tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20656505552848556132024-03-13T07:13:00.890-07:00Super Maxwell +Author Tony Kerr's website dedicated to the madness of writing. Find out what it's like to spend half your life looking at a blank piece of paper, and other bits writing stuff, talking about it, and trying not to get caught out for spending your adult life just having fun...Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.comBlogger121125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-80075075985726196312013-07-18T08:45:00.003-07:002013-07-18T08:45:55.543-07:00Danger Ahead<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
After some considerably faffing about I am beginning work on <i>Lonely Emily</i> again, and hoping to finish it (well, first draft, anyway) within the next four weeks. But, there's a problem.<br />
I've always been of the opinion that, as much as possible, my readers should basically have no idea what happens next. You can tackle this in a number of way - but over plotting isn't one of them. If you sit down and carefully plot out a storyline it will, by the nature of the process, be a logical plot - a progression from one action to another leading to an inevitable final conclusion; predictable, in other words. But life isn't like this, and books shouldn't be either. If an agent/publisher wants a synopsis, they'll have to wait until I finish writing the book - because, in a very real way, books plot themselves - I just take notes.<br />
One key thing I do when writing is to create little pools of quicksand in the narrative. So, just when the plot is rattling along nicely I drop in something completely out of the blue that throws everything off track. In <i>Super Maxwell and the Burning Boys</i> this very large patch of quicksand was a character by the name of Trevor Smethurst - a completely unpredictable super-intelligent T-Rex, who, suddenly, and entirely unexpectedly (even for me) joined forces with Maxwell's nemesis, Titus Mamble.<br />
What will come of this relationship? I've really got no idea, but it will be interesting finding out!<br />
I've done something similar with Lonely Emily - the last few lines in the narrative I wrote before moving on to something new (and a about a third of the way through the book) follow:<br />
<br /><b>‘What do these words mean, Frank?’ Mrs Smythe’s words stirred Sarah out of her thoughts, and she found they were at the gate to her home, Mrs Smythe’s strong fingers pointed at the undecipherable scrawl beneath the carving of the bear. ‘I know they’re not Russian.’<br /><br />‘No, not Russian, no no,’ Mr Frank pushed open the gate. ‘Come through please, is very late, yes?’<br /><br />‘But what—‘<br /><br />‘Is very old, Mrs Smythe, very, very old words, yes?’ The old man stared at her, his face unreadable in the darkness, his eyes glittered as if they themselves were filled with their own stars. ‘Miss Sarah she is tired, and her cat it must be fed, yes?’<br /><br />'But of course,’ Mrs Smythe smiled apologetically at Sarah. ‘Come along, Sarah, I have a nice spare room—‘<br /> </b><br />
<b>'What do the words mean, Mr Frank?’ Sarah asked suddenly.<br /><br /> ‘I do not think this is the time, Miss Sarah, I think, yes, quite soon yes, that soon it will snowing be—‘<br /><br /> ‘What do they mean?’ Sarah insisted.<br /> </b><br />
<b>The old man sighed, and turning placed his fingers on the stick letters that looked like no letters that Sarah had ever seen.<br /><br />‘Theses words they have been here for time before time,’ Mr Frank replied, his voice low, seeming to move from the darkness like it was the shadows themselves speaking. ‘Have always been here at Bear House, your see?’ Mr Frank sighed.<br /><br />‘These words,’ he said ‘They say ‘Sarah Gray’.’</b><br /><br />Quicksand. This one patch is very deep - and (without giving too much away) I only have a very vague idea why Sarah's name is on a gate that is so old it is virtually petrified, in a language older than Russian ... and there is the adventure and the thrill of writing. There's danger ahead, and I can't wait to wade through the quicksand...<br /><br />...and hopefully come out of the other side!<br /><br /><i><b>Tony </b></i> Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-41499445490864899942013-02-11T05:54:00.003-08:002013-02-11T05:54:53.965-08:00Resurrecting an old friendThe good news is, I've started writing again ... But not quite what I expected to.<br />
I have started writing The Resurrection Bureau again - this is one of the many projects - along with Lonely Emily, The Tell Tale Boy and Mabel Maybe - which I started writing and then kind of ran out of steam. I'm sure a lot of writers have projects like this, but The Resurrection Bureau was always an idea which kept nagging at me to get in finished. It is also (rarely for me!) a stand alone story. Beginning, middle, end, no sequel - so that's very appealing, considering the hundreds of characters and plot lines that are involved in writing the next Super Maxwell book, The Crimson King. So, between now and July 1st I am going to try my damnedest to get The Resurrection Bureau finished - even though (at the time of writing) I don't actually have an end for it!<br />
I've also entered it into the 2013 Northern Writers Awards. And they expecting you to finish things (!), so hopefully that will compel me to pick up my pen and start writing on a cold Monday morning - rather than pick up a book and start reading (currently reading A Clash of Kings, by the way, highly recommended).<br />
This could be a disaster of course, but this is a blog about writing, no necessarily about being a successful writer, so it should at least be interesting disaster. <br />
More news soon, keep the faith!<br />
<i><b>Tony</b></i><br />
<br />Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-12496619621448703672012-11-30T05:14:00.001-08:002012-11-30T05:14:19.620-08:00Destination Mars<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It has been - more or less exactly - a year since I finished Super Maxwell 3, The Isle of the Dead, and lost my publisher. Over the last 12 months I've struggled to write some other stuff, never really quite achieving what I'd hoped, and, to be honest, thinking about what I'd lost by no longer writing about the adventures of Maxwell, Billy, Dr Arcania, Juggernaut, and all of those characters and places I fell in love with.<br />
Well, after a year out I've decided to once again return to Maxwell's world - no, I don't have a publisher, and yes I do have three effectively unpublished book sitting in my desk drawer, but writing is, essentially at best folly, and probably closer to madness than anything else - and in the end you've just got stand square and do what you believe in. And I believe in Maxwell Jones.<br />
So in January I will start work on Super Maxwell 4: The Crimson King. This will be by far Maxwell's most ambitious adventure, and will see him returning to Mab (the ruined home of the ancient gods) on a rescue mission, then on to London (though a very different London from what you may know) and finally to Mars to meet at last the mysterious Crimson King.<br />
It will take me a good two years to write The Crimson King, and in the meantime I will be working hard to get a publisher for Super Maxwell 1, 2 and 3 - so realistically it will be at least 5 years before you sit down to read the first page of<i> Super Maxwell and the Crimson King</i>. But one thing I can absolutely promise you - it will be worth the wait.<br />
<i><b>Tony</b></i>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-52550834412905642292012-05-31T06:10:00.002-07:002012-05-31T06:10:29.149-07:00Another swift about turn - straight into the cloudsYes, I have finished my new play, Dead Funny, and No, I haven't returned to writing Lonely Emily. It's the lure of the sun, I'm afraid, but I will be starting Emily again soon, with the intention of finishing a first draft by the end of June (always full of good intentions and bad deadlines, that's me!). But first I had an idea for a short story, which I will print in full here when complete.<br />
In the meanwhile, here's a little snippet. The story is called "I Wish I Could Fly" and it's about - well, probably not what you think it's about...<br />
<br />
<i><b>Tony</b></i><br />
<br />
<b>I Wish I Could Fly</b><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">‘I wish I could fly.’</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I look
up from the bright black eyes of the tiny little bird in my hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granda sits on his deck chair in the tiny,
cold shed, he has his favourite pigeon, King Charlie, in his hands, fat and
content and white and grey, and I can’t see his eyes under the perfect white of
his flat cap.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>For a
minute I’m not sure he has spoken at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At our side through chicken wire a dozen pigeon burr and purr filling
the air with the warm, dry smell that only smells of pigeons and nothing else
at all in the universe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Outside it is
raining, the noise of the drumming rain as loud as if we were standing in it,
but Granda’s shed is clean and cold and bone dry.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then
Granda looks up and smiles, his cat green eyes shining from a brown face that
is nothing but wrinkles and scars and teeth as brown as conkers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He holds up King Charlie, and lets him
go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The big fat pigeon flutters across
the little room and lands on its perch with a comfortable shiver.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Would
you fly away, Granda?’ I ask slowly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Grandpa
lifts his mug of Bovril Plus to his lips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t know what the Plus is, but it is an amber liquid that made my
eyes water when Granda told me to sniff it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Granda drops it in his Bovril as generously as someone putting cream in
their coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before he drinks he smiles
again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘Where
else would I want to be?’ Granda replies.</span></div>
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<br /></div>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-8943282110602151182012-05-25T06:58:00.002-07:002012-05-25T06:58:52.500-07:00Sunshine and blistersI have finished my new (well, new-ish, heavily rewritten "old" play) Dead Funny, despite the lure of that strange orange thing hanging in the weirdly discoloured blue sky. I'm now going to have a bit of a barbie break, have a toast to Queen Liz and then return to writing Lonely Emily on June 6th.<br />
Who said I'm not organised?<br />
<i><b>Tony</b></i><br />
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<br />Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-91125319662972917682012-04-24T22:57:00.002-07:002012-04-24T22:57:31.075-07:00Back to the past<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HRzTQUKtPrI/T5eSId8msNI/AAAAAAAAAIc/PhT_FVNLZs4/s1600/disk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HRzTQUKtPrI/T5eSId8msNI/AAAAAAAAAIc/PhT_FVNLZs4/s320/disk.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I have finished the first half of Lonely Emily, and moved on to rewriting one of my old plays which I never finished, and hit a ... er ... slight snag. I discovered the play - originally called The Man Himself and now renamed Dead Funny - was on floppy disk. This wonderful piece of 20th Century technology is now as redundant as a pencil - more so, you don't have to download a pencil - but luckily a friend of mine had a piece of kit that saved my bacon and got my play onto that lovely piece of 21 Century tech - a memory stick.<br />
My advice, stick with a pencil - and keep your fingers crossed that pencil sharpeners never become redundant.<br />
<strong><em>Tony</em></strong>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-54116500533595000362012-02-22T01:37:00.002-08:002012-02-22T01:48:45.734-08:00It's just an allusion<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LJkO5rrRTpA/T0S55-syx2I/AAAAAAAAAIU/-PoC-iZ8cFE/s1600/JaneEyre.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 211px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LJkO5rrRTpA/T0S55-syx2I/AAAAAAAAAIU/-PoC-iZ8cFE/s320/JaneEyre.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5711894633147189090" border="0" /></a><br />I haven't blogged for a while as I have busily writing (the curse of the writer is that you have to write stuff, sadly) but I am now at the half way point of Lonely Emily (formerly Emily Alone and Lilly Alone). I was trying to get a first draft in the bag by the end of February, but unless I suddenly discover a time machine (unlikely, but not impossible) that probably isn't going to happen now.<br />It's a bit odd writing a book when you don't have a publisher, but oddly liberating too. Original Emily (alone/lonely/Lilly) was aimed at the under 12s - now, it's moved more towards my usual readership, 12-15 year olds, which means I can make it very, very scary - which is fantastic!<br />Part of the reason it has taken me a little longer to write is that I decided, as it was aimed at older readers, to be a bit more experimental, and add a some literary allusions to Charlotte Bronte's brilliant Jane Eyre - which I haven't read in over 20 years, so I was forced to read again. Believe me, it's not a chore, buy that book and read it, you'll thank me.<br />While Jane Eyre had a mad woman in her attic, my character, Emily Crow, has something far, far worse lurking in her attic...<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Tony</span>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-37249319428044247742012-01-25T13:20:00.000-08:002012-01-25T13:36:53.634-08:00Lonely, but not aloneAfter struggling a bit with general post-Christmas can't-be-bothered-ness I have started writing again. My aim is to put the new book into the Northern Writing Awards, and hopefully get a bit of support (but mostly to give me a goal, now I don't have a publisher). The book is now (probably) called Lonely Emily, and is aimed at a slightly older age group than I had originally intended, and will therefore be a LOT more scary!<br />What has inspired me most to start writing again is the news that my old playwrighting mentor Peter Straughan, along with his late partner <span class="st">Bridget O'Connor, has been nominated for an Oscar for his screenplay for Tinker, Taylor, Soldier, Spy. Peter helped me write my first play, Surf City, which indirectly led to getting my first book published, so I am very grateful to him for his support and guidance in those early days.<br />And it's nice to know that the good guys make it!<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Tony</span></span><br /></span>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-44307374372191044292012-01-05T05:28:00.000-08:002012-01-05T05:44:57.228-08:00Feeling EarnestYou could say the last few weeks have been a bit tricky.<br />After dissolving my contract with my publisher (more a matter of common sense than choice) and then managing to pick up another publisher, I have now managed to lose that publisher.<br />To misquote Oscar Wilde: "To lose one publisher, Mr Kerr, may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose both looks like carelessness."<br />I was, frankly, a bit fed up and considered throwing in the towel. But then Christmas came, I had a bit too much to drink and eat, got sick, got well, watched some good telly, watched some terrible telly, read The Wind in the Willows and A Christmas Carol, and watched a lot of Laurel and Hardy, and felt a bit more optimistic.<br />So, I go into 2012 determined to pick up my pen and do better. I don't know if Maxwell or Emily Alone will find a publisher in 2012, but I am certain that I should not give up - to quote old Oscar again:<br />"The aim of life is self-development. To realize one's nature perfectly - that is what each of us is here for."<br />I've known what I was here for - to write stories full of adventure, fun and humour - since I was five years old ... and I'm not about to stop now.<br />Happy New Year!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Tony</span>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-26960020927814577782011-12-07T11:38:00.000-08:002011-12-07T11:44:57.808-08:00Lilly livesHave just confirmed that Lilly Alone will be published as a limited edition first edition by Chapter First in 2012 - I'll be signing the contract later this week. They are very keen to get the book into print, so it will be a fairly rapid process - as soon as I have some more news I will let you know.<br />Maxwell, as I have mentioned before, is having a year off - more news on his adventures soon, fingers crossed ... in the meanwhile Lilly and Sarah, and their cats Sampson and Chewy are preparing for a very, very scary adventure - you have been warned...<br /><strong><em>Tony</em></strong>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-89693253336328796822011-11-23T07:07:00.000-08:002011-11-23T13:24:13.701-08:00Two Lonely GirlsI have started work on Lilly Alone, and so far, so good - it will, of course, be a while down the line before you can read it, but here's a bit of a taster ... the first 200 words or so.<br />It's a little bit scary ... and it gets scarier!<br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic; FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Tony</span><br /><br />Every night as darkness fell the terrible noises rose up through the house, and Lilly Cresswell lay in bed, frozen with terror.<br />During daylight the large house was a wonderful place, full of light, and happiness and toys for nine year old Lilly to play with. In fact she had so many toys that Lilly rarely left her room, but she did not mind this at all; and besides, Mrs Crow the housekeeper had told her many times that her health was delicate and she must be very careful to stay out of the sunlight.<br />So Lilly would sit in the dappled light of her drawn curtains in her large room, and though she could barely remember the last time she had left the room, and though she missed her parents very much, and sometimes it did seem that they had been away overseas forever, Lilly was very happy with her dolls, and toy boats and planes, and doll’s houses (she had five) and her wonderful books.<br />And, of course, she was not alone. She had Samson, her long-limbed black cat with its streak of silver fur that shot like a lightning bolt from between its pointed ears, down its back to the tip of its tail.<br />Samson lay at her feet now, curled into a ball, the silver streak a question mark in the darkness, as the terrible noise grew nearer and nearer and louder and louder...Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-85100451464888080322011-11-22T05:04:00.000-08:002011-11-22T05:08:51.396-08:00Goodbye Mabel, Hello LillyMy work on the National Novel Writing month has halted, as I have been offered a contract by a publishers to write a new book, Lilly Alone. There's not much I can tell you about Lilly Alone - it's in its very early stages - except that it is a ghost story, and, if all goes well, you should be seeing it within the next 12 months.<br />Mabel Maybe will have to wait a bit longer, but, fingers crossed, Lilly might pave the way for getting Maxwell 3 published, and I might finally get the chance to get some of these other stories written too!<br />More nonsense soon!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Tony</span>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-58721633309896305242011-11-02T06:20:00.000-07:002011-11-02T06:25:31.254-07:00Pratchett and the distant siren call of 1KHit 971 words for Mabel Maybe today - according to the National Novel Writing Month website this means I'll now be finished by February 11, 2012 - I have to wonder about the science of this (and admit that I'm cheating, and have no intention of writing 50,000 words). So I'm nearly, but not quite at that 1,000 word count quite yet - I blame Terry Pratchett (am reading Snuff, his superb new book) and my slightly relaxed frame of mind as I approach my traditional mid-November forest holiday.<br />More nonsense tomorrow!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Tony</span>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-6529326405121628562011-11-01T15:07:00.000-07:002011-11-01T15:13:50.877-07:00Nano-Nano (Write)I have decided to jump start my writing again by joining National Novel Writing Month. Today I (kind of) wrote 288 words - which, by their calculation, means I will be finished by April 12, 2012. Never mind, I shall crack on, and let you know how I get on. If it's something you fancy trying yourself go to: <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/">http://www.nanowrimo.org/</a> - I am "maxwellsdad" (I really am!) follow my slow (or fast, if I rise above the 288 word count) descent into madness.<br /><strong><em>Tony</em></strong>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-27929484545938911622011-10-21T05:20:00.000-07:002011-10-21T05:32:28.227-07:00Germs, Crusades and giant spidersI am quite ashamed to say that I have not written another word of Trevor and the Time Thieves since last you checked in. There are a number of reasons for this, partly I've been very busy in my day job doing a big research project; partly because I have madly formulated the plot for Mabel Maybe and the Slow Children (now involving giant spiders), and as a a consequence have come up with an idea for a second Mabel book - Mabel Maybe and the Machineries of Odd - but mostly because of my birthday, and my cold.<br />I was hit by cold on my birthday and have written nothing since. Partly because I've been very tired, but mostly because my son bought me the DVD boxset of Crusade, and I've been lying in bed sipping Lemsip and watching it. When, of course, I should have been sitting at my desk, sipping Lemsip and writing Mabel/Trevor.<br />It's the curse of the boxset, but, all things being equal, I will have something for you to read next week. Don't despair just yet, time travel is a tricky mistress, and Trevor does have the added worry of accidentally destroying all of time and space now, alongside his very real concerns about running out of tomato sauce.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Tony</span>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-346644871096691812011-10-19T02:43:00.001-07:002011-10-19T02:46:45.527-07:001 year older, not a day wiserToday is my birthday, and as a special treat here's a chance to read the opening page of my newest project, a new book, 'Mabel Maybe and the Slow Children'. It is, well, a bit unusual - Blade Runner for the under 12s, with genies - would be a good description!<br />Happy birthday to me!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Tony Kerr</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mabel Maybe and the Slow Children</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">by Tony Kerr</span><br /><br />Imagine one day you woke up on a train and you could not remember one single thing that happened to you a moment before you opened your eyes.<br /> That is what happened to Mabel Maybe.<br /> Then how, you might think, if she could not remember anything at all, could Mabel Maybe remember her own name? Did she have a suitcase with her name on it? No, Mabel Maybe had only the clothes she wore – a black dress, black stockings and black shoes. Did she, perhaps, have a letter, which told her that her name was Mabel Maybe and that exciting adventures lay ahead? No, not at all. Generally speaking exciting adventures tend to just happen, and people, generally, don’t send you a mysterious letter telling you they are going to happen.<br /> This is what did happen.<br /> She opened her eyes and looked around a rocking wooden train carriage, and before she knew she was going to do so she opened her mouth, and with a voice she had no memory of ever hearing before, said:<br /> ‘My name is Mabel.’<br /> And a voice from the far side of the carriage replied, ‘Mabel? Maybe.’<br /> It was then that Mabel Maybe noticed that in a seat opposite her sat a small and scruffy dog. The dog might have once been white, but had either been through the washing machine a few too many times, or (more likely) had been in the bath tub too few times. The dog was called Gene.<br /> Mabel Maybe knew the dog was called Gene because the dog fixed her with a dirty stare and said, quite clearly in a deep and rough bark: “My name is Gene.”<br /> After that things started to get a little strange.Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-31944889808921212142011-10-07T00:40:00.000-07:002011-10-07T00:41:13.344-07:00Trevor and the Time Thieves - Part 23.<br /><br />‘Oh no!’ snarled Trevor. ‘I don’t flipping believe it!’<br /> ‘Well, there’s a nice greeting,’ said the small figure in the green space suit in front of Trevor. He leant forward on his wooden rocking chair, and pulled the suit’s helmet from his head, revealing a wide, freckled boy’s face framed by curling yellow hair, ‘How did you even know it was me?’ asked Bob Colchis.<br /> ‘I didn’t,’ Trevor replied, pointing. ‘I was looking at that dump, not you, dragon breath.’<br /> The boy climbed down from the rocking chair, his feet clicking with every step. A more observant person than Trevor would have noticed the strange knobbly shapes that grew from every inch of the walls, ceiling and floor; shapes that matched exactly the shapes on the bottom of Bob Colchis’s boots. Trevor, however, had not even noticed that he was floating in mid-air, and as Bob stood beside him and followed his pointed clawed finger out of the observation window to the blue planet below, he begun to wonder if he had made a very, very bad decision.<br /> ‘The planet Earth?’ Bob asked. ‘What’s wrong with it?’<br /> ‘Horrible place. Planet of the blinking apes,’ Trevor replied. ‘I hate it there. Why’ve you brought me here, dragon boy? I was all right where I was!’<br /> ‘You weren’t all right where you were, Trevor—‘<br /> ‘Yes I was! I had chips!’<br /> ‘No you weren’t Trevor,’ Bob replied patiently. ‘Those men were just about to kill you—‘<br /> ‘Thicko! Clerics don’t kill people. Don’t you know nothing?’<br /> ‘They weren’t Clerics.’ Bob had an overpowering urge to smack Trevor’s head against the spaceship’s observation window. Bob was a Maltrusion, and though he looked like a boy he could transform himself in a moment into a fierce twenty-foot high dragon. He was, as you may guess, extremely short tempered, and the combination of Trevor, a bad temper and deep space was not a good one. ‘They were the wizard’s men. They were trying—‘<br /> ‘Oh, you’re not still on about that, are you?’ Trevor interrupted. ‘Look, I got you your Ring of Argos—‘<br /> ‘Argo,’ Bob corrected.<br /> ‘—I dropped you home, and even let you have a bite of my chocolate bar, so that’s us square, dragon breath. Just drop me at the nearest civilised planet and go on your way without me.’<br /> Bob didn’t quite know where to start. True, Trevor had saved him from the wizard Aeoson and his soldiers, and had transported him back home to Virporta Island. He had not, however, given Bob even a sniff of his chocolate and though Bob felt he should be gracious, he could not help but feel that Trevor had been a pretty unwilling saviour.<br /> ‘Trevor, I made pledge to find the missing pieces of the Key of Argo,’ Bob began, ‘and I believe I’ve found—‘<br /> ‘What’s that?’ Trevor interrupted, pointing at a large wooden dial on the wall.<br /> ‘That? That’s the date and time. I’ve travelled far into the future to find you Trevor—‘<br /> Trevor interrupted him again. ‘Is that right?’ he asked without looking from the clock.<br /> ‘Yes, it’s right. This is a wooden ship, the most advanced in the 101 Realms,’ Bob replied, ‘Wooden clocks are accurate to one millionth—‘<br /> ‘Oh, you pillock!’ Trevor screeched, spinning around and reaching for Bob’s throat … But before his clawed fingers could close around the Maltrusian, Trevor vanished.<br /><br />4.<br /><br />‘Yaaahhh!’<br />‘Aaghh!’<br /> Trevor leapt on Dr Arcania and suddenly the world went BBOOOIIINNNGGG! And somehow he was bouncing head over heels down a hill. He came to a jarring halt at the foot of a massive fir tree, and looked around.<br /> Just feet from where he had come to a halt the hill dropped dizzily into a deep ravine. He was somehow in a pine forest, and, irritatingly, had somehow lost one of his shoes.<br /> ‘Get up!’ barked a voice.<br /> Trevor looked up to see Dr Arcania marching through the forest towards him, the Handsome Beast’s goldfish bowl held in front of him.<br /> ‘I’ve lost my shoe!’ Trevor exclaimed, springing to his feet.<br /> ‘To the Weavion devils with your shoe! Grab the goldfish bowl before Mamble follows us!’<br /> ‘My Mum’ll go nuts if I don’t find that shoe!’ Trevor began sniffing at the trail he had made through the forest floor. ‘What do you mean, grab the goldfish bowl?’<br /> ‘Just grab it!’ bellowed Dr Arcania. He thrust the goldfish bowl at Trevor and, despite his natural disinclination to take orders, Trevor grabbed it on impulse….<br /> BBBOOOIIINNNGGG!<br /> … and found himself falling down the throat of the ravine with the screeching chimpanzee at his side.<br /> ‘Where’s my tie gone!’ bellowed Trevor, grabbing the goldfish bowl.<br /> BBBOOOIIINNNGGG!<br />Trevor landed on his bottom with a thud. A second later Dr Arcania landed beside him in an undignified heap, the Handsome Beast swearing profusely as water slopped out of his bowl.<br /> ‘Grab the bowl!’ exclaimed Dr Arcania, scrambling to his feet.<br /> ‘No!’ snapped Trevor.<br /> ‘If we can get to the eastern side of the island I have a portal there that can get us as far as Mars and then … What did you say?’<br /> ‘I said “No”, coconut breath. Get the bananas out of your ears for two seconds and you might be able to hear me.’ Trevor grinned at Dr Arcania’s shocked expression. ‘I’m not going to Mars with you, I’m not going anywhere with you. I want to go back home and I want to go now!’<br /> Dr Arcania’s lips moved but only an outraged squeak escaped from his mouth.<br /> ‘He certainly told you,’ came the magisterial voice of the Handsome Beast.<br /> ‘Shut up you!’ barked Dr Arcania.<br /> ‘Charming!’<br /> ‘Don’t you know what has happened here, you idiot boy? Titus Mamble is loose! Shades have taken over the island! We have to get this thing—‘ he waved the Handsome Beast’s bowl in front of Trevor’s face, slopping even more water over its sides ‘—off this island before Mamble, or Jake Silex, or the Shades or the Long Men catch up with us! Otherwise—‘<br /> ‘It’ll be the end of the world, and everyone will be slaves, or zombies, or smelly primates, or blah de-blah de-blah.’ Trevor let go a raspberry and sprang to his feet. Dr Arcania stepped back in alarm. ‘You might have to save the world Hairy Mary, or whatever your name is, but I don’t. What I’ve got to do is get home for my dinner and then do my homework.’<br /> Dr Arcania was staring at the small t-rex, his mouth hanging open. ‘Your … homework?’<br /> ‘Oh yeah, I don’t have to do my homework, do I? The school blew up! Cool!’<br /> ‘I don’t think you have quite grasped the gravity of this situation, Killian,’ said Dr Arcania in a strained voice. ‘Shades are roaming free for the first time in over seven thousand years. The village had been destroyed, the island has been evacuated, and there is a very good chance that very, very soon Long Men will escape this island and bring about the apocalypse—‘<br /> ‘Have you seen my ruler anywhere?’ Trevor interrupted, patting his pockets agitatedly. ‘I definitely had it in school this morning.’<br /> ‘Your ruler!’ screeched Dr Arcania. ‘Who cares about your stupid ruler, boy! This world is about to be destroyed!’<br /> ‘It’s a Monkey Master Blaster ruler. You can’t get them anywhere.’ Trevor looked at Dr Arcania’s apoplectic expression and sighed. ‘Look, Dr Chimpy, the world isn’t going to end. It never does. Someone will come and save us. The island will be okay. This stupid world will be okay. All the Long Men and Shades will get blown up, or evaporated, or sent into another dimension, or something like that. That’s what always happens.’ Trevor patted the dumbstruck chimpanzee’s hand. ‘A hero will save us, Dr Chimpy, that’s what always happens. Now, you going to help me find my ruler, or what?’<br /> Dr Arcania shook his head and blinked several times. Had this boy just called him Dr Chimpy?<br /> ‘No one is going to come and save us, Killian,’ said Dr Arcania. ‘All of the heroes are dead, boy.’<br /> ‘That is where you are quite wrong, doctor.’<br /> They both turned at the sound of a voice, and their eyes met glinting steel. Mr Vim’s ivory teeth turned into a grin. In his hand he held a blue ruler with a cartoon of a monkey firing a gatling gun on it.<br /> ‘Hoy!’ bellowed Trevor. ‘That’s my—‘<br /> BBBOOOIIINNNGGG!<br /> ‘—ruler bum face!’ Trevor lowered his claw, which he had been pointing at a rather startled pigeon.<br /> He looked around. They were hurtling through the air, the treetops of the Black Woods just visible through thick smoke hundreds of feet below them. <br /> ‘Why doesn’t this bumming Eternal Engine just take us to Mars, banana breath!’ Trevor bellowed over the roar of the wind.<br /> ‘Because it’s not the Eternal Engine that’s transporting us, you under-evolved idiot! The fish bowl is a homing device for the nearest space portal, It is triangulating its position jump by jump, but is only capable of transporting us short distances!’<br /> ‘Well that was a stupid idea, wasn’t it?’<br /> ‘How dare you! That was my idea!’<br /> ‘There you go then!’<br /> ‘What do you mean?’<br /> ‘Monkey madness, that’s what I mean! Not a single one of you chimps has got brains enough to brush your fur!’<br /> ‘Don’t call me a chimp, you dinosaur!’<br /> ‘Take that back!’<br /> ‘Never! Dinosaur! Dinosaur!’ Lizard face! You Jurassic berk!’<br /> ‘I’ll smash your face in!’<br /> ‘Yaaahhh!’ screamed Dr Arcania suddenly. Trevor was impressed by the impact of his threat, until he looked up. ‘Arrgghh!’ he screamed.<br /> Mr Vim was swooping towards them, his grim face set into a snarl, batwings spread wide at his back.<br /> BBBOOOIIINNNGGG!<br /> ‘What the hell kind of Wizard of Oz flying bloody monkey bloody INSANITY is this!’ screeched Trevor. <br />They were still freefalling towards the treetops, but now they were much closer, and Mr Vim had changed from a snarling bat monster into a small black dot high above them.<br />The dot grew larger, and in what seemed like mere seconds they could see the glint of Mr Vim’s steel visor as his massive wings drove him down towards them.<br />‘That’s contrary to the laws of physics,’ murmured Dr Arcania as Mr Vim moved closer with eerie speed. ‘No one can move that fast.’<br />‘Get us out of here you hairy bum hole!’ Trevor howled.<br />‘Grab the fish bowl!’<br />Trevor’s clawed hands moved towards the grimy goldfish bowl with its rapidly diminishing reservoir of water. Time seemed to slow. He heard Dr Arcania yell, “NOW!”, but it came out elongated and slowed down somehow, ‘NNNNNOOOOOWWWWW!’ Trevor saw his own face reflected in the bowl, and the little orange fish inside looked around at him, and stuck out its tiny pale pink tongue.<br />And then it all vanished. The fish, the bowl, Dr Arcania’s hairy hands all disappeared.<br />Trevor hurtled towards the treetops, and far above him he saw a great black bat swoop across the sky, two dangling monkey feet hanging below.<br />‘Well, that’s just absolutely flipping typical, isn’t it?’ grunted Trevor, and he smashed through the treetops and was enveloped by thick black smoke.<br /><br />5.<br /><br />Trevor opened his eyes and looked up at the trail he had smashed through the branches above him. <br />For a moment a confusion of memories crowded in his mind. He had been kidnapped by Titus Mamble and transported to Dr Arcania’s lab, and had managed to escape...But no – that had happened over ten years ago. He had managed to escape Mamble, and from there…<br />‘Oh no!’ Trevor gasped, and he sprang up, then let out a shout as a bolt of agony shot through his head. ‘You stinking dragon-breathed dog faced chocolate stealing rat bag!’ Trevor howled, waving a fist at the smoke wreathed sky.<br />He was back on Virporta Island; back in the time warp which had trapped him on Earth for over a year; back with Titus Mamble, Aeoson the Wizard, the Brundhahz, Boshers, Shade and Long Men.<br />And, unless Trevor was very much mistaken, today was almost certainly the very last day of his life.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">To be continued...</span>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-35955173542902540392011-10-06T09:18:00.000-07:002011-10-06T09:22:49.094-07:00And for tomorrow's menu ... autocanibalismTrevor and the Time Thieves Part 2 will be online tomorrow morning (or evening, depending where you are in the 101 Realms) which will see Trevor return to Virporta Island at a very unfortunate time ... Titus Mamble has returned, the Shades are free, Long Men have destroyed the Village and there is not a drop of tomato sauce to be had anywhere. How will our hero survive? Find out soon...<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Tony</span>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-26690925695986677802011-10-04T02:13:00.000-07:002011-10-04T02:24:03.185-07:00On hiatus for retoolingUnfortunately, through circumstances beyond my control, Super Maxwell 3 no longer has a publisher. These are tough times for publishing, as for everyone else, so I can't really have any hard feelings for my former publisher. It is very disappointing, of course, as it means that you definitely will not be seeing The Isle of the Dead in 2011. But as someone wiser than me once said (I think it was Yogi Bear) you only lose when you give up - so Maxwell is not dead, just not quite able to make it to your door just yet.<br />As a consequence of this I am not able to deliver Trevor and the Time Thieves to you before Halloween - but, as a bonus, it's going to be longer ... and hopefully better, a kind of mini-book for you. That's cool, right?<br />So do keep tuning in on a Friday to read more of Trevor's adventures, dispatches may be a bit spotty, but Trevor is still as alive, and irritating, as ever, and is not about to keep his big Killian gob shut.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Tony</span>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-86478671778832451472011-09-30T00:40:00.000-07:002011-09-30T00:41:35.481-07:00Trevor and the Time Thieves - Part 11.<br /><br />Halruga is a planet so distant that even the most powerful telescope could not even see the galaxy it is in, never mind find the little purple, gold and blue planet itself. But, if you know how to get there, it is a place that is literally just around the corner.<br /> Halruga is best known for its Surf Decagon, ten years of glorious sunshine on its five thousand miles of golden beaches, and is quite rightly called the friendliest place in the 101 Realms. However, if you could leave your home right now and somehow travel in an instant to that distant world you would find a very different place. The planet is in the middle of the Jicker, a period of six year where its lands and seas freeze, and the native Halrugans, amphibians who spend the summer selling, beer, fruit and watches on the thousands of miles of beaches, disappear into their cities beneath the frozen seas and spend their winters farming the seabed and harvesting kelp vodka. Every city on the land is covered in metres of thick snow, and those cities are carefully maintained by robots, known as Gritties, who protect and repair holiday homes and bars during this period of deep freeze, in preparation for another ten years of summer.<br /> There are three things you can be absolutely certain of during the Jicker – that no one could possibly live in this frozen land, that no one could cause any damage to the heavily protected frozen cities, and that no one could possibly get into any sort of trouble.<br /> But then again, you have not met Trevor Smethurst.<br /> Trevor looks like a small tyrannosaurus rex dressed in furry trousers, coat and boots – he is in fact a type of alien called a Killian dressed in furry trousers, coat and boots. He is also a Good Man, a sort of teenage superhero, though if you had ever met him you would find it very difficult to think of him as a hero, super or otherwise.<br /> Trevor a genius; he is perhaps the greatest genius to have ever lived in the history of the entire universe. He is also an idiot; almost certainly the biggest idiot in all creation. Trevor invented a device called a Chunk, an astonishing wooden machine that could travel to any point in space and time, and then transported himself to Halruga, just as the Decagon ended and the Jicker began, and flattened the Chunk’s battery.<br /> Trevor has been trapped on Halruga ever since, and the three thing most people would not think it possible to do in this frozen world, Trevor had done easily. He had found it quite easy to live in the frozen world, as he immediately found a deserted, (relatively) unprotected city chocked full of frozen and packet food. He had caused a considerable amount of damage during this time, reprogramming the small Grittie robots to knock together buildings, burn furniture and cook him food as the snow slowly covered every inch of the world. You can work out from this that Trevor will be in a considerable amount of trouble when the owners of these hotels and bars return – but Trevor couldn’t even wait for that unhappy day, and the policemen currently trying to batter down the door he is barricaded behind are certainly not about to wait for the big summer thaw to arrest him.<br /><br />2.<br /><br />‘Open this door in the name of the One God.’<br /> ‘Shan’t!’<br /> ‘Open this gods’ damned door immediately or I’ll break it down!’<br /> Those words gave Trevor pause. Clerics didn’t swear, did they? Never mind. ‘Go ahead and try,’ Trevor smirked, ‘You dumb chimps!’<br /> Trevor sat on a large ornate chair, from which miles of wire, chips, servos, engines, and bits of robots grew. As he sat, disinterestedly watching the door shudder under the onslaught from the Clerics, there was a loud “ping!” and a compartment opened in the arm of his chair. With a crow of delight Trevor pulled out a steaming plate of fish and chips, licked his slavering reptilian lips, and then paused.<br /> ‘Oi, Sparky – where’s the tomato sauce?’ Trevor snapped.<br /> A small robot, which looked like a cross between an upturned bucket and the innards of clock let out an apologetic “bloop” noise and said – in a voice that Trevor had reprogrammed to sound almost exactly like his own stubborn nasal snarl: ‘Ain’t none left, leather chops.’<br /> Trevor swore loudly and profusely, using several words which were both deeply offensive and illegal in most civilised parts of the universe, and then slumped back in his chair. He could put with a lot of hardship, he thought to himself entirely without irony, but another two years trapped on Halruga with no tomato sauce was one hardship too far.<br /> Trevor sprang out of his chair and stamped across to the shuddering door. Clerics, he knew, were a kind of private army-come police force, which could be hired for a substantial donation to their brotherhood. Clerics guaranteed to catch any wrongdoer, and, as their motivation was spiritual rather than political, financial or legal, they never gave up. It was said that if you wanted to escape the Clerics you needed to make sure you were very good at hiding, and that you were certain you would live for at least a thousand years, because they simply never gave up.<br /> That was the bad news. The good news was that Clerics rarely killed anyone, and never handed over their prisoners over to the authorities on the prison planets of Carcer, Platon or Mamertine, preferring instead to take them back to their home planet, Tio, for a lifetime of penitence and prayer. Trevor had neither the time nor the inclination to spend the rest of his life praying – not while there was chocolate to eat, sunshine to enjoy and surfboards to be ridden – but if he allowed the Clerics to take him to Tio (and, looking at the way the door was shuddering and buckling under the Clerics’ onslaught Trevor guessed that he didn’t have much choice in the matter) then the Chunk would start to work again. Tio was a lush green planet where the Clerics had vineyards that covered entire continents. Trevor could never quite work out why priests brewed quite so much wine, but it was immaterial, once he could get the Chunk planted in the fertile soil of Tio he was certain it would begin working again almost immediately, and he could teleport himself to anywhere and any when in the whole of creation.<br /> The only slight problem he might face was convincing the Clerics to allow him to keep the Chunk. He paused in front of the buckling door and pulled the Chunk out of his coat where it hung, almost entirely forgotten, on a piece of twine around his neck. It was no good telling the Clerics it was of religious significance, or that it was a family heirloom – the first they consider blasphemy, and the second they would carefully burn before fitting Trevor out in an ill fitting monk’s habit. He wondered dimly if he could swallow it, and decided he probably could.<br /> Trevor pulled the Chunk over his neck, held it delicately between thumb and forefinger, opened his massive tyrannosaurus jaws wide, and just wished he had even a tiny squirt of tomato sauce.<br /> Just a second before the steel door smashed open and the heavily armed Clerics thundered in, and just a moment before Trevor stuffed his remarkable time travel device into his large mouth, the Chunk gave a loud beep, and said, in its inflectionless, robotic, and yet somehow still sarcastic, voice:<br /> ‘PRIORITY TRANSMISSION FROM THE AGENTS OF CHANGE. PREPARE FOR EMERGENCY TRANSPORT.’<br /> And, without a bang, a flash or even an impressive special effect, Trevor vanished.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Part Two - in which we meet some old friends, and some large enemies, available on Friday, October 7</span>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-53141997340256784822011-09-28T02:53:00.000-07:002011-09-28T03:06:00.962-07:00Previously, in the whole of time and space...I will publish the first part of Trevor and the Time Thieves this Friday, but, to remind how our hapless hero ended up trapped on Halruga with no possibility of escape, here's another chance to read Trevor and the Dragon (below). The next part of the story catches up with Trevor, more or less, where we left him here, in a frantic life-or-death quest for tomato sauce and warm socks.<br />Enjoy!<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Tony</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gSn89Xn95Xw/ToLwlLMDHOI/AAAAAAAAAIM/Rcdqm35AfAY/s1600/dragon.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 322px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gSn89Xn95Xw/ToLwlLMDHOI/AAAAAAAAAIM/Rcdqm35AfAY/s400/dragon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657348603379916002" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Trevor and the Dragon</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">A Super Maxwell Short Story</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">by Tony Kerr</span><br /><br /><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> 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unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful List Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="73" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="19" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="21" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Emphasis"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="31" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Subtle Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="32" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Intense Reference"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="33" semihidden="false" unhidewhenused="false" qformat="true" name="Book Title"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="37" name="Bibliography"> <w:lsdexception locked="false" priority="39" qformat="true" name="TOC Heading"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">1.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Trevor Smethurst is, without a shadow of a doubt, the most intelligent creature in the whole of the universe.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Unfortunately Trevor Smethurst is also, without the slightest atom of doubt, the stupidest person in the entire universe.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>I don’t really need to explain this to you, as Trevor will do his absolute best to prove this himself in no time at all. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">But … if you really do need proof…</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Trevor has just invented, alongside Dr Lambton Arcania (probably the second most intelligent creature in the universe) a device called a Chunk.<span style=""> </span>A Chunk is a computer made entirely out of wood, but as well as being the most advanced computer in existence it is also a functioning time machine, a compass, can make coffee and cola and knows all the words to every song ever written in existence (including the ones everyone would much rather forget about).</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Brilliant, you might think, absolutely brilliant.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">But Trevor being Trevor he decided to test the Chunk on himself…</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">…Which is why he is currently hurtling through time and space completely out of control.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">This sounds extraordinarily exciting.<span style=""> </span>It is not.<span style=""> </span>All of time and space, all packed together all at once, is a sort of dirty beige colour, and by far the most interesting thing about all of time and space is Trevor himself.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Trevor Smethurst looks like a small tyrannosaurus rex dressed in a grey blazer.<span style=""> </span>In fact he is an alien called a Killian dressed in a grey blazer.<span style=""> </span>In one pocket he has five bars of chocolate, in another he has a Monkey Master Blaster collector’s edition ruler (Trevor’s favourite comic book) and on his right inside pocket he has a pair of spectacles.<span style=""> </span>These spectacles are another astonishing invention (created by Dr Arcania) which transform the wearer into whatever species is on any particular planet in any particular time period – which is just about to come in very handy indeed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">2.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Trevor opened his eyes and found himself looking up at a ragged wooden hole through which white cloud floated across a blue sky.<span style=""> </span>The first thing he noticed was the atrocious smell, the second thing he noticed was the rather odd, rather squishy something he was lying on.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The answer to both the terrible smell and his odd resting place became apparent when Trevor sat up and looked around.<span style=""> </span>He was in a filthy old cowshed that stank of years and years of manure.<span style=""> </span>Specifically he was sitting in a line of cows, the cows to his right and left looking at him balefully – the cow he had landed on was squashed underneath him with its legs sticking out and was … Well, it was as flat as a cow pat.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor wondered briefly if he had landed in Prezema.<span style=""> </span>‘Hello?’ he said to the nearest cow.<span style=""> </span>The cow looked at him stupidly and licked its wet nostrils with a long grey tongue, and Trevor breathed a sign of relief.<span style=""> </span>Prezemans looked exactly like earth cows, and for a moment he had wondered if he might be tried for ungulate slaughter instead of just malicious damage.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor stood and stretched.<span style=""> </span>He took a bar of chocolate out of his pocket, took a bite and looked through the hole in the roof, speculating idly how far he’d fallen when the big beige space time continuum had spat him out.<span style=""> </span>Falling from extreme heights was not at all unusual in Trevor’s experience – he had often woken at the base of a tower or in the middle of a forest with a smashed trail of foliage above his head.<span style=""> </span>Trevor was a Good Man, a sort of teenage superhero, and falling off high things was, he supposed par for the course – and being virtually indestructible falling from very high places didn’t particularly concern him…</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘D-D-D-‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor looked around, grinding chocolate between his wicked-looking t-rex jaws.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘D-D-D-‘ Trevor’s eyes met those of a doughy-faced boy with long, limp hair, dressed in what looked very much like a brown carpet.<span style=""> </span>‘D-D-D-‘ the boy stammered.<span style=""> </span>‘D-Dragon!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor looked around.<span style=""> </span>‘Where?’ he asked – but the boy didn’t answer, he was too busy running out of the cowshed screaming at the top of his voice.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor wondered briefly what a “Dragon” was, and then, as voices rose in a chorus of terror outside, sensibly decided this was probably not the time to find out, and leapt vertically upwards through the hole in the ceiling.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">3.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Trevor looked around, and found himself deeply disappointed by what he beheld.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>He was stood on the roof a ramshackle cowshed, thatch tickling his huge reptilian feet.<span style=""> </span>Oddly, Trevor noticed, there seemed to be more cows outside the barn than there were inside, all lined up in a row tied together by a length of brown rope.<span style=""> </span>The land all around him was flat and brown, with the occasional patch of grey to break things up a little.<span style=""> </span>The only landmarks in this flat and muddy country were a hill in the far distance, surrounded by leafless trees, and the equally distant glitter of a brown river.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Brown was a big colour here, Trevor decided.<span style=""> </span>The land was brown, the trees were brown, the cows were brown, and even the armour on the knights who were clanking towards him with their muddy swords not glittering, was brown.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Fie!’ shouted one of the knights.<span style=""> </span>‘What manner of hideous Satanic spawn art thou?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Eh?’ Trevor replied.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Thou mayest speak with the tongue of man,’ roared the dirty knight, waving his rusty sword, ‘but thou art the fire born spawn—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Do-you-speak-Eng-lish?’ Trevor enunciated carefully to the red faced man in the tight fitting armour.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I shalt take my mighty sword and smite—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Sorry!<span style=""> </span>Can’t hear you!’ Trevor interrupted, taking a bite of his chocolate bar.<span style=""> </span>‘And I don’t speak berk,’ he muttered to himself.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The knights - there were four of them in all, two very thin and two very fat – clanked about waving their swords and calling for their lances, horses and pages, and achieving very little.<span style=""> </span>Trevor sat on the roof off the barn, wiping cow dirt off his tail, eating this way through his bar of chocolate and watching the knights with disinterest.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>He wondered vaguely where – and when – he was, and decided it didn’t really matter much.<span style=""> </span>The Chunk would power up again in a matter of a few minutes and he could head whenever and wherever he wanted.<span style=""> </span>That was a point…</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor reached into his jacket and pulled out a small block of wood which was tied around his neck by a length of twine.<span style=""> </span>‘Chunk?’ he said to the featureless piece of wood.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘YES?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Where are we?’ Trevor asked.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The lump of wood hummed slightly, and then replied, ‘EARTH.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor sighed, and rolled his eyes.<span style=""> </span>It was the oldest joke in the book among Good Men.<span style=""> </span>When you asked a Good Man which planet they came from they always replied “Earth” – because all planets were called Earth by their inhabitants, it was only aliens who ever gave them names like Zeta Reticula 5, or Dog Cheek Planet 73.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Are you trying to be funny?’ Trevor snapped savagely.<span style=""> </span>‘Do you want to be turned into a blinking pencil?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘SORRY, JUST MY LITTLE JOKE,’ Chunk replied in its flat wooden voice.<span style=""> </span>‘THIS IS THE PLANET TERRA, THIRD PLANET IN THE SOL SYSTEM, LOCATED IN THE WESTERN SPIRAL ARM OF THE MILKY—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor groaned.<span style=""> </span>‘I get the idea,’ he interrupted.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Monkey town, he thought miserably, planet of the blinking chimps.<span style=""> </span>The knights had now rallied in a line and were marching forward and hacking at the thatch, several feet below Trevor’s feet.<span style=""> </span>Trevor had lived on Earth five years before, surrounded by chimps and monkeys, and had been glad to see the back of the place.<span style=""> </span>He had no desire to return to this particular planet at any point in its past or future – the climate didn’t agree with him, he didn’t like the food, and several people from Earth had sworn to kill him.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘DO YOU WISH TO KNOW THE YEAR?’ Chunk enquired.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I couldn’t give a monkey’s chuff,’ Trevor snapped.<span style=""> </span>‘Just tell me how long it will take you to power up and get me out of here!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Chunk hummed thoughtfully.<span style=""> </span>‘POWER UP WILL TAKE PRECICELY—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Chunk vibrated suddenly, and then fell silent.<span style=""> </span>Trevor shook the time machine with a frustrated howl – and noticed that something long and thin was sticking out of its back.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Another long thin thing appeared suddenly between his legs, and he swallowed his chocolate with a heavy gulp.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Arrows.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor sprang to his feet just as an arrow appeared where his stomach had been just a second before.<span style=""> </span>The knights were still noisily clattering their swords and shields and hacking ineffectually at the cowshed roof – but they had been joined by three more men.<span style=""> </span>These men were tall and muscular, and though not dressed in armour, had a distinctly military bearing.<span style=""> </span>In their hands they held bows which stretched from their heads to their toes, and Trevor would not have believed that a human would have the strength to draw such an huge weapon – right up until the point that one of the archers drew back his muscular arm and let loose an arrow that flew true across the rooftop, and hit Trevor right in the centre of his chest.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor stumbled back, and with a howl of pain and despair, he fell backwards off the roof.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">4.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Just moments later the archers thundered around the corner and were met with a terrible sight.<span style=""> </span>On the ground, covered in blood, mud and cow dung, lay a small boy.<span style=""> </span>He was groaning pitifully, and the archers saw immediately the trail that led away from the boy and into the woods. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Dragon prints,’ said the archer called John of the Dale.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Their captain, Thomas Hook, traced the claw-footed prints towards the woods.<span style=""> </span>‘Follow,’ he said, and then he crouched by the small boy as his men ran off.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Dragon,’ groaned the boy.<span style=""> </span>Hook had seen some scruffy-looking boys in his time – in the countryside in winter it was rare to see anyone looking clean – but this boy was by far the scruffiest he had ever seen.<span style=""> </span>He was dressed almost in rags and wore a most unusual pendant – a featureless block of wood tied around his neck on a length of twine.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Hook picked up the groaning boy – noting with some surprise that he was remarkably heavy, despite his small size – and carried him back into the cow shed and laid him on a bed of hay.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Stay there, lad, I’ll send someone to help you,’ he said.<span style=""> </span>The boy nodded, moaning.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Hook ran out of the barn, and up the hill after his men, wondering briefly as he went how a boy so scruffy and ill-kept could afford a pair of wooden spectacles.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>He had not gone a hundred yards before he met them coming back the other way.<span style=""> </span>‘Tracks stop, captain, just over the hill,’ said John of the Dale.<span style=""> </span>He added, with a perplexed expression.<span style=""> </span>‘There’s footprints coming back, captain, but...’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘But what, lad? <span style=""> </span>Spit it out.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘They ain’t dragon prints, captain.<span style=""> </span>They’re a child’s footprints.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>By the time they ran back to the barn the small boy had gone.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">5.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Anyone watching closely would have seen a pair of small footprints appear in the mud outside the cow shed.<span style=""> </span>Knights, however, are large, loud and permanently angry, and not by nature observant.<span style=""> </span>And these particular knights, faced with the unenviable task of facing a very large, very angry dragon, had been drinking mead and cider all day long, and were less observant than most.<span style=""> </span>The small footprints stamped themselves into the thick mud in a most truculent way (if invisible feet can said to be truculent) and then after half a dozen steps transformed into large, lizard claw imprints, which promptly accelerated over the fields at a speed which was, as anyone with any common sense whatsoever would have observed, quite impossibly fast.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">6.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">The bare branches of the dank forest swayed, though there was not a breath of wind, and then, quite suddenly Trevor appeared out of thin air, half way up a tree.<span style=""> </span>Trevor jammed himself firmly in the branches, and slipped on his spectacles.<span style=""> </span>He transformed into the small, horribly mucky boy who the soldiers mistakenly believed they had rescued from the dragon.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Chunk?’ Trevor lifted his shirt and wiped the blood from his chest.<span style=""> </span>The arrow, which would have gone right through a normal boy’s body like a hot knife through butter, had merely nicked Trevor’s almost indestructible hide.<span style=""> </span>‘Chunk?<span style=""> </span>Wake up!’ he grabbed the wooden block in both hands and shook it.<span style=""> </span>‘Wake up!<span style=""> </span>I need you!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The Chunk made a loud choking, rattling noise and then fell silent.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Wake UP!’ Trevor roared, and then looked around warily at the creaking branches surrounding him.<span style=""> </span>‘Listen Chunk,’ he continued in a whisper, ‘those soldiers, they’re Dragon Rouge.<span style=""> </span>I saw them.<span style=""> </span>They had the Sigel on their chests!<span style=""> </span>They’ve followed me, Chunk!<span style=""> </span>They’ve follow me from Mab!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The Chunk vibrated unpleasantly in Trevor’s hands.<span style=""> </span>‘DRAGON ROUGE,’ it grated.<span style=""> </span>‘THE ARMY OF THE RED DRAGON, ESTABLISHED IN THE NEO-BABYLONAIN EMPIRE IN 547 BC.<span style=""> </span>THE DRAGON ROUGE ARE ALSO KNOWN AS THE IMMORTALS—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I blinking known all that, you wooden-headed, leaf-brained—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>But the Chunk did not seem to hear Trevor.<span style=""> </span>‘THE IMMORTAL KING AEOSON, FATHER OF JASON OF ARGO – <i style="">argon is a chemical element represented by the symbol AR, and is widely used to feed cats on the planet Falemachorus </i>- IS LEADER OF THE DRAGON ROUGE – <i style="">rouge – red – red, red was the farmer’s wife’s bottom -</i><span style=""> </span>BELIEVED TO BE OVER TWELVE THOUSAND YEARS OLD AEOSO, ALSO KNOW AS MR VIM – <i style="">vim cleans as it sweeps as it cares, buy vim at your local supermarket now -</i> PROFESSOR SIDNEY SILEX AND JANGLE MUMBLES THE GUITAR – <i style="">swingin’ little guitar – </i>MAN IS NOW BASED ON THE LEGENDARY PLANET MAB – <i style="">oh planets red and stars of grey oh burning amber space fiends—‘</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Chunk vibrated suddenly like a dying animal, and then croaked two words:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘BATTERY ... MANURE<span style=""> </span>...’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The Chunk fell silent, and though Trevor shook it, screeched at it and bashed it against the tree trunk, the wooden machine was dead and silent.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘Marvellous!’ spat Trevor.<span style=""> </span>He pulled off his spectacles, and without a downward glance he ran across the treetops, following his nose.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">7.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">It had taken Trevor almost five years to create the Chunk, though, in truth, he could have created the wooden machine much faster.<span style=""> </span>He and Dr Arcania had been employed by the Dragon Rouge to create weaponry on the planet Mab, a mysterious world full of mythic creatures such as unicorns, Stympalian Birds and Kraken.<span style=""> </span>Machines did not work on Mab, anything mechanical or computerised simply disintegrated, and Trevor and Dr Lambton Arcania were forced to use steam power and, eventually, to adapt the planets peculiar living trees into computers.<span style=""> </span>Chunks were much more advanced than any computer in history, but their wooden parts made them extremely fragile, but Trevor had come up with a unique solution to this.<span style=""> </span>Chunks would repair themselves when planted in the earth and, in an emergency, could be planted in manure and would regenerate their broken parts almost immediately.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>But part of the reason why Trevor had ended up in a small dirty village in a small, dirty England, in the dirty Dark Ages was that when he should have been secretly working on the Chunk under the nose of the Dragon Rouge, he had, in fact, secretly been working on a sub-space portal which fitted in his pocket and teleported an endless supply of chocolate bars from the legendary Kissing Cow Chocolate Factory in the Bleak Republic.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>And so it was that Trevor almost choked to death on a large piece of chocolate when the small boy popped up from behind the large heap of dragon dung on which he was sitting.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">8.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘You!’<span style=""> </span>Trevor felt a lump of chocolate that felt like a chunk of brick lodge in his throat.<span style=""> </span>‘What are you doing here!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Trevor made a strangulated choking noise and spat out a lump of chocolate.<span style=""> </span>‘Bloody Nora!’ he gasped.<span style=""> </span>‘Are you barmy, you whey-faced chimp?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Trevor found himself looking at a wide puzzled face beneath a curl of yellow hair.<span style=""> </span>‘Chimp?’ said the broad shouldered boy.<span style=""> </span>‘What is a chimp?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Trevor goggled at the boy.<span style=""> </span>He was dressed in a dirty jerkin that might have once been white but was so thick in sweat, dirt, blood and dung that it had turned an oddly colourless green-brown.<span style=""> </span>But that, Trevor reckoned, was probably par for the course on this filthy planet – what was surprising about the boy was that his body was criss-crossed with thick leather belts, and the belts were strung with swords, knives and short handled lances.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘It doesn’t matter what a chimp is,’ the boy snapped anxiously before Trevor could reply.<span style=""> </span>‘You must leave here now!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Eh?’ Trevor frowned at the boy.<span style=""> </span>‘I ain’t going nowhere chuckles.’<span style=""> </span>He shoved his chocolate back into his pocket, and glanced down at the wooden edge of the Chunk where it was sticking out of the manure pile, stood up and pushed it out of sight under his foot.<span style=""> </span>‘Who are you, king of Vir?<span style=""> </span>I was here first, chimp face, and I’m not going nowhere!’<span style=""> </span>Trevor blew a loud raspberry just in case the boy didn’t get the message.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Listen to me,’ he whispered urgently, ‘I am Bob, squire of Sir David Hylton, and if he should find—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘What is this?’ interrupted a loud, strident voice.<span style=""> </span>‘What is this peasant doing here, squire?<span style=""> </span>Does he not know that this is the haunt of the dread demon dragon?<span style=""> </span>Or,’ there was the <i style="">snickt</i> sound of steel drawn on steel, and suddenly Trevor found the blade of a sword under his chin, ‘is this serf under the beast’s control perhaps?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Serf!’ Trevor exclaimed angrily.<span style=""> </span>He glared at the face which had appeared over his shoulder.<span style=""> </span>It was a pale face, with thick black hair and an impressive handlebar moustache.<span style=""> </span>Pale grey eyes looked disinterestedly from above aristocratic cheekbones.<span style=""> </span>Sir David Hylton, Trevor noticed, had the cleanest face he had ever seen in his life.<span style=""> </span>In Trevor’s world the knight would have looked unusually clean – in this mucky, clarty brown and grey world he looked positively obscene.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘When you’ve finished playing with your little pal—‘ Sir David began.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Hold the phone, cheekbones,’ Trevor snarled.<span style=""> </span>‘What do you mean serf?<span style=""> </span>Eh?<span style=""> </span>Who you calling a peasant, you curly haired gimp?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The knight lowered his sword and stared at Trevor in dumb astonishment.<span style=""> </span>Squire Bob let out a squeak of fear.<span style=""> </span>‘How… How dare—‘ Sir David spluttered.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I am Sir William Lambton of Killius,’ Trevor interrupted imperiously, taking what looked like a threatening step towards the knight, but was actually an attempt to sink the Chunk further into the enormous dung heap.<span style=""> </span>‘And I am here to kill your monster!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘You?’ spat Sir David, looking the filthy ragamuffin up and down in frank amazement.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Oh yes,’ Trevor replied proudly.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Really?’ exclaimed Squire Bob.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Are you deaf, turnip breath?’ Trevor replied.<span style=""> </span>He reached into his pocket and took out a fresh chocolate bar.<span style=""> </span>He looked around the dung-filled cave as if the dragon where right here, though oddly not only was there no dragon, Squire Bob had vanished also.<span style=""> </span>‘Now then, where’s this dragon whatsit?’<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Sir David raised a shaking finger as a long shadow fell over them.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Right behind you,’ he squeaked.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor turned just as a massive pair of jaws opened, and then snapped closed on him.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">9.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Hook saw the tent flap rise, and immediately fell to his knees and bowed his head.<span style=""> </span>All around him his men knelt and bowed their own heads, while the knights muttered uncomfortably.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>A pair of black leather boots appeared in the mud in front of his face.<span style=""> </span>‘Rise,’ whispered a gruff voice.<span style=""> </span>Hook stood and found himself looking into the marble face of his king.<span style=""> </span>‘Walk with me, Thomas Hook.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>There was an angry muttering from the crowd of dirty knights, and Hook saw his men reach for their weapons.<span style=""> </span>He held up a hand to them as they walked away, and they dropped their hands away from the hilts of their swords.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>His king, the Wizard Aeoson, reached beneath his cape as they turned their backs on the knights, and brought out a bizarre devise.<span style=""> </span>Lights blinked across its small mirrored surface, and Hook, though he had followed his king across a dozen different worlds, still felt a thrill of fear at the sight of one of the Wizard’s infernal alien machines.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘The creature is not of this earth,’ the Wizard whispered in his grating voice.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Hook looked up into the king’s pale, thin old face, with his perfectly bald head, his small strip of grey beard, and, wrapped around his eyes, a black scarf.<span style=""> </span>The scarf fooled many into believing the Wizard was blind – but despite his covered eyes Hook knew that Aeoson could see further and deeper than any man he had ever met.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘An Agent of Change?’ Hook asked.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Perhaps,’ the Wizard replied.<span style=""> </span>‘We must proceed with caution, captain. <span style=""> </span>We can not be seen to oppose the Agents.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘You still wish us to capture the creature, my king?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The Wizard grinned his cold, dry, ancient grin.<span style=""> </span>‘There is no need, my captain,’ he replied.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The machine disappeared beneath his robes, and Aeoson turned to the knights.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘My brave lords,’ said the Wizard, holding up his hands.<span style=""> </span>‘My men can not hope to defeat this demon.<span style=""> </span>I call upon you to find this foul creature and send him back to hell where he belongs!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>With a roar the dirty knight raised their sword as one man and cheered drunkenly.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Your problems are solved, Thomas,’ murmured Aeoson with a cold grin, ‘Now find the monster, and let our glorious knights loose.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">10.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Trevor closed his eyes and waited for the terrible roar of fire that would mean the end of him.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>But nothing happened.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>He cautiously opened one eye.<span style=""> </span>It was extremely dark, extremely wet and extremely smelly in the dragon’s mouth.<span style=""> </span>He could feel the monster’s thick tongue pressed against his back, could smell its hot and rank breath, and beneath his feet he could feel the unmistakable, familiar sensation of flight.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor wracked his brain, but, undoubtedly enormous though his brain was, he could not think of a single thing to do – so he sat back, leant against the dragon’s teeth, pulled a chocolate bar out of his pocket and began munching it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Eventually, after Trevor had chomped his way through three chocolate bars, he felt a thud beneath his feet.<span style=""> </span>He swallowed a lump of chocolate, wiped his hands on his top, and prepared himself.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The dragon’s mouth opened and Trevor was shoved unceremoniously forward.<span style=""> </span>Trevor rolled forward, landed squarely on his feet, whipped off his spectacles and sprang forward ready to run, and stopped with a squeak of horror.<span style=""> </span>He was hanging over a cliff on the tips of his toes.<span style=""> </span>He waved his arms, but it was too late, his attempt to escape had unbalanced him too much and he was falling forward—</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Something grabbed him from behind and threw him back.<span style=""> </span>Trevor slammed into the cliff wall and fell back fearfully as a shadow fell over him.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Sit down before you break your neck, you fool,’ exclaimed Squire Bob.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Eh?’<span style=""> </span>Trevor looked around.<span style=""> </span>They were alone on a small ledge half way up a cliff.<span style=""> </span>‘What the blink’s occurring, dozy?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Sit down,’ Squire Bob repeated.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Look, stupid, that dragon’s going to come back for its dinner anytime now,’ Trevor snarled.<span style=""> </span>‘You’re main, and I’m pudding, now let’s—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I’m a vegetarian,’ interrupted Bob.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘What the flip’s that got to do—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Squire Bob reached for his belt and pressed something there.<span style=""> </span>In an instant he transformed in a vast red and green scaly beast, muscular jaws flexing in its hawk-like face beneath fierce red eyes.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I said,’ said Bob the dragon, its huge wings unfolding with a whip <i style="">crack</i>, ‘I’m a vegetarian.’<span style=""> </span>He grinned, showing teeth the silver of razors.<span style=""> </span>‘But for you, you murderous little wretch, I’ll make an exception.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">11.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘Eh?<span style=""> </span>What do you mean, murderous?’ Trevor exclaimed.<span style=""> </span>‘I’ve never murdered nobody,’ Trevor considered, ‘Well, not on purpose, anyway.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘John Dylan,’ replied the dragon, ‘You killed him in the cow shed—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Cow shed?’ murmured Trevor.<span style=""> </span>‘That cow I fell on, you mean?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The dragon let out a roar of fury, and bellowed a jet of flame into the air.<span style=""> </span>‘John Dylan was no cow!<span style=""> </span>He was the defender of Prezema.<span style=""> </span>He was an Agent of Change, sent here to stop your evil plot.<span style=""> </span>So tell me, you murderous little wretch, where is the Ring of Argo?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor sighed.<span style=""> </span>He looked over the edge of the cliff.<span style=""> </span>It was a long drop.<span style=""> </span>From experience he was pretty sure he could survive the fall, but then again if he landed on rocks, or given his experiences so far, spears or swords, it could turn out very badly.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Look dopey,’ he said with a resigned sigh.<span style=""> </span>‘I’m not a murderer, I haven’t got an evil plot, and I don’t know what the Ring of Argos is, okay?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘The Ring of Argo!’ roared the dragon.<span style=""> </span>‘Do not trifle with me, boy!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Trifle with you?<span style=""> </span>You roar at me one more time I’ll smash your bleeding face in!’ Trevor shouted.<span style=""> </span>‘I don’t know what’s going on, and frankly I couldn’t give a monkey’s chuff.<span style=""> </span>I fell through time and space by accident, landed on Bob Dylan by accident – who, incidentally, if he wasn’t a cow shouldn’t have been hanging out in a cow shed with cows, the dozy perv – and I am currently stuck on a flipping cliff with a flipping dragon by flipping accident, so flip off, death breath!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘John Dylan,’ said the dragon.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘Whatever,’ sighed Trevor.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">The dragon folded his wings.<span style=""> </span>For a moment his thick red and green hide seemed to evaporate into thinning smoke, and then Squire Bob stood on the edge of the cliff.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘Then who in the 101 Realms are you?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">12.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘The Ring of Argo is an ancient ring.<span style=""> </span>It is an object if some power, but it is itself part of a much more powerful object - the Key of Argo, a key which they say can open the doors of time and space, and release from limbo the greatest army the universe has ever known.<span style=""> </span>The army known as the First Heroes.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Hmm,’ said Trevor, ‘That’s interesting.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘The Agency of Change became aware that someone was hunting for the Key of Argo,’ said Squire Bob, ‘Though we can not imagine why anyone ...’ Bob paused, ‘Are you listening to me?’ he asked angrily.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Muh?’ Trevor looked up. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘You aren’t listening to me!<span style=""> </span>People are dying and all that you are interested in is your damned chocolate!’ cried Bob.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Look, Dragon boy,’ Trevor shoved his half eaten bar of chocolate back into his pocket with a resigned sigh.<span style=""> </span>‘I’m not being funny, but I’m not that bothered.<span style=""> </span>I told you I’m from the future already, so why should I care what happens to these people?<span style=""> </span>They’re all dead anyway, as far as I’m concerned.<span style=""> </span>My time machine will be fixed in a bit and I’ll be off out of your hairy bum hole and you can get on with saving this stupid world, and I can get back to where I belong.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘And where,’ Bob asked tightly, ‘do you belong?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor reached into his pocket and took out a glossy poster.<span style=""> </span>‘Halruga,’ he said, his eyes glittering with excitement as he passed Bob the poster, which showed a group of tanned young people surfing beneath a sky with three suns, standing on surf boards while eating cream cakes, ‘It’s the Halrugan Surf Decadon, ten years of surfing, boozing, chomping and—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Bob grabbed the poster in both hands, tore it in half, and threw the pieces over the edge of the cliff.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘What the ...’ Trevor gasped, watching the pieces of his beautiful Halrugan poster disappear into the distance, ‘I’ve been carrying that around for sixty blinking years...’ </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘You must help me,’ Bob insisted grimly, ‘The Key of Argo could spell disaster for everyone on this planet, on all the Realms.<span style=""> </span>Don’t you understand that you’ve already changed history when you killed Dylan?<span style=""> </span>You can’t go back to your time, if history has changed, your time will not exist any more, there is nowhere for you to go back to!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘MY POSTER!’ roared Trevor, and he leapt at Bob, who fell back with an astonished expression, and they both rolled over the cliff.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>They hit the cliff wall with a jarring impact, and something smashed in Bob’s pocket, letting out a discordant howl and spitting sparks and pieces of metal into Trevor’s face.<span style=""> </span>Bob transformed into a red and green dragon, smashed again into the rocks, and then with a <i style="">crack</i> of unfurling wings, flew into the air and vanished.<span style=""> </span>Trevor flew down the wall of the cliff, and let out a resigned sigh.<span style=""> </span>He took of his spectacles, stowed them into his pocket and crossed his arms over his chest and waiting patiently for the impact.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">13.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘You idiot!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor looked up blearily, and found himself looking into the fierce jaws of a dragon.<span style=""> </span><i style="">Maltrusion</i>, thought Trevor.<span style=""> </span>Of course!<span style=""> </span>He remembered it from history now – Maltrusion, a race of intelligent dragons.<span style=""> </span>How could he have forgotten that?<span style=""> </span>Maybe a diet of constant chocolate wasn’t that great an idea after all.<span style=""> </span>Trevor sat up, and a talon as long as his own body pinned him back to the ground.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘You’ve smashed my Xenomorphic Transubstantiator!’ Bob roared.<span style=""> </span>‘I’m stuck in this shape now!<span style=""> </span>I can’t change back to my human form!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Ho-hum, never mind, such is life,’ Trevor replied, the dragon’s eyes widened in fury, but before he could shout at – or incinerate – Trevor, the small t-rex grabbed his thick ankle and hurled him back against the cliff.<span style=""> </span>Trevor sprang to his feet.<span style=""> </span>‘You’ll just have to go home now, won’t you, and let the universe save itself from the hoops of horror, or whatever they’re called.<span style=""> </span>I,’ Trevor snarled, pacing to where the dragon huddled pathetically against the cliff, its feet mired in the thick mud, ‘am picking up my Chunk and leaving for Halruga!’<span style=""> </span>Trevor wiggled his fingers at the stunned face of the dragon, ‘Ta-ra!’ and he turned to leave.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Your Chunk?’ said Bob, ‘Do you mean this?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor spun back around.<span style=""> </span>Bob held the Chunk between two enormous claws.<span style=""> </span>It looked very small and fragile pincered between his talons.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘That’s mine!’ Trevor spat.<span style=""> </span>‘Give it back!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Made of wood, I see?’ Bob exclaimed, he held it closer to his enormous jaws, and blew out a puff of smoke.<span style=""> </span>‘Very flammable wood, isn’t it?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘You put that down or I’ll smash your face in!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘You help me and I’ll give it back to you!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I don’t help nobody except my mates and my mum, and you’re not neither one of those, dragon boy,’ Trevor replied.<span style=""> </span>‘I know what you are – you’re a Maltrusion, a Dragon Pirate, the scum of the 101 Realms and I ain’t helping you!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Bob let out a growl of anger.<span style=""> </span>Trevor grinned.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I know what the Agents of Change are too,’ Trevor continued with a vicious grin, ‘They were the guardians of the universe in ancient times, and they wouldn’t have no Maltrusion helping them, that’s for sure – so what are you doing here?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘At the moment,’ the dragon replied, ‘I am holding your only means of escape from this place and time in between my extremely strong talons.<span style=""> </span>And I know what you are too, Killian,’ Bob sneered, ‘Your race are a bunch of scone baking, vegetable munching cowards, so don’t you think you can threaten me!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor leapt forward with a roar of fury, and Bob held up the Chunk and spat out of jet of flame.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘IF I MAY INTERJECT AT THIS POINT,’ said the Chunk in its inflectionless voice, ‘I HAVE A PLAN THAT MAY SAVE YOU FROM BEING LOST IN TIME, TREVOR SMETHURST, YOU FROM BEING CHOPPED INTO DRAGON MEAT, ROBERT COLCHIS OF MALTRUSIO, AND PREVENT ME, CHUNK OF MAB, FROM BEING TURNED INTO FIREWOOD.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor glared into the red eyes of the dragon with loathing, ‘Keep talking, woody,’ he snarled.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">14.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS WHILE POWERING UP, AND IT IS QUITE OBVIOUS TO ME THAT IT IS SIMPLY NOT POSSIBLE THAT ROBERT COLCHIS IS HERE ON A MISSION WITH THE AGENTS OF CHANGE.<span style=""> </span>AS YOU POINTED OUT, TREVOR SMETHURST, AT THIS TIME IN HISTORY THE MALTRUSION DRAGON PEOPLE ARE VIEWED WITH SUSPICION AND FEAR, AND A MALTRUSION WOULD NEVER BE NAMED AN AGENT.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘The Maltrusions are still viewed with suspicion and fear,’ Trevor snapped, ‘They’re a bunch of thieving, back-stabbing, death-breath ratbags!’<span style=""> </span>Bob rumbled with fury, jets of flame squirting from his nostrils.<span style=""> </span>‘Anyway, who gives a fiery dragon’s pump?<span style=""> </span>You’re powered up, so let’s get going, Chunk!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I AM SORRY THAT IS NOT POSSIBLE,’ the Chunk replied.<span style=""> </span>‘IT ALSO OCCURS TO ME THAT EVEN IF YOU WERE NOT A MALTRUSION, ROBERT COLCHIS, AT THIRTEEN YOU ARE FAR TOO YOUNG TO BE AN AGENT OF CHANGE.<span style=""> </span>I CAN THEREFORE ONLY ASSUME THAT YOU HAVE BROUGHT HERE AGAINST YOUR WILL.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Bob the dragon paused, and then said in a small voice, ‘I’m not an Agent of Change at all.<span style=""> </span>One moment I was at school, and the next—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Hang on a sec!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘— I was transported here.<span style=""> </span>I don’t know why I was brought here,’ Bob continued, ‘But when I arrived here the Agent, John Dylan, helped me.<span style=""> </span>He helped repair my Xenomorphic Transubstantiator, which had been damaged when I had been transported, but by then of course every knight in this world was turning up at the doorstep, believing that a dragon was attacking their people.<span style=""> </span>I managed to get myself a position as squire fro Sir David, and I’ve hiding out here ever since.<span style=""> </span>But now that Agent Dylan is dead, I don’t know how I’ll ever get home.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘IT SEEMS UNLIKELY THAT YOU WERE TRANSPORTED HERE BY CHANCE, A WORLD WHERE IT IS CONSIDERED A KNIGHT’S DUTY TO SLAY A DRAGON,’ said Chunk.<span style=""> </span>‘IT SEEMS LIKELY THAT YOU WERE THE CLOSEST MALTRUSION TO THIS LOCATION.<span style=""> </span>WHERE WERE YOU WHEN YOU DISAPPEARED, ROBERT COLCHIS?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I said, hang on—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I was at school,’ said Bob, ‘At the Watchmen Academy.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘THE LOGICAL CONCLUSION IS THAT SOMEONE WANTED A MALTRUSION, A DRAGON, AND SENT OUT A GENETIC TRANSPORTATION TRAP TO CAPTURE ONE.<span style=""> </span>THEY MOST PROBABLY DID NOT EXPECT TO FIND ONE OF YOUR PEOPLE ON EARTH, NOR DID THEY EXPECT TO FIND A MALTRUSION WHO WAS AN APPRENTICE AGENT OF CHANGE.<span style=""> </span>THEREFORE THE LOGICAL ASSUMPTION IS—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I said HANG ON A MINUTE!’ Trevor roared.<span style=""> </span>Bob looked around at him startled, even the Chunk seemed to shift slightly where it stood upright in the dragon dung.<span style=""> </span>‘What do you mean you piece of junk - “That is not possible”?’<span style=""> </span>Trevor crossed the cave in three quick bounds and picked up the Chunk, ‘I want to go to Halruga, and I want to go now, so let’s get going, wooden top!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Trevor, I need—‘ Bob began.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Zip it, hot pants,’ Trevor snarled at the dragon, ‘I couldn’t give a monkey’s toenails what you want, I want to go to Halruga, and this is my machine, my Chunk, which I invented, and it will do what I say!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘NO,’ replied the Chunk, ‘I WILL NOT.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor screeched in fury.<span style=""> </span>‘Yes you will!<span style=""> </span>You belong to me and you will do what I say!’<span style=""> </span>He shook the Chunk savagely, and then hurled it across the cave, where it landed with a plop in a heap of dragon dung.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I DO NOT BELONG TO YOU,’ the Chunk replied.<span style=""> </span>‘YOU CONSTRUCTED ME, TREVOR SMETHURST, THAT IS CORRECT, BUT I WAS CREATED FROM THE SENTIENT WOOD OF MAB, AND AM A SELF AWARE BEING.<span style=""> </span>I HAVE CONSIDERED ALL OF THE VARIABLES OF THIS CASE—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Case!’ Trevor screeched.<span style=""> </span>‘What case!<span style=""> </span>You’re a robot, not private detective!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘—AND I HAVE COME TO THE CONCLUSION THAT IT IS OUR DUTY AS GOOD MEN TO HELP OUR BROTHER IN ARMS, ROBERT COLCHIS.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>You’re not a Good Man!’ Trevor screamed.<span style=""> </span>‘You’re a twig with a hard drive!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘WHATEVER I AM, I AM THE ONLY MACHINE THAT EXISTS IN THIS TIME THAT CAN TRANSPORT YOU BACK HOME, TREVOR SMETHURST,’ said the Chunk.<span style=""> </span>‘AND I WILL ONLY DO THAT IF YOU HELP ROBERT COLCHIS IN HIS MISSION.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor swore loudly, and even Bob, who had grown up among man-eating Dragon Pirates, blushed at his language.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘OK!’ Trevor screamed.<span style=""> </span>‘I’ll do it!<span style=""> </span>I’ll help him!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘VERY WELL,’ the Chunk replied calmly.<span style=""> </span>‘LOGICALLY—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>I HATE YOU!’ Trevor screamed, and plonked himself down in a heap on the cave floor.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘LOGICALLY,’ the Chunk continued after a pause.<span style=""> </span>‘WHOEVER TRANSPORTED YOU HERE DID SO TO ATTRACT THIS REALM’S GREATEST KNIGHTS HERE.<span style=""> </span>AND IT LOGICALLY FOLLOWS, THEREFORE, THAT ONE OF THOSE KNIGHTS IS THE BEARER OF THE RING OF ARGO.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Bob the dragon blinked.<span style=""> </span>It was all so obvious when the Chunk said it.<span style=""> </span>Why hadn’t he thought of that?<span style=""> </span>‘So how do we get the ring from him?’ Bob asked.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘THAT IS QUITE SIMPLE,’ the Chunk replied, ‘TREVOR MUST SLAY YOU.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor looked up.<span style=""> </span>‘I think I like this plan!’ he exclaimed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">15.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">The knights sat in a miserable huddle around the guttering fires, drinking revolting-smelling mead and fearfully watching the black skies.<span style=""> </span>It had begun to snow, flakes as big as flower tops that tumbled across the skies and instantly melted on the muddy land below.<span style=""> </span>Most of the knights were little more than farmers, men who lived in lodges made of mud, straw and a little wood who collected taxes for their local king (and, more often than not themselves) punished minor crimes (and occasionally major ones, such as sheep stealing) and kept bandits away from the farmers who looked to them for protection.<span style=""> </span>They knew what those first snow flakes meant.<span style=""> </span>Tomorrow there would be patches of white on the hills, then on the lower ground, and then, before long, there would be drifts of snow feet deep, and these farmer knights, who should be at home eating and drinking and administering minor justices, would be freezing through winter with no food, little shelter, and a dragon roaming the land.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>It was the thought of the dragon that kept them here.<span style=""> </span>Not the glory of killing a dragon, glory didn’t keep the lodge fires lit or feed the livestock, but the thought of the beast roaming the lands killing women and children, and, more importantly, eating valuable livestock, kept them huddled around the poor fire.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>But they, of course, were not the only kind of knight here, there were others too.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Right, you miserable dung-spattered, cow-bothering wretches,’ drawled Sir David Hylton, drawing his sword and staggering drunkenly into the firelight, ‘who wants a dual?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">To Sir David’s surprise one of the dirty knights rose to his feet.<span style=""> </span>But he did not draw his sword; instead he raised a hand and pointed.<span style=""> </span>‘Look,’ he gasped, ‘look!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Sir David turned unsteadily and squinted into the darkness, and his pale, arrogant face turned paler still.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Light glowed on a distant hilltop, as the knights watched the light grew brighter and brighter, and then, with a deafening roar, the huge bat wings of the dragon appeared over the hilltop.<span style=""> </span>It roses and rose into the air, its body impossibly long, and spat out a mushroom head explosion of fire.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘Fetch the archers!’ someone cried among the disorganised clatter of armour and the scrape and clang of swords, short lances and morningstars.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘Damn the archers!’ roared Sir David, raising his own sword above his head, ‘Stand and fight you dung-stinking women!<span style=""> </span>Saint George!<span style=""> </span>Saint George!<span style=""> </span>Saint—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Sir David disappeared in a sudden blinding flash, and when the farmer knights looked again all that was left of him was his breast plate, spinning on its end like a coin, his sword stuck blade up and smoking, and, glittering in the mud, a large ornate ring.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">16.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘Did you do that?’ Trevor exclaimed, peeking from where he sat behind Bob’s neck.<span style=""> </span>‘Good shot!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘It wasn’t me!’ Bob replied, looking down at the smoking remain of Sir David Hylton as the soared over the field.<span style=""> </span>‘I wouldn’t kill anyone!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Oy, Twiggy!’ Trevor barked at the featureless block of wood strung once more around his neck.<span style=""> </span>‘What’s going on?<span style=""> </span>Did they get another dragon or something?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I FEAR IT IS MUCH WORSE THAN ANOTHER MALTRUSION, TREVOR SMETHURST,’ the Chunk replied, ‘I FEAR—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor did not hear the Chunk’s next words.<span style=""> </span>Something hit him in the face with the force of a punch, and he was thrown helpless back.<span style=""> </span>He felt himself sliding over the rough scales of the dragon’s tail, and then, even as he heard Bob shout out in alarm and felt the Maltrusion twist beneath him he slid over the edge and into the dark night.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">17.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘Bring him to my tent.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘To your tent?<span style=""> </span>But why? <span style=""> </span>The poor lad is dead, Wizard, and should be buried.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘You think to defy me, farmer?<span style=""> </span>Bring him to my tent or my men will shoot you down and take him.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Farmer I may be, but this is my land, and I won’t have a Christian soul subjected to your dark—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor let out a groan and opened his eyes, and found himself looking up into an astonished bearded face.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Good Lord!’ cried the knight.<span style=""> </span>‘He’s alive!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Course I’m alive, hairy Mary,’ Trevor replied.<span style=""> </span>He sat up, and felt a bolt of terrible pain shoot through his head.<span style=""> </span>He reached up, squinting, and realised that something was sticking out of his forehead.<span style=""> </span>He pulled it out, and held it up.<span style=""> </span>‘Which slack jawed yokel fired this arrow at me?’ he demanded angrily.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Bring him to my tent,’ repeated a voice as deep and cracked as an ancient tombstone.<span style=""> </span>It was a voice that Trevor recognised immediately, and, for once successfully balancing his immense intelligence against his vast stupidity, Trevor did not cry out the name of the man he would meet and betray far, far in the future.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Take him,’ said the Wizard, staring at Trevor despite the black scarf that covered his eyes, and Trevor felt strong hands take his arms and drag him to his feet.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘It’s the boy from the cowshed,’ said a burly archer Trevor recognised, John of the Dale.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘He’s no boy,’ snarled a second archer, and Trevor felt their captain, Thomas Hook, draw his sword and put it to Trevor’s throat.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘That boy was fighting the dragon,’ said the bearded knight, and several voices murmured in agreement.<span style=""> </span>‘I saw him on the dragon’s back, his sword drawn,’ added a fat knight with a red face who looked on the verge of bursting out of his rusty armour.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘That’s blinking right!’ Trevor cried angrily.<span style=""> </span>‘I’m Sir … Lee, Sir Lee of, er… Chimpchester, and I demand you let me go!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘”Surly” Sir Lee of Chimpchester,’ grunted Aeoson the Wizard, ‘You’re no more a knight than I am.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘If this boy is of the blood he should be set free,’ said the bearded knight, and he drew his sword.<span style=""> </span>All around him Trevor saw the Dragon Rouge archers appear suddenly out of the gloom, their own swords scraping free of their scabbards, and in reply the farmer knights stepped forward drawing their own rusty, nicked blades.<span style=""> </span>‘You will set this boy free, of we shall have blood,’ said the bearded knight.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The Wizard glared at Trevor, who grinned back blissfully.<span style=""> </span>Then he stepped forward and, turning his back to the knight, opened his cloak to Trevor.<span style=""> </span>Inside Trevor saw that the Wizard was holding a gun, a sonic disruptor by the look of it.<span style=""> </span>It was more than capable of taking the head off even an almost indestructible Killian.<span style=""> </span>The Wizard grinned humourlessly at Trevor’s expression.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘This boy is no dragon slayer.<span style=""> </span>He is in league with the dragon,’ said the Wizard.<span style=""> </span>‘This boy is a demon.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Nonsense,’ barked the bearded knight, ‘Let him go or feel my blade, Wizard.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The Wizard’s reply was to reach up and snatch Trevor’s spectacles from the end of his nose.<span style=""> </span>Trevor transformed instantly into his t-rex form, and the camp erupted in cries of horror and fear.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The Wizard nodded to his men, and they dragged Trevor away with no further objections.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">18.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘Take your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty apes!’ Trevor cried.<span style=""> </span>The two Dragon Rouge soldiers threw him into the tent and drew their swords, behind them half a dozen archers appeared, their bows raised.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor leapt forward with a roar, and stopped dead as the Wizard Aeoson appeared through the tent flap and levelled his gun at Trevor’s face.<span style=""> </span>The gun gave a high, discordant whine as it powered up, lights blinking menacing all around its barrel.<span style=""> </span>Trevor stopped dead and raised his hands in surrender with a weak smile.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘You are a Killian,’ said the Wizard. ‘I’ve never heard of a Killian Agent of Change.<span style=""> </span>I thought Killians baked bread and grew posies.’<span style=""> </span>The archers laughed, Trevor growled.<span style=""> </span>‘And these,’ the Wizard held up Trevor spectacles, ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like these before.’<span style=""> </span>He stepped forward and held the spectacles out to Trevor, who snatched them and shoved them into his pocket.<span style=""> </span>‘Put them on,’ he growled.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Shan’t!’ Trevor spat.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Put them on,’ the Wizard rumbled, ‘Or I shall shoot off your nose.’<span style=""> </span>He raised his gun.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor did not hesitate.<span style=""> </span>He put the spectacles on immediately and transformed back into a dirty, tousle haired boy with a turned up nose and a sour expression.<span style=""> </span>He had known Aeoson the immortal king, or Mr Vim, or the Wizard, if you preferred, for many years – or at least he would do in the far future – and he had not the slightest doubt that he would indeed shoot off Trevor’s nose without even the slightest hesitation.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘That’s better, those peasants out there have no problem believing in dragons and demons, but I’m not about to start explaining dinosaurs and aliens to them,’ said the Wizard.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I’m not a dinosaur,’ Trevor grunted, ‘and I’m not an alien neither.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘No, but what are you?’ the Wizard leaned closer, and, faintly, under his scarf Trevor could see the red glow of his eyes.<span style=""> </span>Trevor had no doubt that it had been the Wizard’s deadly eyes, and not Bob’s fiery breath, which had disintegrated Sir David Hylton.<span style=""> </span>‘Not from Earth, and not from Killius either I would imagine.<span style=""> </span>So where are you from, Surly Sir Lee of Chimpchester?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor did not reply.<span style=""> </span>He thought of the times he had met the Wizard in his past, and he knew that a wrong word could alter that future past in way he could not begin to imagine.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Answer me,’ said the Wizard, and he shoved his gun under Trevor’s chin.<span style=""> </span>‘Answer me now or die, Killian.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I think that is enough, Wizard,’ came a voice from behind them.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The Wizard turned, as did his men, and arrows guns and swords were all pointed at the bearded knight.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>They only faltered slightly when he reached down to his belt, and with a heat-haze shimmer transformed into a large white cow, standing on his hind legs, with a sword held in his front hoof.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Now, Wizard, you will unhand that boy,’ said the cow, ‘and hand me the Ring of Argo.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">19.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘How apt,’ said the Wizard, ‘the farmer is a cow.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘My name is John Dylan,’ said the cow, ‘I am an Agent of Change, assigned to find the Ring of Argo.<span style=""> </span>A ring which you and your organisation stole.<span style=""> </span>Now – hand it over.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor goggled at John Dylan.<span style=""> </span>He looked precisely like a cow, only, if you looked closer you saw that beneath his front hooves were two thick grey fingers and a misshapen thumb, and his rear hooves were just a little too long – perfect for standing on your hind legs, in fact.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor also saw that that, Agent of Change or not, he was still a cow in nicked and rusty armour with a dirty sword, surrounded by very large men with very big longbows, and a maniac with a sonic disruptor.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I am Merlyn of Persia,’ said the Wizard with a bow, ‘I have heard of you, John Dylan, defender of Prezema, it is an honour to be in your presence.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Then perhaps you will do me the honour of lowering your gun,’ said Dylan, stepping forward and raising his sword once more.<span style=""> </span>All around him bowstrings groaned as the archers drew them back.<span style=""> </span>‘Unless you would like to explain to the Agency why you are stealing a valuable and dangerous artefact?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I am not stealing the Ring, John Dylan,’ said the Wizard.<span style=""> </span>Smiling his cold, stone smile, he slipped the gun back into his robes and raised both hands.<span style=""> </span>‘Lower your bows,’ he commanded, and the Dragon Rouge archers obeyed immediately.<span style=""> </span>‘We are the Army of the Dragon Rouge, and dedicated to the pursuance of peace and truth.<span style=""> </span>We took the ring, Agent Dylan, recognising it as a dangerous artefact, as you say,’ the Wizard reached into his robes and brought out a large, ornate, rather battered ring.<span style=""> </span>‘But our mission,’ he said, as Dylan took a step towards him, ‘was to find that boy.’<span style=""> </span>The Wizard pointed at Trevor.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Me?’ Trevor exclaimed, as the tent was once more filled with the groan of tightening bowstrings – only now the arrows were pointed at Trevor.<span style=""> </span>‘What the bleeding hell have I done?<span style=""> </span>I was just minding my own business!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘This boy is an agent send from the future,’ said the Wizard.<span style=""> </span>He reached once more into his robes, and brought out a small white tablet, which he threw to Dylan.<span style=""> </span>‘Look at the readings, Agent Dylan, this boy is a Killian, from over a thousand years in the future.<span style=""> </span>It is my belief that he been sent here to steal the Ring of Argo.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Agent Dylan stared at Trevor, who spluttered angrily.<span style=""> </span>‘What a flipping cheek!’ he said at last, ‘That berk over there,’ he pointed at the Wizard, ‘isn’t no Merlyn of Persia, he is—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor never finished.<span style=""> </span>One moment Dylan was staring at him uncertainly, and the next there was a flash of blinding light.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>When Trevor had blinked away the blinding after image all that stood where Dylan had been was his swords, bent neatly in two and glowing white.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘As I said, captain, we can not be seen to oppose the Agents of Change,’ said the Wizard.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘No my lord,’ agreed Thomas Hook.<span style=""> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Trevor caught a momentary glimpse of the Wizard’s cold and grinning face as he lifted his black scarf to cover his eyes once more.<span style=""> </span>Where his eyes should have been were two open pits of white hot blazing fire.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Now then,’ said the Wizard Aeoson.<span style=""> </span>‘What are we to do about you, Sir Lee?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">But when he turned around Trevor had vanished.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">20.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">‘Right, that is it!’ snarled Trevor.<span style=""> </span>‘We are getting out of here and we are getting out now!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘WHAT ABOUT ROBERT COLCHIS?’ asked the Chunk.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Keep your voice down!’ hissed Trevor.<span style=""> </span>‘Have you got woodworm in your brains or what?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor was crouched behind the tent.<span style=""> </span>When the Wizard had blasted Dylan he had whipped off his spectacles and promptly vanished while everyone was watching the unfortunate Agent evaporate.<span style=""> </span>After that it had been an easy matter to simply slip out of the tent.<span style=""> </span>He was still invisible - apart, of course from two reptilian eyes, the only part of him he was incapable of rendering not-visible, despite years of frustrating practice – and the muddy field was filled now with confused shouts and the clank of armour, the panicked knights almost as invisible as Trevor now in the rapidly falling snow.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Listen, Chunk, I want us out of here right this second,’ Trevor whispered, as two horses flew by, followed by the pale, doughy face of the boy Trevor remembered first encountering in the cowshed.<span style=""> </span>Trevor was tempted to make himself visible again and give the boy a fright, but decided that at this point discretion was probably the better part of valour.<span style=""> </span>Or possibly, in Trevor’s case, it was the better part of stupidity.<span style=""> </span>Instead he turned to the Chunk again.<span style=""> </span>‘I don’t care where we go, or when we go, just get us out of here right now you stupid piece of junk, or I swear I’ll eat you right here and now!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘BUT WITHOUT ME—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I built you, dozy,’ Trevor snarled, ‘it might take me a while in this backwards place, but I can build another.<span style=""> </span>Now get us out of here, or the next time I see you, will be when I’m sitting on the bog!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The Chunk was silent, and Trevor, for once, waited patiently.<span style=""> </span>He was, after all, telling the truth.<span style=""> </span>He had created the Chunk on the planet Mab, a place where machines and computer didn’t work; and yet he had still managed to create the most advanced time and space travel machine in history out of, essentially, clever wood.<span style=""> </span>So what if he was in some Dark Age armpit on the outer edges of the 101 Realms?<span style=""> </span>He would find his way to a more advanced world, and rebuild the Chunk.<span style=""> </span>All of that would be immaterial, of course, if the Chunk simply listened to reason got them the hell out of here, or (much less desirable) the Wizard found him and chopped his nut off.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘BUT ROBERY COLCHIS—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Is a bleeding Maltrusion Dragon!’ Trevor snarled.<span style=""> </span>It had, he noticed, become ominously quiet, and he imagined – with very little stretch of his extremely limited imagination – the Wizard gathering his archers and firing up his big, nasty gun.<span style=""> </span>Bob can look after himself – and he’s done a runner!<span style=""> </span>So we should do the same, you thick twig!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I DON’T THINK HE HAS RUN AWAY,’ said the Chunk.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Of course he’s run away you idiot!’ Trevor snapped, howling in frustration.<span style=""> </span>‘Wouldn’t you run away you dozy sap?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘IF HE HAS RUN AWAY,’ said the Chunk, ‘THEN WHO IS THAT OVER THERE?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor looked up.<span style=""> </span>‘Oh … bumholes!’ he exclaimed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">21.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Trevor crawled around the back of the tent.<span style=""> </span>As he crawled through the icy, stinking mud the Chunk kept trying to buoy him up, ‘WELL DONE’, it said, and ‘I AM VERY PROUD OF YOU,’ and ‘YOU ARE A CREDIT TO YOUR PEOPLE.’<span style=""> </span>Trevor kept a surly silence.<span style=""> </span>He had decided, unequivocally, that he hated the Chunk with every ounce of his being, and as soon as he was on the beach at Halruga, was going to start his barbecue fire with the horrid little thing.<span style=""> </span>His first Halrugan sausages would taste so much the sweeter, knowing that the Chunk had been cooked alongside them.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Bob the dragon had sailed out the snow like a great ship, roaring and spitting flame in fury.<span style=""> </span>The dirty knights had scattered in panic, and in the whirl of snow and the scream of bolting horses the great dragon had landed in the centre of the camp fire, rising twenty feet into the air, its wings snapping open with an ear-splitting <i style="">CRACK! </i>as campfire sparks flew in a vast cloud mixed with the snow, and it had roared with terrifying ferocity, every nightmare of this simple little land embodied in one terrible, impossible monster.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Oh, bleeding hell, not again,’ Trevor had sighed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>This, in a nutshell, Trevor thought, perfectly encompassed his life.<span style=""> </span>He tried to be good, to quietly do his work, and be nice to people, he even – on occasion – shared his chocolate, but there was always some bumhole twit trying to save the world and in the process getting him into trouble.<span style=""> </span>It had happened with his best friend Maxwell Jones, with that pyromaniac Billy Barker, with Barty Pugg, and even the usually sensible Dr Arcania had took into his head to get all heroic – hence Trevor’s current predicament; lost in time, lost in space, and now he too was losing all sense.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Bob Colchis was the latest idiot to lose his marbles over some daft quest.<span style=""> </span>What was it with people and quests?<span style=""> </span>Trevor’s only quest in life was to find a nice beach, lay back and get as fat and sunburnt as Killianly possible.<span style=""> </span>Trevor had watched in deepening despair, and then cold resignation, as Bob had roared into the Wizard’s tent in a whirl of arrows and flame.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I suppose now I’ll have to go and rescue that dozy twonk,’ he sighed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I SUPPOSE YOU WILL, YES,’ Chunk replied.<span style=""> </span>‘AND MAY I SAY THAT I HAVE ALWAYS HAD THE UPMOST CONFIDENCE—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘No you may not!’<span style=""> </span>Trevor snapped.<span style=""> </span>‘Shut your word hole!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>By the time Trevor had crawled around to the back of the tent the canvas was aflame, and from inside he could hear shouts, the clang of steel, and, more ominously the high <i style="">woop-woop-woop</i> of the Wizard’s deadly gun.<span style=""> </span>Trevor blinked twice, vanished once more, and crawled under the tent.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Inside was darkness, and sudden silence.<span style=""> </span>Trevor blinked again, and the darkness resolved into green shapes as his reptilian vision pierced the night.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>To his left a number of soldiers was beating at the canvas where a small fire still burnt, the now thickly falling snow clearly visible through the tattered canvas.<span style=""> </span>To his right was another knot of soldiers, their arrows pointing in uniform lines at the far end of the tent, despite the darkness.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Immediately in front of Trevor, his back to him, stood the Wizard, his bald head gleaming green in Trevor’s night vision eyes – and in his hand something else gleamed too.<span style=""> </span>A sword.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Ah, Maltrusion, I can’t express enough how indebted I am to you,’ said the Wizard in his deep gravely voice.<span style=""> </span>Flame flared suddenly and the tent was filled with torchlight.<span style=""> </span>Trevor winced and blinked again, and the suddenly intense green light turned once more into the shadowy interior of the Wizard’s tent – and at its far end, lying on his side and breathing shallowly, was Bob the dragon.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The Wizard walked around to Bob’s head, and now Trevor could see that several arrows were sticking out of the dragon’s scaly hide, and at its head stood Captain Thomas Hook, a large axe held in his hands, poised above Bob’s staring eye.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I don’t imagine such a brutal creature as you can understand, Maltrusion, but you have played your part admirably,’ said the Wizard, running the tip of his sword up Bob’s snout.<span style=""> </span>Bob, Trevor noticed, did not even shiver, and he felt a sudden flash of anger.<span style=""> </span>He stalked closer, unseen by the soldiers.<span style=""> </span>‘You led Sir David Hylton to me, and through him I gained this,’ he held up the dirty, ancient ring.<span style=""> </span>‘But even better you brought the Agent to me, and by returning gave me a convenient monster to hang his murder on.<span style=""> </span>Thank you so much for all of your help, monster.<span style=""> </span>And now,’ the Wizard stopped beside Hook, who stepped back.<span style=""> </span>He raised his sword with a faint smile on his grim white face, ‘And now, I shall deliver your head to these peasants, and become a legend in this world.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>It occurred to Trevor afterwards, as he sneaked, completely unseen, behind the grinning, bloodthirsty archers, around the edge of the tent, and finally right behind the Wizard, that at this point he should have said something witty and cool.<span style=""> </span>‘Deliver this, sucker!’ would have been good, or perhaps, ‘Feel my wrath, smelly wizard’, or, even better, ‘I’m the only legend around here, bub!’ but as it was Trevor realised that he had probably left it a little too late as the Wizard was just about to hack Bob’s head off, and, anyway, he couldn’t really think of anything clever.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>So instead Trevor had leapt forward and bit the Wizard’s bottom as hard as he could.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The Wizard let out an agonising howl, dropped both his sword and the Ring of Argo, and leapt a good six feet into the air.<span style=""> </span>Trevor let go, and turned just as Hook raised the axe in both hands and prepared to bring it down on Bob’s head with all his might.<span style=""> </span>Trevor leapt forward once more – <i style="">Drop that, sucker, I won’t axe twice</i>, he thought later – and head butted Hook square in the centre of his face.<span style=""> </span>Hook’s eyelids fluttered, and he fell backwards without a sound, the axe still held above his head.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Get on your feet dozy!’ he shouted, turning back to where Bob lay.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The Wizard stood in front of him, his sword levelled in one hand, the other held to his bottom.<span style=""> </span>‘You damned interfering boy,’ he snarled, ‘Do you really think a child could stop me?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>He leapt forward, his sword slicing toward Trevor’s throat in a killing arc – and was suddenly plucked off his feet, his bald head pincered between two enormous talons.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘See ya, baldy,’ said Trevor with a wave, and Bob, rising up and tearing the tent to shreds, hurled the Wizard over his shoulder and into the night.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Climb on my back!’ Bob bellowed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Who made you the boss of me?’ Trevor demanded.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Just do it!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor took a standing jump and landed neatly on the dragon’s back.<span style=""> </span>With an enormous sound Bob launched himself into the air.<span style=""> </span>Arrows whizzed by and the clatter of armour and confused shouts arose – but were lost almost instantly in the howl of the wind as the dragon rose up into a raging blizzard.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Thank you!’ gasped Bob.<span style=""> </span>‘You save me!<span style=""> </span>I knew you were—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Shut up, death breath!’ Trevor spat.<span style=""> </span>‘Now, you wooden idiot, will you get us out of here?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘OF COURSE,’ the Chunk replied.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor waited, and then, his patience snapping, screamed: ‘Go on then!’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘BUT,’ the Chunk answered, ‘I ALREADY HAVE.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>And through the whirling snow, rising like a dream in the night, rose the highest tower of the Watchmen Academy, and at its crest, warm light glowing at its windows, was the big green coconut of the headmaster’s office.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">22.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Bob landed in the grounds of the Watchmen Academy, and waited while Trevor climbed down from his back.<span style=""> </span>He stepped forward slowly, looking up at the few lights that twinkled in the school’s dozens of towers, and beyond that, unseen except for a glow in the distance, the little village of Virporta.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Is it very different in your time?’ Bob asked.<span style=""> </span>Trevor turned and looked at him blankly.<span style=""> </span>‘The Watchmen Academy, is it different in your time?’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor turned back to look at the tallest tower, rising like a strange lighthouse in the stormy night.<span style=""> </span>In his time the Watchmen Academy no longer existed.<span style=""> </span>He had stood beneath a windowsill on one of those towers, and watched as one by one the towers fell.<span style=""> </span>But before Trevor could speak, the Chunk replied:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘WE CAN NOT TELL YOU WHAT WILL HAPPEN IN THE FUTURE, ROBERT COLCHIS.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Bob smiled, his massive teeth flashing.<span style=""> </span>‘Of course not,’ he said.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘WE ARE SORRY THAT WE WERE NOT ABLE TO ASSIST YOU IN YOUR QUEST, ROBERT COLCHIS,’ said the Chunk.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Bob smiled even more widely, ‘Oh, but you were,’ he said, holding up his massive claws.<span style=""> </span>Between two of his wicked red and green talons, almost too small of be seen, Bob held the elaborate, ancient ring.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘You nicked it off the Wizard?’ Trevor exclaimed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>The dragon frowned at the word “nicked”, but nodded nonetheless.<span style=""> </span>‘The Wizard dropped it when you bit him,’ Bob replied.<span style=""> </span>‘That was an unusual strategy, Killian.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I’ve used it before,’ Trevor replied, remembering with wicked zeal the time had bitten another monster’s bottom and stopped it dead.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Bob the dragon looked at the Ring of Argo, and then closed his hand around it.<span style=""> </span>He looked up the welcoming sight of the Watchmen Academy, and beyond that the village, his home, his friends, and his bed.<span style=""> </span>Being a hero was his life, his destiny, but it was, Bob had realised, a hard and dangerous destiny, and it was nice to be able to come home again.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘In the end I suppose we made quite a good team,’ said Bob, turning back to Trevor, ‘You know there are more missing pieces of the Key of Argo…’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>But Bob found he was talking to a whirl of shapeless snow.<span style=""> </span>Trevor and the Chunk had vanished.<span style=""> </span>He let out a frustrated growl, then lowered his head, shook it, and laughed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Still laughing the dragon took to the air, and flew home.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">23.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Trevor opened his eyes and let out a whoop of delight.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>In front of him stretched endless sands that rolled on and on to the horizon as far as the eye could see in both directions.<span style=""> </span>Beyond the beach a glorious, iridescent purple sea rose and fell with a sound that was almost like a sigh of pleasure.<span style=""> </span>Three suns painted golden light across the sky as they set slowly in the north.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘HALRUGA,’ said the Chunk, ‘AS REQUESTED.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Halruga,’ Trevor replied, ‘At blinking last.’<span style=""> </span>He kissed the Chunk, and decided, all in all, he could probably find something better to burn for his barbecue.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>He was still thinking about his inaugural barbecue – the first of millions – and what he would cook first, when a low rumbling noise made him look up and Trevor saw a massive space ship appear from the sands behind him and rise vertically into the air.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘What was that?’ Trevor asked, squinting up at the rapidly receding craft.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘THAT WAS THE SHIP ISADORA DOLPHIN, DEPARTING FOR KHRONOS,’ the Chunk replied.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Oh.’<span style=""> </span>Trevor picked up a likely looking piece of drift wood, and walked down the beach.<span style=""> </span>It was, he thought, strangely quiet.<span style=""> </span>‘Chunk, why was that ship leaving for Khronos?’ Trevor asked at last.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘BECAUSE OF THE JICKER,’ the Chunk replied.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Because of the what?’ Trevor exclaimed.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘THE JICKER.<span style=""> </span>THE PERIOD THAT IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWS THE SURF DECADON.<span style=""> </span>THAT PERIOD IS COMMONLY KNOWN AS THE JICKER.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Oh,’ Trevor spotted a circle of blackened stones, and though vaguely that would be handy for his barbecue, but something was bothering him.<span style=""> </span>‘What is the Jicker, Chunk?’ he asked at last, and even as he said it, Trevor, unaccountably, felt his heart sink.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>THE JICKER IS THE PERIOD IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING THE DECADON, A PERIOD OF TEN YEARS OF SUN AND IDEAL SURFING CONDITIONS—‘</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘Oh well—‘ </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘IN CONTRAST,’ interrupted the Chunk, ‘THE JICKER CONSISTS OF THREE YEARS OF HEAVY RAINFALL AND OCCASIONAL TSUNAMIS.<span style=""> </span>THIS PERIOD OF RAINFALL IS FOLLOWED BY BLIZARDS, HIGH WINDS AND THE SEAS FREEZING OVER.<span style=""> </span>THIS PERIOD GENERALLY LASTS FIVE TO SIX YEARS, FOLLOWED BY ANOTHER TWO YEARS OF THAWING, HEAVY RAINFALL, AND THEN, AFTER A PERIOD OF TEN YEARS, THE SURF DECADON BEGINS AGAIN, A PERIOD OF GLORIOUS SUNSHINE AND BEAUTIFUL SURFING CONDITIONS.’</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>In the silence that followed this pronouncement Trevor felt a large heavy drop of rain fall onto his snout.<span style=""> </span>The sky had darkened perceptibly, and, in the distance, he heard the beginnings of a high and fierce wind.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘IF YOU WILL EXCUSE ME I HAVE EXHAUSTED MY BATTERY,’ said the Chunk.<span style=""> </span>‘I WILL NOW SHUT DOWN TO RECHARGE,’ and without another word the little piece of wood became still and dead around Trevor’s neck.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor sat on the sands, and watched the sun set.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Very soon the little drops of rain turned into very big drops of rain.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Very soon the calm sea began to heave.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Not long after that sand began to whip along the shore in a stinging curtain.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>Trevor reached into his pocket, took out a chocolate bar, and began to munch it.<span style=""> </span>As he ate he picked up the Chunk and looked at it in the dismal wet night.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style=""> </span>‘I wonder where I can get some matches?’ he murmured.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span><b style=""><span style="font-size: 11pt;">End.</span></b></p> <br /></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-33337891116093901332011-09-21T03:44:00.000-07:002011-09-21T03:52:02.007-07:00The Great Pumpkin<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O5ArpjuUejY/TnnBq6jzy8I/AAAAAAAAAIE/Z8tlzsddD5E/s1600/pumpkin.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 289px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O5ArpjuUejY/TnnBq6jzy8I/AAAAAAAAAIE/Z8tlzsddD5E/s400/pumpkin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654763750158486466" border="0" /></a><br />Halloween is approaching - one of my most favourite times of the year, and to celebrate - and to ease my spinning brain as it careers towards Super Maxwell 4 - I will start publishing a new Trevor Smethurst story next month.<br />Trevor and the Time Thieves, Part 1, will be available from Friday, September 30 and will follow the adventure of our favourite inept superhero Trevor Smethurst as he lands back on Virporta Island with Bob the Dragon.<br />But time is out of sync, an evil force is loose on the island, and Trevor is rapidly running out of tomato sauce - can he save the world, and, more importantly, get some nice ketchup for his chips before the world ends - again?<br />I will start publishing next week, with the full story available just in time for Halloween - in the meantime, keep away from black cats...and brown sauce.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Tony</span>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-50994036859870959142011-09-19T05:03:00.000-07:002011-09-19T05:15:38.554-07:00Three FallingThe last full stop is stopped, the last comma is commed, and the big question I face now is - where does Maxwell Jones goes from here?<br />This morning I handed Super Maxwell and the Isle of the Dead over to my intrepid proofer, DD, so all that remains now is to check that everyone's eyes are the same colour throughout the three books, Magister's office is still where I said it was in The Last Heroes, and I haven't accidentally brought someone back I killed in book 2 - and then we're ready to roll.<br />Effectively Super Maxwell 2 and 3 were one story; so where I am now is that Maxwell and Billy on the verge of all new adventures, and a whole new cast of (possible) friends and (potential) enemies ... I have an idea what will happen. It's a strong idea, but it might not be the final idea.<br />To give you a couple of examples of what I mean ... when you finally read Isle of the Dead you will meet a character called the Forever Man. When I began to write this book the Forever Man was an entirely different character from the one he was when I finished, and will now have a major, major impact on our characters' futures. Another character - I won't tell you who - dies at the end of Isle of the Dead. I had no intention of killing that character at the start, but by the end, it seemed inevitable.<br />But, what really excites me is the cast of wild cards who appeared in Isle of the Dead - characters with no apparent affiliation to any of the good or bad guys we've met so far. What will they do next? And how will it effect Maxwell's universe?<br />As soon as I know, I'll let you know!<br />We are now, officially, living in interesting times...<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Tony</span>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-29809273010145331962011-08-15T13:06:00.001-07:002011-08-15T13:20:15.969-07:00A picture tells a thousand words...but I don't<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CrZA9dM2ETE/Tkl-Z8YqY7I/AAAAAAAAAH8/MiVpx8kWNQ0/s1600/iodfinalpaint.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 272px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641178992429654962" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CrZA9dM2ETE/Tkl-Z8YqY7I/AAAAAAAAAH8/MiVpx8kWNQ0/s400/iodfinalpaint.JPG" /></a>
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<br /><div>So this is John Gallagher's final cover design for Isle of the Dead - wonderful. Now we're entering the endgame for the third Super Maxwell book I'm going to be working on some other stuff and formulating Maxwell 4 ... But effectively 3 is the closure of a particular story arc for Maxwell - no big cliff hanger on this one. Well, perhaps a small cliff hanger...</div>
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<br /><div>4, 5 and 6 will see a new story arc with Maxwell and Billy having to deal with a pesky immortal, the First Heroes, and ... well, that would be telling - But didn't you wonder what happened to the Shades from book 2? They've been very busy...</div>
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<br /><div>I'm always tempted to give too much away, so I'll zip my lips, more soon...</div>
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<br /><div><strong><em>Tony </em></strong></div>
<br />Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2065650555284855613.post-88493289777459299122011-07-27T07:17:00.000-07:002011-07-27T07:23:55.189-07:00It's all in the detail...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OmBtYtiPhpE/TjAfR7si5NI/AAAAAAAAAH0/2zHizpVy-G4/s1600/colorcover.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OmBtYtiPhpE/TjAfR7si5NI/AAAAAAAAAH0/2zHizpVy-G4/s400/colorcover.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634037526783255762" border="0" /></a><br /><br />John has sent me the latest version of the Isle of Dead cover today - fantastic, isn't it? There is some wonderful detail here - you can, for instance, see the Watchmen Academy logo on Maxwell's blazer, the street lamp in the alley below, the Spiker ripping a slate from the roof, and - brilliantly - the towers of the Watchmen Academy in the distance. Not at all how I would have imagined them, but seeing your ideas filtered through another artist's imagination is amazing.<br />Keep your powder dry, Maxwell 3 will soon be here...<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Tony Kerr</span>Tony Kerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03605072470811184336noreply@blogger.com0