"Be businesslike, be businesslike...," As they covered the final 
distance to the bar, Will mentally chanted the well-used phrase 
that was in danger of becoming a personal mantra.  It had protected
him well against the panic of his situation and he was not
going to relinquish it when he needed it most. Still, he could 
not shake a growing sense of unease.  There was something really 
familiar about the tacky garishness of that bar.  He felt as if 
the plaster statues were all friends and the name "MA'S BAR" a 
personal message.  He wanted to stop, to take a break, to analyse 
his sensations, find a reason for this sense of deja-vu, but 
Sulphur called him back to more pressing responsibilities.
        'If you don't stop dragging your feet, she's liable to send 
us back to the moon.'
        The memory of that airless atmosphere was enough to wipe the 
architectural considerations from Will's mind.  With Sulphur 
scampering behind, the human jogged the last few yards to the 
hitching rail and the dazzling Purple image perched there-on.
        'You took your time getting here, Will Prince.' The Queen 
said.
        Will's inner voice had grown to a shout, "Be businesslike, be 
business like", and he had to ask her to repeat her statement.
        Sulphur was also lacking in concentration; it was rather 
distracting to be so close to the "butchered" carcass of one of 
his own kind.  Even if the stiffened horse was a first generation 
model.  It was with difficulty that he called his sensory 
apparatus to order.
        'I said.' The Queen repeated, the chill in her disembodied
voice threatening drastic action before a second repetition.
        'You took your time getting here, Will Prince.'
        'You may not have noticed, but I was busy.' was the sullen 
response, coming complete with protruding lower lip. 
        'Busy bickering from all that I could see.' Sharon gazed
pointedly in Sulphur's direction.  Although restrained by the
imperious gaze of those Purple eyes, Will's reply almost burst the
dragon's temperament control mechanism.
        'Well, this is a difficult mission and what you call 
bickering, I call whipping my staff into shape.'
        'Perhaps.  Are you ready to go inside and meet the others?'
        'Yes,' said Will in a voice that betrayed a marked lack of 
readiness, 'could you just help me with one small thing.'
        "A strait-jacket, perhaps," observed Sulphur to himself as 
they made their way up the decaying wooden steps.


        




        'GOOD GRIEF!'
        No one afterwards was able to remember who had said it but 
it seemed to perfectly sum up everyone's surprise.
        'What is it?' Merlyn asked no one in particular.
        Sir Bastable could hardly restrain his eager excitement.
        'It's a dragon.'
        'With a plank.' Sulphur muttered dully. 
        Queen Sharon said, 
        'Greetings.  This human creature is to be your leader', and 
vanished.  For once, the Thingy was patient to let the others make 
the first move.
        It was hard to gauge who in the room was the most shocked.  
The main cause of Will's amazement was not to be found with the 
incredible figures seated at the table, nor with the muttering 
array of incredulity-straining Personifications.  Will shocked 
gaze was instead, directed at the walls, at the youthful pictures 
of the sickly child that provided over ample covering.  After a 
while he found words to voice his surprise.
        'Buggeration!  Those pictures are of me.'
        'WHAT!' Abel Surd fell thunderously backward off his stool. 
Slowly and with as much rumpled dignity as he could muster he 
raised his customised form to its erect limit.
        'You're Ma Prince's kid, Little Wilbur?'
        'I'm Dee Prince's son.'
        'Kid, don't you recognise me?  I'm yer Daddy.'
        Abel opened his arms to their fullest extent and Will fainted.







        'Will you PLEASE leave me alone.'
        Sulphur's innate sense of superiority was suffering a severe
punishing as a result of the attentions of the ye olde goodly knight.
        Over by the bar, Will agreed with the tone of the dragon's 
words, futively wishing that his thoughts and memories would leave 
him alone as he gazed into a dimly remembered visage.
        'She wanted it this way?'  
        The man/machine that claimed to be his father replied.  
Sulphur had wanted a DNA test but had realised with eminent 
practicality that no one who was not Will's blood relative, and 
who had full possession of his marbles, would claim to be one.  
And besides, if Abel Surd was short of the odd marble or two, 
it probably only confirmed that he was related somewhere down 
the line.
        'Yes, she wanted it that way.  Said she wanted her wake to 
go on for as long as the bar did.'
        'Mother always said the Princes' were strange.'
        But, Will added to himself I never thought that they were as
strange as this. There before him, set in the latest clear 
conservation material, lay his mother in her Sunday best.
Her body preserved perfectly and entombed for posterity in the solid
transparent block that made up the bar.  Will struggled to feel 
something, some sense of loss or pain at this confirmation of the
passing of the larger than life woman that had given him existence.
Try as he might, the present kept intruding, he had more pressing 
matters on his mind. 
        "How the hell am I going to persuade anybody to come with me?"
        To say that Magda, Merlyn, Balidare and Grendella would take 
some persuading was an understatement on the level of Thomas 
Edison's assertion that, "I think this electricity stuff could be 
useful." The long-lived quartet were distinctly under-whelmed by 
Will's apparent total lack of presence or leadership abilities.  
This was not harshness on their part.  One had to see things from 
their point of view.  These four, between them, had met most of 
the great leaders or raging megalomaniacs (depending on your point 
of view) that Humanity had produced.  Will just did not compare 
favourably on first acquaintance. Balidare summed up their joint 
misgivings best.
        'Just look at him!'
        Although Grendella's comment probably carried more emotion.  
        'To think I bathed for this!' Grendella prided herself on 
being a pioneer of the grunge look, but even she had to admit that 
the human did not carry it off with panache.
        Will wore no shoes, his feet almost as grimy and tender as 
the rest of his softly flabby body, still covered in the ripped and 
singed remains of a utility suit and emblazoned with a large 
shocking pink badge that read: 25 today.  He stood in a posture 
that could just charitably be described as "unique".  His hair, 
which had been bizarrely twisted by soap, had degenerated into an 
unfathomable greasy tangle and lay, limp as old lettuce, over a 
forehead wrinkled by worry, frustration or fear. Those heavy 
framed glasses Grendella casually dismissed as a nerd's but even 
that put-down could not do justice to the laughable hirsute mess 
that had pretensions to be a beard.  Then, there was that 
ridiculous imitation of a sword to be considered, and what, oh 
what was he doing with that sad looking business folder?  For all 
his apparent faults, and they were too plentiful to list 
comprehensively, Grendella was intrigued by this odd person.  
There was something behind the surface of those soft brown eyes 
that was worthy of comment.
        'He has nice eyes,' she said to no one in particular.
        'We're not judging the quality of his freezer,' grinned 
Magda.
        'This is hardly a matter for humour,' Balidare glowered as 
Magda and Grendella erupted into nervous giggles.
        'I think the situation's hysterical,' Grendella said, 
restraining her amusement at Magda's juvenile ice pun with 
difficulty.
        'What do you think old friend?' Balidare turned to Merlyn 
for support.
        'I don't think I've got the hang of things yet.'
        'The whole things as absurd as his father's name,' Balidare 
glared at Will, his usual mildness giving way to a bout of ill-
humour that showed no sign of relenting. First Grendella, now 
this!  Today was not his day.
        'Something's got to be done.' Magda spoke emphatically.







        "Damn right!  Something's got to be done",  thought Sulphur, 
"Something horribly violent is this retard relic doesn't go away." 
        Sulphur too was not in the best of moods, it was easy to see the 
reason for his despondency, and yes, Personifications do get 
depressed; it's something to do with conagion from too much human
contact. Sulphur hated first-generation models at the best of times
and the last thing he had wanted after the events of the past few
days was to be surrounded by a group of his dimwit "ancestors".
Mostly however, he was depressed because of Will and his new-found 
father; he had always known that Will's forebears would have to 
look a little freaky, but not as odd as this armoured ancient.  
Sulphur would not admit it but he felt excluded, left out; Will 
was HIS companion.
        'Maybe I shouldn't have got him up on his birthday, after 
all.'
        'What did ye say Dragon?'
        It was incredible that Sir Bastable noticed that Sulphur 
said anything, like everyone else in the bar, Fitche was somewhat 
distracted; however, unlike all the others, his was a happy sense 
of diversion.  For the knight the appearance of this green scaly 
creature was Christmas, Birthdays and all celebrations rolled into 
one, a palpable affirmation of his personal sense of destiny.  It 
was a simple equation; if Dragons' existed, then the Grail must 
exist, thus the hoards of heathen enemies to Christendom must 
exist, and therefore a host of thrilling chivalric possibilities 
must exist, somewhere out there in the red sand.
        Fitche happily looked forward to his Squire's apologies and 
cries of  "mea culpa". Of course, there was just the one small 
matter to cloud his joy and send those unlikely moustaches into a 
samba of regretful tingling; this dragon was far too small and 
puny for an honourable knight to tilt with.  Then a thought 
occurred in that Bayeux tapestry of a mechanised brain. "Perhaps 
it's a baby."
        'Tell me Dragon.  Do ye have a mother?'
        'No!'
        "Gadzooks!  An orphan!" thought the knight, toying with the 
idea of adopting the creature.  Fortunately for Sulphur, Sir 
Bastable had the attention span of a brain-damaged goldfish and 
was soon thinking of something totally different.  
        'I wonder if the beast breathes flames.'
        'If you don't leave me alone, you'll soon find out.' Sulphur 
noticed with grim pleasure, that with the exception of the idiot 
in the tin can, the other old models backed off to a respectful 
distance at these words, although it had to be said that they did 
so somewhat sluggishly.







The Personification community moved as sleepwalkers because 
such movement was a representation of their generally dazed state.  
As a group they were in danger of suffering a data overload.  They 
had become used to the peaceful life, to having the great Surd for 
company, and having the great Surd's breakdowns to deal with.  
They had become used to a certain tedious routine. Now suddenly, 
that routine had seemed to vanish.  The place was full of 
visitors, the great Surd had a human child who looked sorely in 
need of a full service and that nincompoop knight had a pet 
dragon.  It was all a bit much to take.  They had rapidly gone 
beyond the stage of excited gossip and moved on to stunned gap-
mouthed incredulity when one voice, that of Ludwig van Beethoven, 
spoke, representing the feelings of then all.
        'I think that things will not be quiet any more.'








If the Personifications were worried about the sudden upturn 
in the bars economic fortunes, up in space was a being who did not 
share their trepidation. The Orange Thingy had returned from his 
latest escapist jaunt, fully expecting to rapidly depart in a huff 
because, as usual, nothing had happened.  But to the considerable 
surprise of its many tangerine-tinted senses, events an Mars 
looked like coming to a good bit.  The Thingy breathed a horrific 
sigh of relief, so powerful that it transcended boundaries of time 
and space.








Somewhere over the Atlantic: Early 21st Century, September.



Casper Titwilleger, for the first time in ages, almost 
relaxed.  His arm and leg was as free of bandage as he was briefly 
free of care.
        Okay, they were travelling coach, and, yes, they had 
suffered the indignity of being deported, but he had to admit that 
they had got off lightly and having seen how the Blands' lived, he 
felt good to be going home; the Brits could keep all their quaint 
culture crap. He was homeward bound.
        He felt like singing, like dancing, like proclaiming the joy 
that the statement brought.  He was going home, and so what if 
Blossom was a witch?!  He could divorce her!  All that mattered 
was that he was going home and all was momentarily right with the 
world.  It was, of course, at this moment that the engines on the 
jet failed and it started to crash.
        Not for the first time in the past few weeks, Casper looked 
in fear and panic at his wife.  She was seated some distance away, 
as far away as possible; Casper had insisted in the hope that he 
might elude her diabolical influence. Now he admitted that he had 
been wrong to hope for escape.  Despite the screams and chaotic 
prayers of the unfortunates around him, frantically involved in 
donning seat-belts and adopting crash-positions, Casper soon re-
established a sort of fatalistic equilibrium.  It felt to him at 
that moment, that it was his destiny not to see Iowa again and in 
that instant, he made a decision.
         "I must save the others."
        Acting upon this sudden mad impulse, Casper leaped up and
fought his way up the incline to Blossom's seat.
        'Come with me!' he shouted.
        Blossom had been beside her husband for decades, and 
although he mostly irritated the hell out of her, and in spite of 
his recent curious behaviour (saying prayers in Latin, and 
throwing crosses and garlic at her at their lawyers' meetings was 
just one example,) she still harboured a great well of affection 
for him, realising instantly that if they were going to die, she 
wanted them to die together.  With this in mind, she followed 
Casper, not protesting when he undid the escape hatch, although he 
did have fleeting second thoughts as the two of them were sucked 
out of the plane.
        As they hurtled towards the distant sea and oblivion, a 
ferocious wind whipping at their clothes and kneading the flesh on 
their faces into all sorts of unlikely shapes, Casper managed 
some-how to note that his ploy had been a success.  The jet's 
engines had abruptly refired, carrying its petrified hyper-
ventilating cargo back up into the skies.
        There was a terrible loneliness about the descent, a 
desolation that Casper, on the verge of air-starved 
unconsciousness could not stand. Seeking out the nearby terrified 
thrashings of his wife, he adopted a position that he'd seen sky-
divers try in the action documentaries.  To his considerable 
astonishment, it worked, carrying him to within a few feet of 
Blossom.
        He reached out and grabbed her flapping hands; she looked up 
at him, her contorted visage filled with fear and panic.  Casper 
had gone beyond all human dread or anxiety.  He felt a sudden urge 
of tenderness for this woman who had been his companion for so 
many years.  Struggling against the buffeting of the wind, he 
somehow managed to compose his features into a loving smile.  
Blossom recognised the gesture and over-came her panic to respond.  
Casper glanced down; the sea looked very close now.  The two of 
them waited for the end, facing their last seconds together with 
silly grins.
        Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a different kind of wind hit 
them, a wind such as no human had ever experienced, a blast of 
loathsome nauseating orange putrescence that, slowed them down, 
picked them up and spun them round and around and around. As he 
started to black-out, it was all Casper could do to restrain a 
manic urge to shout 'Toto, Toto' and 'Auntie Em'.  He wondered 
hysterically whether the after-life was like Oz and if so, would 
they need qualified taxidermists'?  That lion would take some 
stuffing.
        When Casper came to, it took a while for his confused and 
odour-infused senses to summon the effort to open his eyes.  In 
that moment, he came to two conclusions: 1. He was alive because 
whatever evils he had done in life had not been enough to warrant 
the punishment of a headache this intense.  2. He was not in the 
sea, his clothes were not wet, though there was a low murmuring not 
unlike waves and something not at all pleasant under his rear. 
Having collected his addled resources, Casper opened his eyes 
and immediately wished he hadn't.  Maybe this was his personal 
hell after all... 
        He was slumped, seated, in a large green tidy bin, a full 
tidy bin.  Around him stood a carefully distanced crowd of thrill-
seeking tourists and cinema-goers.  The location was depressingly 
familiar: Leicester Square.  He looked for Blossom and felt 
strangely unsurprised when he saw her lying, sprawled senseless on 
the roof of the half-price ticket booth.  It was just his luck, he 
could see it now, the headlines, the scandal detailing their 
sudden return to life and to this loathsome land of the Limies.  
Titwilleger was not a happy man as two nervous policemen 
approached.  He gratefully slipped back into his personal 
darkness, observing in a voice filled with anguish.
        'I wish I was dead.'




        "I wish I were dead", alternated in his mind with, "be 
businesslike, be businesslike", as Will turned to face the 
inhabitants of the bar and struggled to summon the courage to 
speak. His audience, especially those four at the table, looked 
more likely to eat him than to listen.
        He reminded himself forcibly, but without much conviction, 
that he was the Chairman of Heroics INC.  He even had a snazzy-
looking corporate folder to prove it, an accessory that he had 
requested from the Queen.  As the seconds ticked by and the words 
would not come, and the eyes fixed upon him seemed to get fiercer, 
Will started to wish that he had asked for a folder big enough to 
hide behind.  Then, as if acting on its own, his voice burst forth 
in a sort of startled squeak.
        'I...',  
        Will cursed himself and his wimpishness. This was not going 
well.
        "Get on with it!" hissed the metallic image of the Queen, her 
tones far more pointed than the sword she spoke from, the words 
cutting cruelly across the nervous haze in his mind.  He was on 
the verge of giving up, of fleeing and never looking back, when 
support arrived. Sulphur shook off the attentions of the knight 
and moved to his companion's side.  Surd also stepped forward, 
resting a supportive arm on the trembling arm of his new relative. 
Will felt the calming effect of their presence and a sudden sense 
of emboldenment coursed through him.  His voice returned and when 
he spoke, it was with as much power and assertiveness as he could 
manage, directing his sales pitch to the quartet at the table.
        'Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome.  I represent an organisation 
called Heroics INC.' Will paused to distribute business cards from 
the folder, each illustrated with the image of the long-gone brass 
plaque and Will Prince, Chairman printed in bold type.  'I'm Will 
Prince, as you can see the chairman of the...'
        'Prince!' interrupted Grendella, with a cruel gleam in her 
eye.  'I'm not sure about that.  You look more like a frog than a 
prince to me.'
        Before Will could reply Magda joined in the Will-baiting.  
        'Tell me. Do you think you're a prince amongst men?'
        'A man amongst princes is more likely, if he is of the man 
kind,' added Merlyn.
        Even Balidare felt compelled to add his input, summoning up 
a quotation. 
        'Put not your trust in princes, nor in the son of man, in 
whom there is no help.' With a casual flick of his wrist, Balidare 
contemptuously tossed the card back at Will and joined in the 
mocking laughter of his comrades.
        Sulphur felt a overwhelming surge in his sadness circuits as 
he watched Will's shoulders collapse.  The Dragon had not the 
energy to feel anger at the injustice; all they had been through, 
all that effort, for nothing.  They had dismissed Will as if he 
were nothing.  It just seemed so unfair.






        'Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha...' The Orange One had 
momentarily created an atmosphere in space to carry the booming 
sound of his triumphant laughter to a very sullen-looking Purple 
Thingy. You call THAT, a hero, '... Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha....'

        




The Personifications had made an attempt to join in the 
hilarity but one icy glance from Abel had trapped their mirth in 
their metallic throats.  The immortal foursome seemed like they 
had already forgotten the existence of this presumptuous human as 
they turned back to their recollections.
        'Are you quite finished?'
        Sulphur realised with a start that the voice filled with 
fury came from Will.  This was no tone of whining, pleading 
frustration but one filled with the vitality of outrage.
        'I SAID! ... ARE YOU QUITE FINISHED?' Will bellowed a roar 
of explosive anger.  All conversation stopped, giving way to 
relaxed attentiveness.  'I'VE BEEN THROUGH HELL OVER THE LAST FEW 
DAYS!  THROUGH HELL!  RISKED MY LIFE AND MY SANITY TO GET HERE, TO 
STAND HERE, TO TALK TO YOU IDIOTS!  NOW! I DON'T GIVE A DAMN WHO 
YOU ARE!  I COULDN'T CARE LESS, YOU'RE GOING TO LISTEN TO ME.'  
Will strode, his form a throbbing mass of rage, and slammed down a 
business card in front of Balidare, the impact so powerful that it 
sent drink slopping over the immortals finest shirt as Will lent 
over thundering.  'YOU'RE GOING TO LISTEN TO ME IF IT BLOODY WELL 
KILLS ME!',  just inches from Balidare's face.
        Will stood up and backed off, breathing heavily and shaking 
all over with exertion.  Slowly and with infinite calm, Balidare 
produced a handkerchief and wiped off his shirt.  Then as if 
unaware of the unbearable tension around him and as if he had all 
the time in the world, the Elfen drew out a comb and slowly 
replaced the few hairs dislodged by the human's outburst.  When 
this was done, he carefully returned the handkerchief and comb 
before staring at Will for the longest time.  And then, when he 
felt that the quivering mortal had suffered enough, he smiled; it 
was not a huge smile, but it was a smile.
        Grendrella drew up a chair.
        'Sit down kid.  You've earned a chat.'
        'I'll be damned,' said Surd.  His voice tingling with pride 
and relief. 'I don't know where he gets it from.  But I hope it's 
from my side of the family.' He rounded off his appreciation with 
a cacophony of pleasured whinnies.  Sulphur said nothing.  He was 
far, far, too gob-smacked by surprise to reply.

        





        ' Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha...' scoffed the Purple Thingy 
with the greatest of pleasure.  This moment of triumph almost made 
the trip to this ridiculous system worthwhile.
        A moody, "OH, SHUT UP!" was all that the Orange One could 
muster before vanishing in a sulking fit.  Somewhere out there, 
there was a galaxy that was going to pay for this.







        'Spoggle!', Grendella chuckled as Will finished.  '...I've 
never heard of anything so stupid!'
        'Well, I thought Heroics INC. sounded fairly dumb, but 
this!' Magda shook her head in wonderment.
        'Do you know anything more about this place or this object 
they call the MADID?  About its power'?'
        'No,' Will said frankly, unable to keep the the apology out 
of his voice.
        'Well.  I think it be a right noble endeavour.  A quest.  
The stuff of myths and legends.' Fitche added his eager opinion 
only to receive a curt 'Be quiet!' from Abel as a reward for his 
enthusiasm.
        'So, the plan is,' Balidare said thoughtfully, 'that we all 
go to this planet, about which we know nothing, except that it is 
probably highly dangerous.  Then, supposing by some unlikely 
chance that we survive, we have to locate an object called the 
MADID although we have no idea of where it is or what it looks 
like and through-out all this, your contact with the sensible 
name, Queen Sharon of the Illuminated thingamy, is going to give 
us absolutely no help whatsoever?'
        'That's about it,' Will agreed,
        'And despite our combined millions of  years of experience, 
you are going to lead us?'
        'Yes.'
        'Tell me, Will', the name was uttered with just a hint of 
vitriol, 'Can you use that extremely silly sword you carry?'
        'No, Will had to admit.'
        'Can you use any weapon?'
        'No.'
        'Can you ride?'
        'No.' 
        'Have you ever killed anything?"
        'No!'
        'Do you know any forms of unarmed combat?'
        Sulphur interrupted, unable to restrain himself. The impulse 
was just too great for his circuits.
        'He knows karate, kung fu, Tai kwan do, ju-jitsu and 
judo...'
        'Really?' Balidare was genuinely surprised.  
        ' ... by reputation.'
        As the others giggled nervously, Balidare quietly, and with 
charming  restraint, admonished the Dragon.
        'I think the situation is satirical enough, my little green 
friend, without your input.'
        Sulphur assumed a suitably contrite expression,
        'Do you know any forms of unarmed combat?' Balidare 
patiently repeated.
        'No.'
        'Have you ever had any experience of leadership?'
        Will glanced briefly at Sulphur but thought better of it.
        'No.'
        'And, you are going to lead us?'
        'Yes.'
        'I don't dare ask HOW?' Balidare sighed his weariest sigh 
and directed his next comment to Grendella.  'And you said 
"Spoggle" sounded stupid.'
        'Well...', Grendella searched frantically for something 
constructive to say, 'I think he's cute.'
        Balidare's response chilled them with its mocking certainty.  
        'I have a terrible feeling, that somehow, "Cute' is not 
going to be quite enough.'








The bolt of mystic energy was near the end of its Journey as 
it breached Earth's atmosphere and made for the planet's surface.  
Straight and unerring, it headed for the island that had once been 
called Britain, although there had been names that were far older 
than that. There had been many changes to this island over the 
years, but the unregarded mound by the lake had weathered them 
well, remaining as an outpost of a green and pleasant memory.  
        Now, the bolt struck a wide area with a terrific impact, 
buzzing and fizzing as the ground ravenously enveloped a feast of 
energy.  Soon, all returned to peace and tranquillity.  There was 
no tell-tale scorching to mark the passing of the bolt.  On the 
surface not a blade of grass was disturbed, but, deep, deep, under 
the soil an incredible transformation had started to take place 
and life began anew.




It was amazing; that was the only word for it, "amazing".  
For once, Will felt happy about leaving Earth.  This was 
adventure, this was excitement, this was meeting interesting 
people.  He could not believe it.  That the elegant woman with the 
pallid skin and the reddest of ruby lips was a vampire.  That the 
grim looking figure with the flowing hair and the braided 
moustaches was Merlyn, THE Merlyn; it was as if all the old 
legends ware coming to life.  Incredibly, most of the old tales 
must then be partly true. He wanted to get Sulphur alone and 
overwhelm the dragon's sense of petty logic with this evidence of 
the mythical, to get revenge for all the years of moaning about 
the Crimson Pirate.  But Sulphur returned his dancing gaze with an 
expression so immobile that Will could not tell whether he was 
just being diplomatically deadpan or had switched himself off.  It 
would be just like "Sulph", to do that, to do anything to avoid 
being proved wrong.  Will turned his mind to other matters, and 
did what he usually did when he became ever excited; he opened his 
mouth and put his foot firmly in it.
        'So, Mr Balidare .'
        'Just Balidare will do.'
        'Balidare. Merlin is a wizard and Magda is a vampire...'
        'A Vampir, there's no "e" where she comes from.'
        'Sorry, a vampir, and I bet I know what you are.'  If Will 
had not been so hyper, if he had not been speaking in such a loud 
voice, he would have noticed the conversation around him trailing 
off.  He would have registered the exchange of anxious glances 
between the other immortals.  
        'You're a dwarf.'
        Finally, after he had said it, Will noticed that something 
was wrong.  Merlyn was ashen pale, Magda was pensively hitting her 
lip and Grendella looked at him, a ghastly parody of a smile 
plastered on her face.
        'A dwarf.  I believe that this creature called me a dwarf,' 
Balidare's expression of polite curiosity was unchanged but his 

voice had become strange and terrifying, and his thick fingers dug 
into the solid surface of the table with the ease of a spoon 
diving into jelly.
        Magda spoke placatingly.
        'Balidare, you can't hurt him.  He doesn't know any better.' 
        'Well, someone had better tell him.'
        Balidare stood up, his body almost visibly churning with 
anger.  In that moment, he was the most scary thing that Will had 
ever seen. The human felt his throat constrict and become as dry 
as the desert outside.  He closed his eyes and waited for the blow 
to come, concentrated on standing as straight as possible.  In a 
moment, there was the sound of a terrific impact.
        Feeling no pain Will opened his eyes.  Balidare had walked 
out through the wall.  They all watched his distant figure through 
the new exit as he strode into a huge building; there was the 
sound of incredible pounding blows and the building fell over.
        'He's not usually like this. He's usually the most placid of 
individuals.' Merlyn said apologetically.
        'It's just that he's had a bad day,' agreed Magda.
        'Never mind that!' Will at last recovered the power of 
speech, 'What did I do?'
        'I think Grendella's best qualified to tell you.'
        The wizard and the vampir directed Will to the petite figure 
seated next to him.
        'I think we need a drink.'







They were alone in Surd's comforting shambles of a bedroom.  
Grendella drank deeply and paused to wipe the foam of the beer off 
her lips before speaking.
        'Will, how old are you?'
        'Twenty-five.'
        Grendella smiled.  'I should have known, the badge?'
        'What ba..'
        There was something touching about Will's realisation.  
About the heavy blushing as he removed the hideous pink circle.  
She warmed to this mortal, waiting patiently as he resumed some 
sense of composure,
        'Will.  Me and Bally are millions of years old...'
        Grendella put her finger to her lips, halting Will's stream 
of questions.
        'It's a long, long story. Too long I think sometimes, and 
it's a story I'm not going to go into, mainly 'cause it bores the 
crap outta me.  One day, you can ask Bally. But it's important 
that you know for now, that appearances can be deceptive.  What 
would you say I looked like?'
        Will had learned a little care from recent events and his 
reply was tentative, 'An elf?'
        'Never, ever, use that name in front of Bally, never use 
Bally for that matter.  Use elve or elfen, it's much more polite.'
        'But why should Belly, sorry, Balidare, care?'
        'Because, as I said, appearances can be deceptive. Balidare, 
for all that outward show is a Prince of the Elfen Folk, and I'm a 
Princess of the Dwarfen.'
        'But!'
        Grendella shook her head curtly for silence.  'Like I said, 
it's a long story and I don't want to talk about it.  However, 
there's one more thing I'll tell you.'
        'Yes?'
        'Bally hates my guts, he would dance on my grave singing 
"joy to the world" and "glory, glory, hallelujah" if he could, and 
have a bloody good time doing it.  The Elfin know how to bear a 
grudge and there's an awful lot of wars between our peoples, 
far, far, too many deaths.  And, on top of all that wholesome 
jingoistic loathing, there's a lot of private stuff as well.'
        'D'you hate him?'
        'Not anymore, well,  not much anyway.  I'd probably just 
sing "joy to the world" over him and forget about the other one.  
It's been too long.  Forgive and forget I say.  Nostalgia's a thing 
of the past.  That doesn't mean that I can't wind him up as much 
as possible though.'
        'Are you in danger?'
        'From him!  Not likely, not on his best day.  There's not 
been a man born I've anything to worry about. We've avoided 
murdering each other for all this time.  I'm sure we can get by 
for a while yet.  Mind you, it should be interesting.  We've never 
been on the same side before.'
        'What if he won't forgive me?  You said he can bear a 
grudge.'
        'Yes, but let's get things in perspective.  He bears a 
grudge after aeons of war between our peoples.  There's nothing 
that you can say or do that's going to needle him half as much as 
one micro-second of my presence.  Don't worry, I really, really, 
hate to say it, but the pixie's okay when you let him be, but,' 
her tone became threatening, 'if you EVER tell him I said that, 
I'll slice off your janglies and feed them to the Crows.' After a 
brief pause for dramatic effect, she continued brightly, 'Anyway, 
that's all I wanted to say.  We'd best get back downstairs.'
        As they left the room, Grendella lingered for a swig of beer 
and a burp of significant proportions.
        'One last thing.'
        Will turned and the dwarf princess graced him with the sort 
of radiant elfen-looking smile that would not have looked out of 
place on a mystical Madonna.
        'Don't mention his looks.  He's a bit touchy about them. 
It's all those years of "short" jokes.'







As Will re-entered the bar, he seemed oddly muted.  The 
others left him alone, attributing the human's distance to the 
shock of surprising information.
        It was true that Will felt strange, he was not sure whether 
it was the first taste of alcohol that had been to blame, but his 
body felt different.  It felt light and restless and there was the 
oddest fluttery feeling in the pit of his stomach.
        He found his gaze drawn to Grendella, ordering at the bar, 
found himself picturing her smile, hearing her voice, smelling the 
slight earthy odour that clung to her clothing.  At last, Sulphur 
became concerned about this lengthy abstraction and came to his 
side.
        'Is everything all right Will?'
        'Everything's wonderful' Will answered softly, his gaze not 
shifting from the bar, a soppy smile fixed upon his already soppy 
face.
        'Are you drunk?'
        'I think so.'
        Will Prince was in love.

© Gary Cahalane

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