggest explosion.

It was, in fact, this last question that was occupying the Princess's mind as we join her. On a golden day in the autumn not so long ago  she was pouring various bottles of chemicals into an alembic. The small glass flask belonged to the court's head alchemist, Gimbal Dweezlepuff.

Dr Dweezlepuff was exceptionally house proud. It was probably for this reason that he did not like Anabyl one little bit. These factors had not affected Anabyl's decision to make use of the fully equipped laboratory in his quarters that day.

That morning the unfortunate doctor had left the castle. He was attending an alchemical conference in Spireshine City. Anabyl had waited three hours, just to be sure he wouldn't come back, before gaining access to his room. She had accomplished this with the aid of a couple of hairpins and some kitchen grease. She was pleased to note that lessons from the cutpurse father had once kept in the dungeons had been well worth the time invested.

Anabyl had never been into Dr Dweezlepuff's study before. She had to admit to admiration for the variety of magical artifacts that the head alchemist had collected. The princess had always been of the opinion that Dweezlepuff was 'as boring as cook's sprouts'. The evidence of her eyes on this occasion lead her to the belief that the old fuddy duddy had been holding back.

Amongst Dweezlepuff's belongings were an Apple of Discord, a Compass of Desire and an Arrow of Chronos. Each had been displayed nestled in the stone hands of a statue. The Apple of Discord held aloft by a beautiful young woman with the sly grin of a fox. The Compass of Desire clutched close to the breast of a young man of court. The young man presented himself to the world bedecked in a stupid outfit. One that some people would have regarded as fashionable five years ago. The Arrow of Chronos mounted into a bow, the string permanently drawn by a bearded hunter, an hourglass strapped to his thigh.

Each statue bore a small metal plate. Engraved into each was some information about the magical effects of the artifact. Anabyl, like most folk, had no time for words, so she declined to read them. Instead she started pulling the bottles of cleaning fluid from her breeches. She assembled them into a small collection at the edge of the lab bench.

It took Princess Anabyl about ten minutes to achieve the largest, and sootiest, explosion of her young life. She sat in the centre of the room, ears ringing, flashing lights before her eyes, and grinned from ear to ear.

It took her two further minutes to regain use of her eyes and ears, enjoying, as she did, the vigour of youth and the luck of the mischievious. She picked herself off the floor and made for the door. Her luck would not hold if she was caught in Dweezlepuff's room after the explosion. She had to believe the noise of the blast would have brought castle guards running and she had been still far too long already.

She opened Dweezlepuff's study door and hurried down the steps of the magician's tower. She hoped to get to the water butt where they let the horses drink. Once there she was planning to use the lace trim on her dress to wipe some of the soot from her face. When she stepped out from the tower she began to suspecy that her explosion had caused some problems. Problems more pressing than the irreversible soot damage done to Dweezlepuff's levitating rug.

The courtyard of Caer Spireshine was silent, it was as if all the people had disappeared from her home. It was mid-afternoon three weeks after harvest. The castle yard should throng with bustle and noise. Instead it was as silent as the grave.

The people had not disappeared, however, they had just frozen, like statues, all in the middle of their business. For a few moments Anabyl wondered if she had turned everyone to stone. Then she realised that there were a couple of the other palace children skipping near the gatehouse.

Lynsey Crowbeak, the midwife's daughter, was frozen mid skip, both feet at least four inches above the ground. Two of her friends, Jessica and Jemima Needleeye, twin daughters of the seamstress, held either end of a skipping rope. The rope was frozen in mid-turn, a solid wave of rope curving through mid air.

Anabyl was a bright girl and she realised that these people were not petrified.

"They're frozen in time," she mused examining the stupid look on the face of Theodore Gorp, the stable boy. The gormless fellow was caught right in the middle of spitting. A small gob of saliva was leaving his mouth, a gleaming icicle of sputum.

"I'm never ever going to spit in my entire life if it makes you look that much of an idiot," Anabyl decided.

Which was all very well, but the question remained: how had she frozen the castle, and its inhabitants, in time? She had escaped this fate, how had she managed that?

She had no doubt that she was the one who was responsible, after all, she could move, unlike everyone else. Besides, when stuff like this happened there were only two people she knew could possibly be responsible. One of them was her and the other one wasn't. He lived far away in the human world, unless, that was, he was here right now and watching her.

"You!" a voice came from the battlements over the castle. "This is your doing!" That voice didn't sound like Anabyl's friend Morton. Morton didn't shout and he didn't ever sound cross about anything other than a shortage of cake.

Anabyl realised she had been sprung, but that wasn't unusual. She didn't recognise the voice so she couldn't guess at the consequences. The princess's policy for dealing with accusations from people she didn't know was strictly 'wait and see'. After all, what was the point of worrying unnecessarily?

She turned to look at her accuser. At first she couldn't make out anything against the blue sky over the battlements. Then a small figure with little insect wings came into view. A sprite in a pinstripe suit, carrying an hourglass and a clipboard.

This did not look like a fun sprite, not like her friend from Levercastle. It looked like a sprite from the Office, the administrative organisation that regulated the use of magic in Faerie. This one looked like a proper bureaucrat. From his horn-rimmed specatacles to his brightly polished shoes he radiated officious tedium.

"You are responsible for this anomaly!" the sprite said.

"Might be," Anabyl replied with a shrug. "What's it to you?"

"What's it to me?" the sprite asked, taking offense. "I am Wesley Smoothcog, a representative of the Chronological Services Division of the Bureau of Time. That's what it is to me, young lady. So what do you think of that?"

"There's a Bureau of Time?" Anabyl asked.

Wesley tutted.

"Indeed there is," he said. "And a very important place it is too. Can you imagine what would happen if there were no Chronological Services Division? Chaos! That's what. Effect could cease to follow cause. Day could decide not to follow night. Things need not be all well even if they end well. What went up might not necessarily come down."

"You mean we could fly?" Anabyl asked.

"Yes, I suppose, I mean I already can, but... what I mean is... that's not the point!" Wesley replied. "The point is that you have endangered causality. Endagered it in an area with a diameter of..." he consulted his clipboard, "...thirteen miles. Such a massive anomaly could cause a timephoon, a timequake or even a time-al wave. The consequences of your irresponsible actions could be wide reaching and extremely serious."

"Wow," Anabyl said. "I was only trying to make a better cherry bomb. This is much better."

"Better?" Wesley made the question into a statement. One  that left no doubt that he could not have heard anything more outrageous or upsetting. "Better? Young lady this is the kind of thing that leads to innocent young men becoming their own grandfathers. The kind of thing that ends up with innocent young women giving birth to themselves! That doesn't happen! Not on my watch!"

"Okay," Anabyl said. "So what do you want me to do about it?"

"Stop it, of course!" Wesley replied. "Let time go back to normal and do so before the sands in this hourglass run all the way through." He held the small device up for inspection. A thin sparkling stream of sand trickled through the pinch at the center. "So get to it."

"I don't even know what I did," Anabyl said. "I was just messing around in the alchemist's lab."

"Well, you'd better work it out," Wesley replied. "Because this is serious trouble young lady. You fix this or you could find yourself in Terminus. You want to go to the prison at the end of forever, hey?"

Intriguing as a tour of Terminus might be Anabyl had no desire to be an inmate there. She thought over her time in the alchemist's lab as she studied Wesley's hourglass. The hourglass tipped off a memory in her head, the statue of the bearded hunter, the one holding the bow on which was mounted...

"What's an Arrow of Chronos?" Anabyl asked. "Could that have done this?"

"An Arrow of Chronos," Wesley sounded appalled. "Who would let a child mess around with an Arrow of Chronos?"

"No one let me," Anabyl replied. "I just did it anyway. I do that kind of thing."

"Well we'd better undo it. The Arrow of Chronos is a powerful artifact, freezing time is just one of its many powers, the most basic. It's not intended for wide scale or long term use. When it runs out of power the pent up time in its field will spill out in a massive circle with this as the epicenter. It will be a catastrophe."

Mess was something Anabyl was comfortable with. Chaos, disorder, muddle all these things were her bread and butter. Catastrophe was, however, a little beyond her ambitions. She had no desire to claim responsibility for hurting anyone beyond an injury to pride.

"Come on then, Wesley," she said. "We'd better see what happened to the arrow."

The two of them went into the magician's tower and climbed up to Dweezlepuff's study. The problem became clear immediately. The statue of the bearded hunter was in place but the arrow no longer sat in the bow. The string had sprung forward, the arrow loosed through a nearby window.

"People should not be allowed to display a Chronos Arrow loaded into a bow," Wesley complained. "That's far too dangerous, a clear breach of health and safety."

"You can tell Dweezlepuff about that later," Anabyl said. "For now I imagine we have to find the arrow and return it, am I right?"

Wesley nodded.

"Well," Anabyl said. "The statue was pointing the arrow out of this window," she pointed to the smashed pane of a window in the far wall. "Let's see where it could have gone."

Anabyl peered out through the hole to see that there was  only one destination that the arrow could have found. On the top of a nearby hill was the dark and forbidding presence of the old Spireshine Hunting Lodge. Nobody used the old lodge since Grandfather Roland Spireshine had built a new lodge by the lake to the south. He had done so, it was understood, because the old lodge had a dark and mysterious reputation.

"I think the arrow went to the haunted lodge," Anabyl said. "That's where we'll have to go."

"Did you say... haunted?" Wesley asked.

"Yes," Anabyl said. "Everyone knows, the Old Hunting Lodge is riddled with ghosts. I bet some of them are headless."

This news seemed to be the source of some upset for Wesley. Anabyl had to endure him fussing and fretting as they picked their way along the dark and forbidding path leading to the lodge. You, dear reader, have not caused a fundamental breakdown in the chain of cause and effect near to your family home. For this reason I will spare you a full catalogue of Wesley's complaints. Suffice to say that after a short walk they arrived at the doors of the Old Spireshine Lodge.

"Well, I'm not going in there," Wesley said. "I'm an administrator of time. Ghosts are not my department."

"Fine," Anabyl said. "I could do with a break from your whingeing anyway. I'll go in and see how the professionals wail and moan. I'll be back shortly, if they don't drink my blood or freeze me into stone."

Anabyl walked over the threshold of the lodge and set about searching for the arrow. She wasn't frightened because she'd never met a ghost. Besides, back at the castle she was what most people were afraid of when it got dark.

As it turned out the arrow was not that hard to find, due to the fact that it glowed with a soft green light. Anabyl found a freshly broken window upstairs in the lodge and the arrow was stuck in the wall opposite. The only problem was that it was far too high up for her to reach it.

As she stood pondering this predicament there was the sound of clanking chains and ghastly screaming. A ghost emerged, floating out of a nearby wall.

The spirit had the look of an older man, with some resemblance to Lord Spireshine, probably a deceased relative then. He had the shafts of several arrows protruding from his torso. When he saw the Arrow of Chronos protruding from the wall above the stairs he appeared to flinch back in horror. Anabyl spotted her opportunity.

"Not keen on arrows then, Mister Ghost?" she asked.

"I was accidentally shot to death after my cousin left me in the woods with antlers on my head after my stag party," the ghost moaned. "Do you think I should be happy to see an arrow?"

"Well I'd be happy to take it away," Anabyl said. "But I can't reach it."

"Oh, well," the ghost replied. "I will get it but you must promise to take it away with you."

"Of course," Anabyl replied. "I need to take it back to the castle anyway."

"You live at the castle?" the ghost asked.

"I am Princess Anabyl Spireshine," Anabyl told the ghost. "My daddy is Lord Spireshine the Fourth."

"The Fourth, eh?" the ghost said. "That would make me your great cousin Cedric Spireshine, the third son of Lord Spireshine the Second. How come nobody visits anymore?"

"Grandfather Roland built a new lodge by the lake," Anabyl said. "I think you make people uncomfortable. It's probably not personal just, well, you're dead and all."

Cedric nodded. "I know, I was a bit grumpy when I was first dead but now it would be nice just to have someone to talk to upon occasion. It's not much fun haunting alone."

"Well, you get me that arrow," Anabyl said. "And I promise I'll come back and visit from time to time."

"Very well, great cousin Anabyl," Cedric replied. He floated up to where the arrow protruded from the wall. He gripped the offending item and began wiggling it free. The arrow was stuck fast and Cedric ended up cursing in an old but still crude vernacular. Eventually with some grunting, and a few oaths, the arrow came free and fell to the floor.

"There we go," he said. "Sorry for the delay, I'm not really much of a poltergeist."

"That's fine Great Cousin Cedric," Anabyl said. "I'll get this back and then, I promise, I'll come back and visit soon. Maybe tomorrow."

Anabyl definitely considered the haunted lodge a possible destination for the near future. nNot least because it would be a great place to hide from Dr Dweezlepuff when he returned to find his lab in pieces.

All in all, Anabyl considered, today had turned out more interesting than she could possibly imagine. Once she returned the arrow, she could do something else with her second afternoon. When fortune could provide such riches  for the mischevious, why would Anabyl Spireshine be any other way?