Chapter Six - The Anorak of the Gods.

Cracking title for a chapter that isn’t it? And it’s true, the gods do indeed wear anoraks, particularly if it’s raining and they need to pop down the shops for some milk or something. Indeed, some gods find it hard to buy anoraks that fit, especially some of the more obscure Hindu and Chinese gods who have far too many arms. Mind you, they don’t often have to go out for milk, because many of them drink blood and eat flesh, which isn’t very pleasant -but it saves them money for other things, such as buying anoraks they don’t need.

Aristotle didn’t have an anorak, instead he had a really fancy all in one body suit, and he doesn’t drink milk, or blood or eat flesh. He does need Glee™, which he has fed directly into his bloodstream. I say bloodstream, that’s not actually true.

Readers who have been paying attention will know that Aristotle was once a Fawn who suffered at the hands of a bored Ambrose, who threw him off a cliff. The poor little mite didn’t die - he was somehow resurrected as a rotting corpse with a vicious intent to get revenge on his killer. He joined forces with the evil Emilia Hangnail and tried to "off" our hero on a number of occasions. During all these attempts Aristotle gradually decomposed until he had to be carried in a sack. It was a hessian sack as well, which was really itchy. He soon became fed up with this and starting taking Glee™, a substance which has magical effects on the dead/undead, and Ambrose became a sort of shimmering green hologram. Stay with me now because this is where it starts to get interesting.

After another failed attempt to kill Ambrose off, Aristotle began to doubt his motives and decided he needed to get away from it all for a bit. Without telling Emilia he nipped into the space/time continuum and ended up on a beach in Hawaii.

Which was lovely - all palm trees and lapping waves. It was the sort of place where the sun was like a red-hot saucer on the blue draining board of the sky. For many days Aristotle lay back in his lounger and thought about his life up ‘til now. The alive bit had been all right, frolicking in open green fields and such, but the last part, the rotting corpse with a vengeance bit, had been awful. All hate and no peace makes Aristotle a nasty fawn, he thought.

It was one day, when he had been off searching for coconuts in the forest, when everything changed. He had just climbed down from a tree clutching his coconuts - they had got snagged on a branch and made his eyes water, when he noticed something in a clearing. He crept closer and realised it was singing.

"A wokka tikki wakka

shikka lakka mikki wacka

hicki tokka nikki tikka

licca lakkawikka wakka woo"

It was repeating this simple verse over and over and doing a little Hawaiian dance. There was also another figure, a little girl in a grass skirt skipping about and picking flowers.

"Weird" said Aristotle.

The figure turned around.

"Weirder" said Aristotle, who now had a really good view of the figure.

He had four arms. One was holding a pineapple, one a staff that was on fire at its cross-like tip, and the other two simply waved about. He was wearing a white robe, which had, in the centre, a picture of a heart that shone. The most surprising thing about the figure was the head, which must have been double the size of the body and made completely of stone. Upon seeing Aristotle the figure said, "Weird."

"Look who’s talking," said the Fawn.

The little girl skipped towards him.

"I bring you greetings." Said the girl.

"From who?"

The girl grinned.

"From Roger, the Tiki God."

Roger waved.

"Hi," said the fawn, "I’m…"

"You are Aristotle," said Roger the Tiki God, "And I’m sensing some major naughty vibes emanating from your karma."

"Me too" said the pineapple.

"And I" said the girl, "My name is Ricci. Come let us cure you."

"Bad luck," said Aristotle, "I’m beyond curing, I’m dead,"

"Being dead is only a state of mind" said the pineapple.

"Rubbish!" said Roger, "I wish you’d stop all these ridiculous Zen-like statements. How can being dead be a state of mind? Have you smelled him?"

Aristotle was a little affronted by this.

"Oi!" he said and waved a hoof.

"Sorry," said Roger, "But you really do whiff."

"Peeyou!" said the pineapple and scrunched up his face.

"Please accept out apologies" said Ricci, "and you do smell."

Aristotle sighed. He did smell and there was no denying it.

"I know" he said.

Roger the Tiki God floated towards the fawn with a great big granity smile across his stony face.

"We can’t get rid of that godawful stench, but we can teach you not to care about it."

"Damn tootin’ " said the pineapple.

"We know you are searching for something else." said Ricci.

Aristotle smiled.

"That sounds good" he said, " where do we start?"

"Its quite simple," said Roger, "Just close your eyes."

Aristotle did, and his life changed forever.

*******

Now Aristotle’s life was a little surprised by this. It had sort of got used to the idea the Aristotle had finished with it, really, what with him being dead. So it was that a nice quiet retirement in limbo was rudely interrupted.

One minute it was trying ever so hard to get underneath a particularly low pole without falling over backwards, and the next, all the other lives were standing back in amazement, saying things like "Wow!" and "I never realised what a truly amazing life you were!" and so on. Aristotle’s life took a long hard look in the mirror. Then, quite unexpectedly, the wind changed, and it stayed like that. It was OK though, it lent it a certain rugged charm.

What it had seen in the mirror, was a dramatic change. Gone was the drab old hessian sack. In it’s place a shiny new holographic material fawn-shaped suit. With his new rugged looks, Aristotle’s life was soon scoring with the female lives, all over Limbo.

"Ahh" it thought, "there’s life in the old life yet!"

This had a peculiar effect on the dead Aristotle. Reacting to the debauchery taking place in his life, he became relaxed, calm and at peace. A serious Karma adjustment took place. He wore a smile constantly. He took to speaking in Haiku. He took to looking for beauty where others saw only disorder and ugliness. He took some seriously hard drugs.

After Emilia Hangnail’s visit. He began to ponder. Something had to be done. The woman was a nasty twisted mess of twisted messy nastiness. Suddenly it came to him:

The universe expanding.

Vibraphone absence tingling

I am the light.

And so, Aristotleism was born.

It was an easy birth with no sticky mess and no horrible squelchy noises and no grunting and no mind-numbing pain. It, of course, wasn’t born straight away. Aristotle had to do a fair bit of nipping about in the space/time continuum and tinkering about with laws of time and things like that before Aristotleism really took off.

So what’s the deal now? Well, Aristotle is now seated in a small pocket of reality he created himself, its sort of like the control room in Thunderbirds with lots of flashy buttons and big, white, comfy seats. Aristotle himself sits behind the control desk and keeps and eye on the worlds. He has always been there and he will continue to be there.

It’s all rather confusing really. And very Zen.

*******

"That was rather a long winded explanation" said Ambrose.

"Don’t go complaining, mate" said Sails, "It’s something you need to know."

"Good Lord!" said R, who was well on the road to recovery, it wasn’t a particularly straight road, it was bendy with lots of potholes, but it was a road nonetheless.

"Hang on," said Hitler, "let me just get this straight. You are a robotic Tern, despatched by Aristotle - who is now god - to help us get Ambrose’s Vibraphone back from Emilia Hangnail - who has stolen it and still wants to get revenge on Ambrose for killing her. Emilia is now being chased by Miss Moneypfennig - also know as Lucretia - and Davina Venticle who also want the Vibraphone for a purpose unknown.", Hitler took a breath, "We still need to get the Vibraphone back because if Ambrose doesn’t, reality as we know it, will be destroyed."

"I like jelly," said R.

"Another long winded explanation" said Ambrose.

"I know, I just thought with so many plot threads all over the place we needed to sort a few things out."

There was a brief pause as everyone turned towards the readers and waited whilst everything sunk in.

"Right" said Ambrose, "I suppose we had better get off after Emilia then."

"It’s a good plan," said the Tern, "with only one major flaw. We don’t know where she is."

"I thought you were supposed to help us."

"Help, yes. Not do all the bloody work for you," squawked the Tern.

Ambrose felt a tapping on his knee.

"Oi, cock, I reckon I can ‘elp" said Oswald the gnome.

"What can a Gnome do?"

Oswald tapped the side of his nose. It made a small dink dink noise, and he winked.

"AAAh," he said, "A gnome nose." Then he laughed.

"Look," said Ambrose, "I may have fixed your leg but that doesn’t excuse you from a good slap."

"He’s known for it." said Hitler.

"Web" said R.

The little gnome grinned a cheap pottery grin and said, "Be back in two shakes of a lambs foreskin!" and started to burrow underground.

Everyone hoped he would take a bit longer, they had to find the lamb first.

*******

Kevin wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Phwoar!" he said.

"That was fantastic!" said Bethany May, her cheeks all rosy.

"Thanks, it was my first time."

"Really? With all that talent I would have thought you would have done it before."

"Never." said Kevin with a proud smile, "Do you want me to have another go?"

Bethany May nodded.

"Right, brace yourself." Kevin’s face crunched up in concentration.

"The coffee house, quiet

Bethany and I, alone.

She is beautiful."

Bethany May clapped her hands with joy.

"Oh Kevin, that was about me."

Kevin grinned.

"Let me try."

Bethany May cleared her throat and stared Kevin deep in the eyes.

"Kevin, I like him,

Was wondering if I could

Shag him till he’s blue."

Kevin spat the coffee he had been sipping all over the floor.

Sorry to spoil all the romance there but I thought with all that terrible ‘Carry On’ style innuendo at the beginning of this bit, Kevin would be in need of a little nookie. Actually, as it transpired it was a lot of nookie, a great big barrel of it. Lucky beggar.

*******

The atmosphere inside the tank was hot, sweaty and unpleasant. Davina and Lucretia were – well, you can probably guess how they looked – all that perspiration, tight tee shirts, and so on. (Note: no "Hrrgargle"-ing here, as all the blokes in the story are elsewhere). Anyway, Davina was driving, and Lucretia sitting in the gun turret.

"Puppy!" snapped Davinia.

The enormous turret swung ponderously around. There was a deafening roar, and the by now familiar acrid stench of cordite. Half a mile away, a particularly cute puppy (called "Fang") was instantaneously vaporised. His last thought, strangely enough, was "Oh well, that swarm of African killer bees had my number on it anyway."

High fives were exchanged in the tank, and Lucretia leaned out to stick a crudely drawn picture of a puppy with a big red line drawn through, it on the outside of the turret.

"How are we doing?" she asked.

"Well, I make that four puppies, ten rabbits, three small children and one aardvark."

"No, I meant how are we doing travel-wise."

"Oh right, sorry. We should be coming up on Ambrose’s flat any minute now."

"Will he be there?"

"No. It would be a nice idea to kill him before all this started and grab the Vibraphone, but the future research I’ve done indicates that it would cause an unacceptable time/space paradox. Basically, the Vibraphone becomes irrelevant if Ambrose is killed before he loses it."

"What about if we kill him after he’s lost it?"

"Unpredictable. It would probably save the universe, but you never can tell."

"Do the Powers That Be know?"

"Not for sure. But if things get desperate, they’ll have to take the risk."

"You mean…"

"Oh yes. They’ll kill Ambrose."

The tank shuddered to a halt. Davina shut the engine off.

"42f Wangthorpe Street - Ambrose’s flat. Let’s do it."

The turret swung once more, knocking over a bus stop (complete with a queue of old grannies – it was pension day) in the process.

"Oops!"

The menacing barrel elevated, sparing Dr Graham Jarbucket's World of Contusions its attentions, and aiming directly at Ambrose’s front window.

"Fire!"

"Kaboom! - That’s what I was expecting." said Lucretia.

"What’s the matter? Blow it up!"

"I can’t – nothing’s happening." She opened the breech of the mighty gun. There, instead of the expected high explosive shell, was a small bouquet of primroses, and a neatly folded piece of paper. Lucretia reached in and extracted them, noting in passing that every single round of ammunition had disappeared. Carefully she unfolded the note.

Teeth pulled

The giant stands impotent

Enjoy the walk

"Enjoy the walk? What’s all that about?" queried Davina.

Lucretia opened the turret and looked down.

"The ammo’s not the only thing that’s gone missing. Some bastard’s stolen the tracks."

*******

Ambrose pulled his notepad from his top pocket, and flipped it open.

"Hey, who’s been writing in my pad?"

The rest looked at him blankly.

"Look," he said, holding the page out for inspection, "all the writing’s backwards."

Hitler grabbed the notepad. "This could be our lucky break!"

"It could?"

"Yes, don’t you realise? This notepad must have been next to Miss Moneypfennig – I mean Lucretia’s note when it got all wet. The ink has transferred to this page of your notepad!"

"But it’s backwards. How can we read it?"

"Well, we could get the Powers That Be supercomputer ERNIE to run a state of the art digital sampling analysis, or alternatively" – he turned the page over and held it up to the light – "we could just read from the other side".

"What does it say?"

There was a pause mainly for dramatic effect.

"It says -" before Hitler could read any further, Ambrose whipped the pad away from him.

"It’s my note; it may be personal."

He held the note up to the light and read. After reading it he carefully folded the note into four, ripped it into tiny pieces and then swallowed it.

"What did you do that for?" screamed Hitler.

"Maybe we should ask R." said Ambrose.

R, who had been sitting on the floor saying the word "Frappe" for the last ten minutes, slowly stood up.

"Ambrose, Ambrose, Ambrose," he said, slowly turning around, "I was really hoping it wouldn’t come to this."

From somewhere, probably a shop, R had produced a rather nasty looking gun.

"R," said Hitler, "What’s going on?"

"I think I can explain," said Ambrose, carefully eyeing the gun, "R here intends to kill me."

Hitler looked shocked.

"R?"

"He’s right. Getting that damn Vibraphone is proving far too much hard work, so to save time its probably better to get rid of one half of the equation."

"But surely getting the Vibraphone back is the most important thing?"

"Nonsense." said R. "If Ambrose is dead then the Vibraphone becomes irrelevant. Sorry Ambrose it’s the only way."

"That’s quite alright R," said Ambrose, "As long as I haven’t died in vain"

R laughed - a really nasty laugh it was too, all evil and echoey.

"But you will have died in vain. With all this leaping about through time and space how easy do you think it would have been for me to get your Vibraphone back before it had even been stolen? The whole thing could have easily been avoided."

Ambrose sank to the floor. Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of that? It was so obvious.

"In fact" said R, really lording it up, "In a reality somewhere we did, and you are currently sitting in front of your fire listening to "Parrots with Herpes" the fourth track from Run Like Buggery’s remarkable seventh album "Crusty"."

Ambrose began to sob, "I love that track."

"I’m not having this!" shouted Hitler, "No one is going to die pointlessly whilst I’m here."

"In that case -" said R, and fired. Hitler took a bullet to the skull and hit the floor.

Ambrose watched as Hitler drew his last breath.

"You…you…" he tried to say.

And died.

"He was always expendable" said R, reloading his gun.

"In a reality somewhere, I’m going rip out your lungs and stick them right up your arse." Growled Ambrose, tears streaming down his face.

"I think not." said R and fired.

Time stood still. Odd that. Have you ever wondered how anybody would notice? Maybe it’s happening all the time. Maybe it happened just then. Or then. And another thing. If time stood still, how long would it be before it started moving again?

Anyway, as I’ve said, time stood still. For everyone except Ambrose, that is (ahh, that’s how somebody noticed). From Ambrose’s point of view, everything just stopped; frozen in position.

From the grey goo leaking out of Hitler’s head, to the small ugly looking projectile hovering some six inches in front of his face, everything was static. For a while, he wandered around trying to move things, until he realised that it was completely impossible. Even the bullet meant for him stubbornly refused to budge, even a millimetre.

Then, the most beautiful hole in the space-time continuum that you ever did see - or are likely to see again for that matter – opened, and out stepped … a pineapple. Yes, I said "a pineapple". It was an extremely cute pineapple, fully equipped with legs, eyes, and a mouth, all of which it seemed perfectly capable of using.

"Hi!" said the pineapple.

"Undoubtedly," replied Ambrose, "I’m conversing with a pineapple".

"Bet you can’t guess who sent me."

"Err, let’s see. Do you intend to kill me?"

"No."

"Uh-huh. Do you intend to destroy the world?"

"No."

"Have you come to rescue me?"

"Look this isn’t twenty questions. I come as a messenger from Aristotle, the great one. He says ‘Hi’."

"That’s it? All this, just to say ‘Hi’? I’m stuck in some kind of time warp, talking to a pineapple, just because a fawn (who happens to be dead, of course) wants to pass on a casual greeting?"

The pineapple pulled a funny face "No. It’s sort of about saving your life. By the way, did you know that R is also a double-agent?"

"It was a bit of a give away, when he did that evil laugh, and tried to kill me." He stepped backwards into the suspended bullet, cursed and walked around it.

"So how are you going to save me?"

The pineapple grinned an endearing little grin. Ambrose wanted to crush it to pulp.

"I’m not. You are."

"Fine. How?"

"I can’t tell you that. It would create a disturbance in the time line."

Ambrose walked over to stand in what he hoped was a menacing way, in front of the pineapple.

"Then what good are you? Why should I refrain from crushing you to a juicy pulp?"

"Because, I can help you." It grinned the grin again. "I know, for instance, how to start time again."

Ambrose knew better than to ask, so he waited expectantly.

The grin widened. "Good, you’re learning. All you have to do is take up your position, as before, and time will restart."

"What will happen then?"

"At a rough guess, the bullet will enter your skull and spread your brains all over that wall."

"That doesn’t seem to help, much."

"And if it misses, he’s got plenty more bullets."

Ambrose thought. "Suppose I disabled his gun. But what with? I can’t move anything."

"You’re moving."

"Yes, but I have to be in position in front of the bullet. But – hang on! What about the stuff I’m carrying?" He rooted around in his pockets, eventually finding a stick of gum. Still thinking, he chewed the gum to just the right consistency and stuffed it into the barrel of R’s gun.

"OK, that’s one problem out of the way. Now, what to do about the bullet?"

The beautiful hole reopened - I guess I was wrong about the "not likely to see again" bit – and the pineapple sauntered towards it.

"Wait!" cried Ambrose. "You can’t just leave!"

"Of course not!" said the pineapple "What kind of exit would that be? This may only seem like a bit part to you, but it’s probably the last appearance I’ll make in the story. No, I think I’ll go out in style."

He moved closer to the hole. Ambrose felt himself inexorably compelled to resume his position in front of the bullet. The pineapple spoke one last time:

"You are on a horse, but you can’t get down.

You are up a tree but you can’t get down.

Where can you get down from?"

Ambrose was almost in position. He thought furiously, not even noticing as the pineapple disappeared through the hole, which then vanished. As Ambrose finally assumed his correct position, the answer came to him.

"Duck!" he screamed, and did.

The bullet creased his scalp and buried itself in the wall.

"Curses!" yelled R and fired again. There was a very odd sounding "bang!" as the rear of the gun disintegrated into a storm of white-hot metal fragments, which then proceeded to turn R’s face into something resembling cottage cheese. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Ambrose sat on the floor, looking around at the carnage. What could be worth all this? Hitler dead; R dead; Tom/Kevin missing (probably dead); Fatty Lumpkin dead; it was starting to look like the final scene from Hamlet.

It was just at that precise moment there came a rumbling from beneath the ground. It shook, it may have even rattled a bit, but the only rolling that went on was Ambrose as the earth opened beneath him and he was sent tumbling forward in a cloud of earth and worms.

"Ta Daaa!" went Oswald shaking earth from his hat, "Its me!"

Ambrose wiped some mud from his eye and spat out a load of earthworms.

"Oh" he said.

"There’s no need to be downhearted!" said the gnome. He then looked about and saw the carnage.

"Oh" he said.

"Yes," said Ambrose, "Oh".

"It’s like an abattoir in here" he said, with far too much Gnomish cheer, "Mind if I have a nibble?"

"A nibble?"

"Yes, a nibble. I’ve always wondered what fascist dictator tastes like."

"Are you telling me," said Ambrose, "That you want to eat Hitler?"

"Of course. It would be something to tell my friends, also it would wipe the smile of old Timpkin’s face, I’m sick of his ‘I’ve tasted Jesus’ rubbish."

"I’ve tasted Jesus?"

"I don’t believe him either, but he is the oldest gnome in the world ever, so it could be true."

"I don’t know what to say" said Ambrose. Which is a strange thing to say because, if you think about, you clearly do know what to say because you just said something.

"So, can I have a nibble, or not?"

"No, you bloody can’t. I can’t believe you eat people!" Ambrose picked himself of the ground.

"Always have done, always will."

"Enid Blyton was way off."

"I thought so." said Oswald making smacking sounds with his mouth, "She didn’t taste all that fresh".

It was at this point that Ambrose was violently sick.

"Aargyeauch" said lots of little voices from the hole that Ambrose had just been sick into.

"You’ve just been sick on my friends!" said Oswald, who had avoided the vomit.

"Sorry" said Ambrose, then a worried look passed over his face, "You haven’t invited them for…lunch have you?"

"No, no, no, no." said Oswald, "Were all here to take you to your Vibraphone!"

Ambrose lurched forward.

"You know where it is?"

"Not exactly, but we all have a pretty good idea."

"That’s good enough," he went to leap down the hole, but he paused, "You’re not working for any secret organisations are you?"

There was some murmuring from down the hole.

"Bonko, Grimpot, and Shuffle have formed a lunch club. Did you want to join?"

"Not particularly. Can we go?"

"Of course old son," with that Oswald dived into the hole. Ambrose watched the retreating Gnome disappear down the hole.

"You’d better keep that promise Miss Moneypfennig" he said and followed Oswald.

Sail the Robo-tern flapped his wings.

"Hey, how come I was hardly mentioned in that last bit?"

Eerm…we forgot about you.

"That’s not fair, I’m a complicated bit of hardware fused with state of the art technology me. You can’t just forget me!"

We really are sorry, but you didn’t seem that important to the plot.

"Not important to the plot! I work for the man upstairs!"

Look, we’re sorry.

"Speaking of plot, you’re going to have to get some workmen in."

Workmen?

"Yes, to fill in some of those bloody great holes."

Now, you’re pushing it.

"Oooh, testy aren’t we? And another thing, some of the narrative doesn’t make sense."

Everyone’s a bloody critic.

"I can prove it, at one point you say that the bald man is Aristotle and then you say he works for Aristotle. Which one is it?"

Well…he works for Aristotle. Obviously.

"You can’t do that. You can’t just change it when it suits you!"

We can, we’re the writers. We can do what we want.

"Oh yeah?"

Yeah - for instance:

Sails the Robo-tern suddenly started to fizz and pop. Feathers shot off in every direction and the whole bird began to shake and crackle. Nuts and bolts flew everywhere.

"You bastar…" whatever he was going to say was cut short as the Robo-tern exploded in a cloud of metal and feathers.

That showed him. Hah!

*******

Kevin was having a good scrub in the shower, and he was singing. "Wow," he thought, "sex with a woman, wow!". He was grinning all over his face.

Bethany May called from the other room.

"Are you ready yet Kevin!"

Kevin grinned again, and sang.

"Nearly!"

"Good, because you and I going to go and meet someone very important."

"Who?" He was now out of the shower and giving himself a really good dry.

"You’ll find out when we get there."

"Jolly good" said Kevin, "Can we have sex again when we come back?"

"Only if you’re good!"

Kevin grinned. He would be very good. Very, very, very good. He stopped drying himself and got dressed.

"Are you ready now?" Asked Bethany May, sounding somewhat agitated.

Kevin appeared from the bathroom, grinning.

"Ta Daa-Oooof!" which is a strange way of making an entrance. The Ta Daa bit is okay but the Oooof bit? This can only be explained by way of finding out that he had just been hit over the head with a spade and bundled into a sack.

"What did you do that for?" said Kevin, his voice muffled by hessian.

"I really am sorry, it’s nothing personal but it turns out you’re far more important than we thought you were."

"Where did this we come from…and can we still have sex?"

"As I said, only if you’re good."

With that Kevin went quiet.

*******

Davina and Lucretia were running up the high street.

"What are we running for again?" said Lucretia in-between pants.

"I will tell you as soon as you get that washing line off your face."

A load of pants hit the floor.

"Right, the plan is to stop this thing before it starts. If we can get to Ambrose before he leaves for Africa I reckon we should be alright."

The two turned a corner and ran straight into someone.

"Ooof" they all went as they fell down.

"Sorry," said Davina helping the third person up, "we didn’t see…oh."

"That’s alright" said the third person, who happened to be a quite attractive raven-haired beauty, "You haven’t dented the vibraph…what?"

Lucretia looked on amazement.

"Bloody hell" she said.

"This isn’t supposed to happen" said Davina Venticle.

"How come - you’re me!" said the other Davina Venticle.

"This should make things interesting." Said Lucretia.

*******

Somewhere, in a small black cavern, surrounded by rocks and probably bats, sat Emilia Hangnail. She was rocking gently back and forth and chuckling to herself. By the light of the Glee ™ you could just make out that she was holding a vibraphone. Every now and then she said, "Ambrose! Here Ambrose!"

*******

" – and then the bastard went and made me explode, right there, with all the readers reading!"

Look, Sails, mate – you can’t expect me to overrule what he’s done. Besides, it’s your own fault. You know how sensitive he gets about plot-holes. Now don’t start with that uncontrollable sobbing again. Look, I’ll tell you what – I’m going to write you back in, but just make sure you stay out of the way when he’s around. If he finds out you’re back there’ll be hell to pay.

In the grounds of the church, near a gaping hole, made by a gnome (but apparently big enough for Ambrose to fit through) a feather stirred; then another, despite the fact that there was not a breath of wind to be felt. Slowly, painstakingly, they moved closer together. Bolts, nuts and bits of circuitry melted and flowed together before reforming into their original shape. A beady eye blinked.

*******

Aristotle was puzzled. Everything in the Universe had a reason, of course, but sometimes it was hard to understand – even for his omnipotent all-encompassing brain. One of the cameras in sector 7G was down again; for the forth time this week. Something was going on. He dispatched the pineapple to repair it. He knew exactly what it would find – the same as every time before. Something kept gnawing through the wires. The questions were: who (or what); and why?

*******

Davina Venticle looked at her reflection in the shop window. Then she realised it wasn’t her reflection at all, it was the other Davina’s reflection. She felt extremely unwell. Lucretia looked alarmed. She had a big red box on the back of her head with a blue flashing light on it.

"Something’s wrong. I can feel it." Davina put her hand to her forehead, only for it to pass completely through.

"Shit!" exclaimed the other Davina, "It’s happening to me too!"

"It must be a paradox!" said Lucretia. "You can’t both be here at the same time. It’s not like with Ambrose, his other self was from a different dimension, so that was OK. But this other you is from this dimension, just another time. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but it can’t be anything good, can it?"

"You’ve got a gun. Kill her."

"I can’t. She’s you remember? If I kill her, you’ll be dead too. Besides, how do I know which you you are?" Lucretia was starting to get a headache. Probably that bloody alarm going off.

"Quick – use the dobber thing and open a time/space portal. We’ve got to get one of you out of here!"

One of the Davina’s opened a portal. "Give me the Vibraphone." She growled, low and menacing. The other Davina held the Vibraphone in one hand, and a gun in the other.

"Oh no. How do I know this isn’t some elaborate trick by Ambrose to get it back? You – that is I – might be working for him now. Get out of here before I shoot you, err, me."

"You’ve got you there," smiled Lucretia.

"Damn! Why couldn’t I be more trusting?" So saying, she stepped through the portal. Lucretia followed.

The Davina that was left scratched her head, "Weird," she said and clutched the Vibraphone close to her.

"Now my little beauty," she said stroking the instrument, "You and I are going on a little trip." She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a plane ticket. If you were close enough to read the ticket you would notice it said "Africa – One Way".

"If Ambrose is half the man I think he is, he will deduce my identity from the hairclip that I left as a clue, and follow me straight to that dark and mysterious continent. A ha ha ha."

With that she scooted off to the local airport.

*******

Of course, Ambrose did follow her to Africa but didn’t quite catch up with her. At this precise moment he was really wishing he had. He was crawling, on his stomach through a low, muddy tunnel. Directly in front of him was a whole load of digging Gnomes. To make things worse they were singing.

"Don’t you know another song" asked Ambrose, spitting mud.

Oswald turned around.

"Of course we bleedin’ do mate, but this one helps us dig."

"You know, I deduced that from the words."

"Coo, you’re a bright one, which chorus did you work that out from?"

"I think it was the one that went ‘Dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig’."

"The first or third chorus?"

"Hmmm, how did the third one go?"

"Dig, dig, dig, dig, dig, dig."

"Then it was that one." Ambrose sighed, "Please can you sing something else?"

"Alright, alright, what do you suggest?"

"How about something from ‘Run Like Buggery’?"

Oswald thought about this for a moment.

"Aha!" he said, "I have the perfect track. Right lads, track four from the double album ‘The Sun Was Like A Hole In The Trousers Of The Sky."

All the gnomes cheered.

"Oh no," said Ambrose, who’s memory for ‘Run Like Buggery’ tracks was exceptional.

"Burrow, burrow, burrow, burrow, burrow, burrow, burrow." Sang the gnomes.

Hours later - well it was actually about one hour, but after the gnomes sang the ‘Burrow’ song over and over again, it seemed like hours - the gnomes all stopped.

"Here we are." Said Oswald, gesturing about with his little pottery hands.

Ambrose looked about.

"Were still in a muddy tunnel," he said.

"At the moment, of course we bleedin’ are. We is waiting."

"For what" said Ambrose.

Just as Ambrose spoke huge chunks of earth started to fall from under him. This happened all down the tunnel and he watched as all the gnomes started to fall through the gaps.

"For this!" said Oswald as he fell.

"Marvellous" said Ambrose. A large clump of mud crumbled from beneath him and Ambrose tumbled through the hole.

It wasn’t a long fall - only about six feet - and the fall was cushioned, by a brightly coloured enormous mushroom. Ambrose shook his head and stared around. He was in huge cavern. So huge was it, that he couldn’t see the other side or, in some places, the roof. He looked at the gnomes, who were bouncing up and down on their mushrooms, going "Wheeeee!".

"Where are we?" he asked.

Don’t you know?" shouted Oswald, who was getting a real nice height to his bounces, "This, mate, is the land that time forgot."

Before anybody says anything, can I just say that no, Ambrose has not been here before. He has, however, been to the ‘Time the land forgot’ and met the warrior women. You really must pay attention.

*******

The pineapple appeared before Aristotle; he was grinning.

"Well" said Aristotle, "What was the problem?"

"The lines had been nibbled again"

"Of course" said Aristotle, putting his head in his hoofs.

"Hey, don’t look so downhearted. I have worked who is doing the nibbling."

Aristotle cheered up at once.

"Way to go Pineapple! Who is it?"

"Gnomes" said the pineapple.

"Gnomes?" said Aristotle.

"Gnomes" said the pineapple.

Aristotle frowned a frown that only omnipotent dead fawns can.

"Why?" he said, half to himself.

"Well," said the pineapple putting his hands in his pockets, "Gnomes are a law unto themselves, and right little buggers they are too. Singing repetitive songs, standing in gardens pretending not be alive, eating the dead…"

"What!" shrieked Aristotle, "You have pockets!"

"Where did you think I kept my loose change?"

There was a silence whilst Aristotle considered what a pineapple would spend its money on.

"Right" said Aristotle deciding on a plan of action, "Here is my plan of action." He cleared his throat.

"Pineapple, Roger, Ricci

Sector 7G

Find out."

"Righto. Incidentally - even though I’ve just been there - and for dramatic effect - What is sector 7G?"

"Aah" said Aristotle, "The Land that Time Forgot."

"Thanks" said Sails, flapping his newly formed wings.

What are you doing back?

"You brought me back…oh, It’s you."

Yes, it me. Who brought you back?

"No-one, I came back meself using state of the art nanotechnology"

Rubbish, you haven’t got that. Have you been speaking to Brian behind my back?

"No, no, no…yes."

Right.

All of a sudden there was a massive gust of wind. The church bell sprung creakily back and forth, ‘dong’-ing ominously.

"You wouldn’t?"

Just as the bell reached the zenith of its arc there was a load cracking noise, the bell came loose from it holdings and hurtled towards the ground.

"You git!" said Sails.

An ear-splintering crunch echoed around the churchyard, and bits of the newly formed Robo-tern showered around the gravestones as the bell hit the unfortunate bird. Sending him to his grave. FOREVER.

*******

It was dark under the bell. Very dark. The sun was like a huge glowing unlicensed nuclear reactor, ninety three million miles away, behind several billion tons of planet.

Do you think he bought it?

"Had to. I gave up several feathers and forty seven grams of hastily constructed robo-tern facsimile material for that stunt. That was real class".

OK. But just stay out of the way during his bits from now on.

"What about if I showed him my ‘Walking on the Water’ trick, that’s got to make him like me."

No! Now hop it. I’ve got a story to write. Not down there! You know very well that leads straight to (Dah - dah - dah!’) The Land that Time Forgot.

The forlorn writer stared at the gnome-sized hole into which the Robo-Tern with an apparent death wish had just disappeared. He scratched his head. What the hell is that bird up to?

*******

Somewhere, in a small black cavern, surrounded by rocks, but no bats this time (it was night – they were out feeding) sat Emilia Hangnail. She rubbed the Vibraphone with Glee, making it shine brightly. She watched some television. She read part of a not very good book. She got up, made a cup of tea and went to the toilet, while the adverts were on. She went out, did some shopping and bought herself a McDonald’s Happy meal (it’s OK, she is evil, after all) She came home again and had a long snooze.

Sorry about that, but it can’t all be action you know. I know you like to think that the characters in this story have nothing better to do than sport themselves for your entertainment, but they do have lives of their own.

*******

Kevin sweated in the sack. It wasn’t that he was hot, really – it was the half hour he had just spent listening to Bethany May’s activities with whoever it was she’d dragged him along to see. Finally, he heard the sound of a match being struck.

"Right. Well let’s see what you’ve brought me."

There was a tugging at the top of the sack and a hole appeared. Squinting against the light, Kevin took his first look at the mysterious stranger who had just been making his new-found girlfriend bark like a dog.

"Fol-de-Rol." he breathed.

"Is this. All." said William Shatner.

William Shatner. William bloody Shatner! This has to be some sort of joke right?

"But William, look closer at him." Said Bethany May.

William Shatner looked.

"Good. Grief. I. Can’t believe.It!" He then did a strange gesture. "Its. Kevin"

It is William Shatner. I’ve seen it all now.

Kevin was struck dumb with amazement.

"You’re William Shatner" said Kevin.

"At - your - service." He said.

Then Kevin punched him, really hard, right in the chops.

"Don’t touch my girlfriend again." He said.

"Oh Kevin!" said Bethany May, "What have you done?"

Kevin looked at the sprawled cult hero. Blood had just started to run from one nostril and, somehow, he had managed to rip his shirt.

"I punched him, he had been… he was…you’re my girlfriend and he was…you know…"

Kevin mimed, using his hips.

Bethany May slapped him.

"What are you talking about? We did no such thing."

"Yes you did! I heard the rhythmic squeaking of springs, moans of joy, and then he made you bark like a dog." It was during this defensive speech his eye fell upon the trampoline in the corner of the room. Next to it were two pairs of shoes, one ladies and one mens. He noticed Bethany’s bare feet.

"Oh" he said, then, "What about the dog barking bit?"

"Bethany May. Does great. FARM yard. Impre.Ssions." said William Shatner heroically wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand.

Kevin looked sheepish.

"I really am sorry, I thought you were…you know…with…her…"

He then did his mime again and received another slap for his efforts.

"Why the trampoline?" Said Kevin.

"It helps us centre our Karma, the road ahead is fraught with worry and we need our Karma as centred as possible."

"Also. IT’S. Fun"

Kevin scratched his head. He did this a lot - it seemed to help.

"What road? Why did you bring me here?"

It was then a remarkable thing happened. There was a strange echoey voice from above. A voice that sort of combined bells, with birds whistling and also a faint hint of your celestial choir.

"I can tell you. You are the new Messiah!" said the voice.

"What?" said Kevin who was scratching so hard, hair was coming loose.

"The new Messiah." said the voice, "For you are the Son of God."

"Jesus Christ!" exclaimed Kevin.

"No, your name’s Kevin. Jesus was the old god’s son. Nice lad; a bit beardy but a cracking carpenter."

"No, I meant ‘Jesus Christ!’ as a sort exclamation of amazement. I could of said ‘Gosh!’ but it seemed to lack in dramatic effect."

"Also" said William Shatner, "The Joke. Wouldn’t have…worked."

The voice sighed.

"I think Bethany May will explain it better than me. Anyway I’d better go. I have a problem with Gnomes"

"Ahh.Gnomes. Horrible little. Buggers…nasty. Pointy. Teeth WITH stupid. Pottery…beards."

"Right…" said the voice, "I’m off - Oh, and Kevin -"

"Yes?"

"The path is windey,

And the stones are sharp,

Don’t graze your knee."

Then the voice and the blue light faded.

"All hail. THE…new. Mess.Iah." said William Shatner, gesturing like a madman.

"Does he always speak like that?" asked Kevin.

Bethany May nodded her head.

"Always. Annoying isn’t it?"

"HEY. I. Could get…quite. OFF. Ended. By…that…"

Kevin punched him. William Shatner bounced off a rock and hit the floor. His shirt had managed to rip itself to shreds.

"Now, what’s all this new Messiah rubbish then?"

"It is written, in the Book of Aristotle, that a new messiah will come to rid us of all our skin."

"Our skin? Won’t that hurt?"

"Well," she examined her nails in an embarrassed sort of way, "there are those who suggest that it’s a misprint – that it should say ‘Sin’ – but I’m not sure I believe it. It’s probably just some obscure reference to us becoming ethereal beings, or something" she finished, weakly.

She became extremely animated – jagged lines, mainly black and white with just a splodge of colour here and there to highlight the important features - "But you should know! You’re the new messiah, after all."

Kevin admired the way her arms left thin black streaks behind as she waved them about – it gave a real impression of speed.

"But I don’t! I don’t know anything. Jesus had it easy. He was just a baby. He had ages to get used to the idea and find out what was going on. I’ve been chucked in at the deep end , with no training whatsoever."

Bethany May smiled one of those "Oh isn’t he adorable?" smiles that gorgeous girls reserve for their man when he reveals a bit of his feminine side.

"Ahh, but you have had training."

"I meant you training in how to guide people. Isn’t that what Tom Bombadils do best?"

Kevin brightened visibly – firefly DNA in his genes probably.

"Sure, what do you want to find?"

"Enlightenment, Nirvana, oneness with the Universe!"

Kevin considered for a moment. "How about a cup of coffee?"

"No, I think spiritual enlightenment with the universe would be best."

"Okay, but the problem is I’m only good at finding places and objects and things. Well - not that good since Fatty Lumpkin bought it."

"Aah, so what your saying is you need some sort of vessel for you to channel your finding abilities through?"

"Yes, well, sort of. But Enlightenment, and Nirvana and Oneness aren’t real places are they? More sort of states of mind."

"So you need some sort of transport that will help you travel to a place that only exists within the confounds of the mind." Bethany May drummed her fingers on her chin in a ‘There must be some kind of vehicle that exists’ kind of way.

"No, this is silly. No vehicle exists like that…no, hang on - do you remember ‘Monkey’?"

"What, that TV programme about the monkey god who was banished from heaven after he urinated on the palm of Buddah?"

"Yes, that the one."

There was a pause.

"Your going to do that, ‘No, I can’t remember it’ gag aren’t you?"

Bethany May fluttered her eyelids, "Moi?" she said.

"Well, in that programme Monkey had a cloud that he flew about on, it took him everywhere. If a vehicle could travel the windey roads of the mind, then surely, that must be it."

"How did he conjure such a vehicle?"

"Like this." Kevin plucked a hair from his head. It took him a couple of goes because he kept wincing and muttering something about a low pain threshold, so Bethany actually plucked the hair. I’m saying hair - clump of hairs is probably a better description. After his eyes stopped watering, he took one hair between his thumb and forefinger and waved it in front of his mouth whilst he blew on it.

Bethany watched him for a moment.

"And this is supposed to make a cloud is it?"

"Be patient" said Kevin still a-blowing and a-waving.

Bethany was patient for twenty seven minutes.

"Maybe its how I’m blowing it" he took to blowing a bit harder, then softer, then made a sort of farting noise, then tried sucking, but only succeeded in swallowing the hair, making him choke.

"This is nonsense." Said Bethany.

"Just one more go. Maybe I didn’t pick the right hair." He said and plucked one right from the front, centre of his head. Clever people who are reading will note that the part of the brain just below that area is The BrainRadio ™.

His did the waving and blowing bit. The air stirred just above his head, and ‘pop’ a little white cloud appeared.

"Told you" said Kevin, looking far too smug.

"Okay, smug boy, how do we get on it then?"

"Well, Monkey always jumped up to it…oh." Kevin did his trademark head scratching routine, "Okay, give me a leg up."

After much grunting and groaning the pair managed to mount the cloud.

"Right" said Kevin, and shut his eyes.

Two seconds later, the clouded vanished.

In case anyone cares, William Shatner woke up about twenty minutes later, ripped his shirt some more, cursed loudly and left, leaving no explanation for the reason of his appearance in this story.

*******

Ambrose had been walking for a good two hours. Actually there was nothing good about those hours. A more accurate description would be Ambrose had been walking for a long, slow, hot, sweaty and at times, bloody dangerous two hours. The Gnomes, on the other hand, were having a marvellous time. Many of them had been skipping, a few had gambolled and one even had a frolic. Singing had been going on as well. Ambrose was sick of it.

"Where are we going?" he kept asking Oswald.

Instead of a proper answer the Gnome just tapped the side of his nose and winked. This also was starting to wind Ambrose up.

Eventually, they reached a cave entrance.

"Here we are" shouted the Gnomes.

"Where?" said Ambrose.

"Here" said Oswald, "Right outside this cave entrance."

This was too much, Ambrose grabbed the Gnome by his neck and started to shake him.

"WHERE ARE WE?" he shouted, in capitals.

"Cough, arrgh, choke, gasp." Said Oswald.

"Oh, sorry" said Ambrose and let go his grip slightly.

"Try that again"

"What I was trying to say was ‘Get him Lads!’"

With that, the large group of Gnomes dragged a screaming, kicking Ambrose to the ground. Then they sat on him.

Oswald strode around Ambrose. I say strode, but since Gnomes have little legs its quite hard for them to get a good stride going, so all they really achieve is a curious yet threatening canter. Ambrose would have laughed had he not had a Gnome sitting on his face.

"Aha" said Oswald, "Now we have you in our bleedin’ grasp."

"Cough, Argh, choke, gasp" said Ambrose.

"You won’t trick us by trying to start a running gag now mate" said the Gnome.

"You little git." said Ambrose, absolutely foaming at the mouth.

"Ooooh!" said Oswald, "aren’t we a Mister StroppyPants. We hope you won’t treat the person we work for with such stroppy, girly behaviour."

"But…you said you didn’t work for…"

Oswald cut him dead.

"We lied, and you fell for it. Surely you must have guessed we weren’t cheery chirpy little fellows. We eat people for lord’s sake."

"With what I’ve been through I would have believed anything."

"Then you are a fool." The voice came from the cave, it echoed and resonated and fair put the willies up Ambrose.

"Who’s there?" he shouted. I think we can guess, can’t we children.

From right at the back of the cave there appeared a strange green glow which slowly moved closer. Within that glow was a hunched, elderly figure. It was carrying something.

A hush settled on the Gnomes. A Hush is an underground dwelling bird, which is a close relation to the Thrush. The only difference really is the fact the T is missing. On seeing this small bird, all the Gnomes went silent.

"Who are you?" shouted Ambrose, who, by now should have worked it out. Mind you, he was beneath the earth’s crust, being sat upon by a load of flesh eating Gnomes, so I can easily forgive his stupidity.

The gloating, malignant face of Emilia Hangnail appeared at the cave entrance. Glee filled her eyes.

"It’s you" said Ambrose, as the penny dropped.

"Yes" said Emilia, "It is me. Thank you Gnomes, you have done well. If you go into my cave you will find the corpses of several celebrities - Jeremy Beadle, Pat Sharp and Celine Dion amongst them. They are your reward."

All the Gnomes leapt up, gnashed their teeth and ran into the cave. It may be noted that when the Gnomes had finished their feast, Celine Dion had not been touched. This just go to show that, even though the Gnomes were evil, flesh eating little bastards they do have some good taste.

Ambrose lay on the ground, too stunned to speak or move. Clutching the Vibraphone, Emilia strode round him. She had a fantastic stride - she had been practising in quiet moments, honing her striding until it became really menacing and evil. Ambrose would have been impressed had he not been pooping himself. He also noticed the Vibraphone. A cold sweat rose on Ambrose’s brow.

"Scared, aren’t you?"

"Actually, now you come to mention it… HEEEEEELLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPP!!"