Trouble, trouble, trouble all the time.
The quartet were almost devastated.
It wasn’t that they had lost the sense of being a quintet along with all of the possible melodic sequences that allowed, or the chance to do an impression of the Dave Clark Five.
Take Five!
It was the loss of Ena and all it entailed. They would not miss her as she was a useless twat. It was just that she was married to Regan the Orc, a chief Financial Advisor and associate of Tax Collectors. The Orcs were known to dislike their wives intensely but they had such a primal family loyalty that it made them scary creatures to deal with.
Very, very scary.
Scarier than the scariest thing you could ever think of, adapted by Hollywood and put into a scary movie. Though scary movies are actually becoming quite jolly really. I mean an old-style scary movie that used to make you go hide under the sofa because you were scared so much you thought you were going to produce a liquid evacuation in your pants.
That’s how scary an Orc can be.
How could they explain it to big Regan?
“Well you see boss you had never introduced her to the little man in the boat. So when the opportunity arose she went for it. She’s probably living on a little island with the little man in a little-known part of a little-known sea.”
It wouldn’t wash. Not the sea; the sea would wash up and down the shore with the seagulls flitting alongside the puppies. No, the suggestion that Ena was cooped up in a love nest with some fictitious little man. That wouldn’t wash. Actually it was a disgusting mental image that made Peter want to wash his brains in a bowl of soup, preferably mulligatawny.
So how could they explain the disappearance? After all big Regan had expected them to take the half-witted wife and broaden her mind with travel. Some of her more recent utterances did suggest that things were working in that direction as she had come out with a few useful comments. But it wouldn’t sustain; he would see through it and eat them all.
“He wouldn’t eat me,” said Hanny, “not without risking a fresh set of wars with the Fairies.”
“He wouldn’t eat me either. I’d give him the shits!” said Greg.
Peter and Steve didn’t feel quite so confident. There was little that could save them from becoming a Fictitious Character Burger, not unless they could contract some life-threatening illness, a bug that was passed on through the food chain. Perhaps they should coat themselves in Salmonella.
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it!” stated Hanny in her controlling manner.
“What bridge?”
“The one that crosses the deep ravine at the southern end of Wails. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she explained.
“And how are we going to explain the disappearance of that annoying twat Ena?” asked the exasperated Pixy.
“I think what we will do is say that she met a handsome vagabond Orc called Geoff, fell in love with him and move to the land of the Frozen Nobbs!”
“That will work. Not!”
“Well if anyone can come up with a better story get it written down and sent off to a literary agent. Meanwhile let’s hit reality. We still have a long way to go to the fabled Lake of The Gloompty Fish. It may not exist, hence the term fabled. In spite of this if we ever do get there we have to catch one of the two headed monsters, land it, strips its guts out and extract the anti-bottom fouler from its liver. We then have to get home. If we survive all that then I’m sure we will be able to think of a way of dealing with big Regan!” explained Hanny.
“We could just kill him,” said Steve laconically.
They mused on this point, deciding that should they return from the Quest and get any hassle from big Regan then this was probably the best course.
“Should have thought of that first,” said Peter, hindsight being his forte.
The day was drawing toward lunchtime when Hanny felt it was time to bid farewell to her old friends. She would dearly have loved to stay at Both, to go running along the coastal path and back into her old haunts in Fanovabba. On the other hand she was on a Quest which had to take priority. Her thoughts flew back to the last great mission she had completed – the search for the Holey Grate, a valuable relic that kept the fire going in King Innocent’s bedroom. She felt there had been others but couldn’t recall if they had actually happened or if they were dreams outside of Time. Her puzzled brain chased a couple of ephemeral images – King Grumbleflick and the Sons of Turenn.
Reality or Dreams?
Dreams or Reality?
Or was it just my imagination, running away with me?
We shall see.
Besides, returning to the playground of ones youth is not always a good idea. Much of the fun is based around the people who were there at the time, not the place itself. When all those old companions have passed on to play the next level in the game of life, going back to the start can be quite disappointing, like sliding down the snake when you’re almost at the top of the ladder; Or being made redundant after a successful career in marketing and then having to get a job as an office junior even though you’re approaching pensionable age; Or spending a lifetime as a Priest and then finally admitting on your seventieth birthday that you are an atheist with anarchistic tendencies whose real ambition had been to undermine the state and all it stands for, whilst bedding supermodels to the delight of the tabloid hacks; Or spending twenty five years teaching Mathematics when really you wanted to build a garden railway.
Peter, Greg and Steve sat on the patio of the lovely house of His Senses while the Fairies went to the bottom of the garden to say their goodbyes. It was a favourite place for Fairies as Elsie and Yvette demonstrated. Nobody really understands why they like to congregate there, possibly something to do with Fairy Feng Shui or Mythical Motivators. Whatever the reason the six luscious ladies had a group hug at the bottom of the garden, a case of pseudo-erotic delight for the three lads. Peter felt he would like to stay here forever, watching the friendly bonding of these pretty, cute bosomed pals, sipping a cool glass of wine as the Sun goes down and the ladies kiss each other goodnight.
It would not do.
He had a Quest to fulfil.
He had a sore arse to fill full.
He dithered. It was a pleasure to wear the magic underpants; why not just keep them forever. They could all stay here in Wails. Steve and Greg would get used to being the playthings of the banshees, breeding new mongrel characters that would eventually exist only in nightmares. In fact a Goblin/Gnome/Banshee cross breed would make a marvellous character in a horror movie; or become a premiership footballer.
This was not the answer. It was not even the Question. The Quest your on is the Question. He knew his thoughts were being influenced by the overdose in his jacksy. The pile relief prevented him from reasoning clearly. He had agreed with King Innocent to search for the legendary Permanent Cure so he would continue on his way. The sunshine in Fanovabba was not enough to stop him.
To Hell with it, he thought, my arse needs an anal solution; I will go on and be cured. I will forsake the dubious sexual curiosity that has been engendered in me by these six birds. It is time to stamp my mark on the History of the planet. I will find the Gloompty Fish and I will obtain the Permanent Cure. I will be a success!
“Are you talking to yourself?” asked Greg, watching the interplay of mouth movements and facial gyrations.
“What if I am, bandy boy!”
Even Greg could tell that Peter was no longer himself.
“Who are you now Peter?” Questioned the gullible Goblin.
“Peter the Great! Tsar of all The Bottoms. Ruler of all the Piles! King of the Swingers and Garden Gate to the stars!”
Hanny came rushing across – she had heard the outburst as she parted the group hug. What could be wrong?
“He’s going into total meltdown! He’s really put too much power into his bottom and his system can’t take it!”
“What can we do?” asked Steve.
“We need to calm him down, give him some packets of crisps, preferably Prawn Cocktail, some Earl Grey tea and a cool bath. We call this overcooking!” she explained.
Peter opened one eye.
“You can call it what you want but I call it messing with the kid!”
Fairy Hanny 