Scrindle and the Harmony Belt

By Dic Davies

Scrindle Flyingbucket, the latest in a line of great Flyingbuckets is asked to recover a HARMONY BELT that is needed by the averagely dysfunctional Family of Gods to pass a test of Creation. He sets off with three talented friends. The initial task is to use the Portal of the Almost Grand Council of Animapeeps in order to enter the surprising world of Animals, and recover the first part of the BELT. So, no problem there, then!

You must be kidding.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dic Davies
• Release date: Jun 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781547186228

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Quest Requested

The building oozed fun. It was a magical place to be, full of experiments and strange developments. It was 999 years old. At least that was the assertion of the university literature. It was true that on the lower ground floor there were eighteen original bricks in approximately the same positions that they had occupied when the building started life as H & G Pontefract’s candy store all those years ago. Since the days of kids arguing and difficult candy choices, the building had been destroyed, renovated, expanded, contracted, reshaped and reinforced, but somehow retained the smell of chocolate and aniseed balls. It now had the appearance of a sleepy, coiled snake soaking up the sunshine. Its walls were mainly reinforced mud held together by odd bits of vegetation (some edible), and abandoned rubbish (none edible) from earlier generations. Unique? Damn right I’m unique, the learning place thought; that is, if learning places have thoughts.

Wait here.

Scrindle Flyingbucket had been called from his class to sit outside the Headbasher’s Office. It was unsettling. Scrindle was the youngest in the class and was just recovering from eating too many spicy buns at yesterday’s birthday party. The party had been organised by classmates who had gone out of their way to provide really useful presents and spiked food. The girls had given him plants, sticks and stones that would help him look tidier (no chance) and smell sweeter (some chance). The boys had given him games and sports materials. These also took the form of sticks and stones and most were in recognition of the talent he displayed in his favourite game known as Stonecatchers Trap. The game began by throwing five stones in the air. The fun came in seeing how many of the stones could be caught on the top of the head without any falling off and before blood was drawn. Thanks to his unruly mass of black hair Flyingbucket had been campus champion for 5 years. He was now a little old for such childish games but he enjoyed the winning.

Perhaps something at the party had upset the Headbasher.  Unlikely, thought Scrindle. There had been nothing new or creative in the trouble they had generated, which was the usual cause of ill feeling from those in authority. They had replaced the windows, washed the curtains and returned the animals to the farm before the farmer was out of bed. Equally, he could identify absolutely nothing of merit that might give the Headbasher cause to praise him. Uncertainty was the most worrying thing that any Skroglander could face. He sat and waited.

Time passed, amusing itself by playing tunes on Scrindle’s hunger pangs. It had been three hours since his stomach had done battle with the fair and pleasant tasting lunch provided by the school vitamin-pushers. Why had he been summoned from his class - History - As We Would Like To Remember It? As a result he would miss the long-planned history trip. History was his favourite class taught by his favourite scumbreather, Mr Quintopolous. Known affectionately as Five-eyes, Mr Quintopolous could make history really interesting largely by taking the learners back in time in his personal tree roots machine.

You see, learned students, to know what it was like you had to be there. Something read in a book is someone’s view. You have to see it for yourself.

Five-eyes was Skrogland’s leading authority on root travel. It had only been in the last 300 years that it had become possible to tap into the central pathway of some living things. This had reaped Skrogland all sorts of magical benefits including the ability to Return to Go. Go was where everyone had started. The world tourists of Skrogland were excited that memory travel was increasingly available. It was possible, with a little help from the magickers, to recall incidents as though present at the event. Five-eyes had worked on a team that had extended the principle not only to one’s own memory but also to travelling back in the memories of other living things; and not only recalling events as though you were there but to actually experience being there.

You have to see the blood of battle, feel the soaring lift of the first air flight, experience the misery of defeat, the joy of finding the lost treasure. There is so much of the past to experience in the future.

Five-eyes specialism was trees. He had set up a travel shop based on the principle of root travel. It had a number of advantages over other emergent travel shops. Trees are amongst the oldest living things, some thousands of years old. As a result one could travel back and experience events long before the times available in other travel shops. There is not a lot of mileage in going back along the central pathway of a mayfly that has a life span of less than one day. It would be just as easy to take a picnic and hang around the stream as the mayfly puts its all into its brief existence.

There was still no sign of the Headbasher’s door opening, although Scrindle could see strangely flickering coloured lights stealing out from under it. These were occasionally interspersed with intense white light. It seems it is business as usual in the sanctum.

Scrindle went back to musing on his missed history class. He was really enjoying studying the Post- Electric Age. It seemed to him that there was so much more adventure than the earlier classes on the Dark Ages, The Middle Ages, The Industrial Age, The Fossil Fuel Age, and The Electric Age. He was looking forward to next term’s trips to the Post Plastic Age but had a hard time believing that it could possibly compare to the dangerous thrills of the Post Electric Age. It was almost too exciting, especially for a young Skroglander used to an ordered and balanced existence where surprises and thrills existed only in the world of schools and learning. On the last trip Mr Quintopolous had arranged that only the most advanced students were allowed to travel. It seemed that he was attempting to go further back than he had ever travelled before. His pathway was to be provided by the bristle cone pine, the oldest living organism on the planet. He had recently taken the first pioneering group back along the ancient pine. On their return it was clear that all the experiences for the students had been awe-inspiring. Some had not yet recovered sufficiently to speak coherently even though some ten days had elapsed since their return. Those that could speak talked of the ignorance, poverty and scrambling self-aggrandisement of the humans they observed from their safe-and-sure observing pod. What Scrindle had found most intriguing was what Five-eyes referred to as  the astonishing message from the ancestors of the bristlecone pine. It seems that through some vagary in root travel, the ancestors of that particular bristlecone pine had been in touch from the other side and had murmured about the Rock of Harm which in bristlecone pine terms was pretty damn significant. The significance was lost on the elite students and although Five-eyes was in the main simply fascinated at the possibility of root pathways communicating with each other, he did have enough wit to understand that the Rock of Harm might be a bit special. Trips with Five-eyes were certainly something to savour.

It’s not fair, thought Scrindle, why have I got to miss the trip. I bet it’s because Chestodrawers has complained about losing yesterday’s Stonecatchers Trap match. She fell over long before I——— His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of activity coming from his left.

The Headbasher filled the entrance to his office. He was still a splendid figure of a Skroglander. He stood tall and erect. The cape he wore hung drooping from his straight-back shoulders. It gave the unnerving suggestion of eagle ancestry. So did his hooked nose. His eyes gave the truth to his character. They usually shone brightly, mischievously and with a hint of hell-raising youthfulness. Today his eyes were dull and his demeanour deeply serious.

Flyingbucket, he said, I have some news for you that will come as a great surprise and hopefully a great honour. You may enjoy the enormity of the surprise more than the weight of the honour.

Chapter 2

Skrogland

Skrogland was not a big land. It only took up about a third of one of the sides of the pyramid planet that hurtled around the universe. It was however very beautiful. Lush vegetation enabled a huge variety of birds, animals, insects and fish to thrive in the almost perfect climate. True, mistakes had been made. Because of major advances in the lifespan of people (and complacency of Skroglanders) the country had a problem of overpopulation. Even though Skroglanders had reduced their birth target to one child per couple, some peeps had nevertheless been forced to find new, often inferior pastures. They had developed as best they could and as a result had often taken on different features and attitudes (and boy, did some of them have attitude), more in keeping with their new environment. Skroglanders and the Otherlanders had studiously avoided each other over the millennia. Indeed Skroglanders had no idea how many different types of Otherlanders had developed. Nevertheless, Skroglanders were clear about one thing. They had brought about the peace and serenity that distinguished their part of the world and they were mightily pleased with themselves. The development of spirit medicine and the mastery (ish, sometimes) of magic had resulted in enormous advances in the last thousand years. Indeed, the favourite occupation of most Skroglanders involved sitting around the fireside and telling stories of how clever they had become. Fortunately there were some that preferred to extend themselves and their understanding and to indulge in the thrills of experiments and unknown travel. There were exactly two hundred and fourteen of these. Two hundred and ten were currently away adventuring. They believed that other cultures might provide insights into ways that Skroglanders might leave their current smug behaviours and, by shared understanding, create a better planet.  The two hundred and ten were not available to become heroes in this particular Skrogland super-saga.

The students were on the move. Most of the student body, in small knots, were heading for the refectory, some laughing, some pushing, some in more intimate groups of two within a knot, but all in good mood. This was not a demonstration. It was out-of-class hunger about to be satisfied.

In one of the first groups to arrive at the refectory was Alice Pan, she of the many qualities that frighten grown men and boys. She made her way, on this breezy summer’s day, out of the sunlight and into the huge eating hall, which had been known forever as The Trough. It was time for afternoon tea. She was full of chatter.

It’s not fair. They should have realised that my idea would have got us there sooner. OK, we might have had to lose a few players on the way but at least some of us would have finished in the top ten. The scumbreathers didn’t seem to realise that if injuring people had been allowed the whole thing would have had more meaning. I reckon the college is going soft. Why practice war games? She interrupted her complaint.  Stop that! she said. A brand new shiny-shoed student, complete with new leather smell satchel, was trying to carve his initials into the massive oak tree that formed the main support to one of the many alcoves adjoining the huge eating hall. You aren’t allowed until you’re a second year. The effect was immediate. The small boy froze, unfroze and ran. Alice smiled.

Hi, Strangely. Alice waved to a below average height, above average weight, girl who was moving towards the table area known as ‘went-to-market’.

Alice made room for the new arrival. Strangely her name was Strangely Green. Strangely was Alice’s closest friend. It needed an understanding of their history to know why. Their families had been friends generation upon generation. It was claimed in both camps that two of their great forebears had been part of the rumoured, now almost mythical, exploratory trip, aeons ago, into the parallel world of animals. Family gatherings and joint parties would usually include someone’s vow to go there too, one day, when we find the secret.

Strangely was given to wearing environmentally friendly clothing. She interpreted suitable clothes as those that could be made out of plant matter rather than animal skins. What about this cardigan? she asked. I got the fibre from some leftovers in the Hemp for Fashion class. It’s knitted up really well. And it’s not as itchy as coconut hair. Do you want me to make you one? It’ll last for ages.

Thanks, but I’ve got too much to wear already. Alice was used to offers of heavyweight, impractical, movement-impairing clothing from Strangely.

No. I cannot make the throwing match tonight, Alice said to a passing lump of a boy. He’s really good you know, Strangely. One day he will make the top flight. His wrist action is stunning.

Alice was not a great student. Only slightly skilled in magical matters, she nevertheless had the unnerving ability to hold three conversations at once, smile in a condescending (or, occasionally, coquettish) manner, to throw a tantrum, and claim total knowledge of everything that is about to happen - after the event. This she inevitably referred to as intuition rather than hindsight. Her friends had often tried to persuade her to mention the premonition before the event, since this might help avoid the occasional calamities that seemed to befall her and people around her. As a result her friends would spend much time listening to, and ignoring, the wide range of premonitions she could generate around a single anticipated event. What Alice could do, with great emphasis, was expound her well-known sense of justice. It’s not fair, preceded Alice’s views of others’ justice. It’s only fair, preceded her own. If ideas were wanted, Alice could generate them like bubbles in a bubble bath. Most people thought that she was well worth a listen. Indeed, they tended not to interrupt as she talked. Her image of assertiveness, others called it aggression, may have helped in this respect. She was happy to cultivate the persona. It was expressed in the clothes she wore, which tended to be in the skimpy leather and wool style favoured by barbarians and pillaging hordes in the days of history. The perfume she wore was made from a combination of camel sweat and distilled essence of poison ivy. It smelled surprisingly sweet but had undertones of nasty repercussions. Across her back, she wore a mighty sword, a lightweight throwing axe, a full quiver of recycled arrows and a comb. Her appearance was not entirely out of keeping with her skills. She had become the youngest All-Skrogland knife-throwing champion and had held the title for the last three years. In case anyone doubted her abilities she kept her throwing knives strapped to her leather boots, as much for effect as for access purposes. The slightest movement of her hands in the direction of her lower leg was normally sufficient to grab the attention of any challenger seeking to argue with her further than her patience deemed necessary. When it came to discussion of her abilities, she only occasionally had a sense of humour, but on any other subject area she could be counted upon to be carefree and happy. If there was an opportunity, she loved nothing better than carefree confrontation. She was not one to hold back.

You really should let me make you one. It will help cover some of that exposed skin. You, honestly, should wear more clothes.

Two older boys sitting nearby, who had previously been stealing glances at Alice, looked up in alarm.

No. said Alice. Too many clothes will drag on my throwing arms, and I won’t be able to make a full shoulder turn. Alice was a slave to the techniques of throwing things.

The two older boys relaxed.

Well, one of these days, lack of protection is going to be the death of you

That gave Alice an idea. Perhaps lightweight body armour would be good. She made a mental note to speak to Shady, one of the other adventurers remaining in Skrogland.

Strangely continued, I see no reason why a practical warm cardigan wouldn’t be a good thing. Wearing those animal skins really is too bad. When we get to winter you must use my fibre long coat. The conversation flowed on.

For Strangely it was cruelty to animals she understood and abhorred. Cruelty to plants was not yet on her agenda. Strangely was thought by everybody to be the opposite of Alice. She was caring, balanced in her thinking and through listening had the wonderful gift of being able to take other peoples ideas and enable them to work, often using gentle humour to make her point. She knew what was needed and how it should be done. This gift was greatly enhanced by her precocious if somewhat erratic mastery of magic. Ever since she had read the Principles Of Spelling - The Right Words she had developed her talent as enthusiastically as her structured thinking would allow. It was a source of amusement and anticipation to hear her say, I’ve thought about it and it’s not possible - I’ll have to use my ‘other skill’. Her university ambition had been to take the full Apprentice Magicker course. She was due to start that course the following summer. Graduation as a fully qualified Magicker would mean a lot of future opportunities as well as being excused bed-making duties for the rest of her life. Although she spent a lot of time with her best friend and despite years of coaching by Alice, she had yet to hit a barn door with a throwing knife.

Hey, where’s Scrindle? Shady Tree joined the two girls. He sat down with his plate piled high with fried food. How he remained of average weight to go with his average height was a mystery. Both the girls looked disapprovingly at his afternoon tea. On Alice’s plate lay a few low-carb sticks of dried meat. In front of Strangely sat a small cucumber sandwich surrounded by nuts and ripe berries.

Shady, oblivious to their tch-tch expressions, continued with his question, Why isn't he here?

The Headbasher wanted to see him, said Strangely. He certainly wasn’t happy to be missing History. He’ll be along soon enough.

Shady, what have you got that could be made into really cool lightweight body armour? Alice wanted her new idea addressed.

Mm let me see. Not sure. Mm. Mm (again). I’ll think on it.

Mr and Mrs Tree had conceded to their son’s nickname; perhaps as a reflection of their hope that, as he grew, he would provide comfort, peace, tranquillity and respite to others facing the rigours and heat of everyday living. Yeah, really. Parents are so optimistic.

Shady did live up to his name, but it was the name by which the local law enforcers knew him. He had developed a reputation for acquiring things. How the acquisitions were made was often a puzzle. He had never been found to do anything illegal, but he had persuaded people to provide all manner of differing things that he might need. Often these artefacts were amended and changed into ingenious new objects with new uses. Almost certainly, the new object had probably not been inspired by a visionary idea of his own. He was not good at ideas but he did like to struggle with difficult problems, provided they were concerned with construction.

Visioning is for others. Where’s my calculator and my clean socks? he had once said to his mother when she sought to press him about his ambitions on leaving the learning building.

His talent was to find the right bits and assemble them in expert fashion. The resulting object would be fine down to the smallest detail, at least in most cases. There had been that tricky situation when he forgot the wheels on his downhill racing machine. It was said by some that he had simply been lucky that it had snowed on the day of the race and his flat-bottomed machine had sped to victory down the icy slopes. He was usually very proud of his work, whether it was successful or not. His ego allowed him to pose in front of his successes in coy but expectant fashion, waiting for praise to be showered upon him. With his better efforts, he had even been known to take a comb to his hair and smile cockily to himself, and to whoever was nearby, as though some image-capturer was about to record the historic moment.

His specialised knowledge and use of magic was found in his pockets and owed much to his father’s job. His father was an Otherlander that had moved to Skrogland to head the country’s space and time programme. Shady’s clothes were covered in pockets, with pockets in the pockets, the majority of which had certain nonconformist qualities concerned with the principles of time and space. They were capable of holding all manner of things from balls of string to a small blacksmith’s anvil as well as half-baked ideas. Shady was a modern day hunter/gatherer. His family motto had always been YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN YOU MIGHT NEED IT.

Scrindle Flyingbucket was the fourth and unspoken leader of the gang of four. Like Shady, he was keen on simple non-invasive adventure in the worlds of the safe unknown. He did not share quite the same urge as the girls to be exploring the dangerous unknown or Alice’s preference for risking life and limb in the pursuit of adrenalin rushes. This was despite his family history that included some of the great adventurers of the nation. Tales were still told of the Great Animal Adventure, the Wondrous Walking Tour of Freddie Flyingbucket and  The Surprise Percy Flyingbucket got in the Burrow.

His membership of the gang, known as the IV, based on the number of them, seemed to have its roots in his ability to smooth over discord in the group and keep them focused on the pleasurable aspects of their activity. This in the past had enabled him to help the group to surprising results and what they considered mighty achievements. The largest of these was CLAPTRAP the Charming and Loveable Anti Pollution Trash Recycler And Propagator. One of the favourite features of CLAPTRAP that brought them amusement was the chameleon flagpole. It allowed the instant changing of flags to show support for whichever part of Skrogland CLAPTRAP might happen to visit. It also had castellated turrets that would allow Alice to fire off knives and arrows at any reluctant trash recyclers. Alice would not really have minded at whom the missiles were directed but Strangely insisted on the machine having environmentally pleasing goals. Shady had built it exceptionally well. The machine’s ability to fly had posed a few problems but some incorporation of early Skrogland flying carpet technology had made it all possible. The key had been using the right fibres and getting Strangely to enunciate the correct spell loudly enough for the fibres to understand. A weakness in the design was that the machine was made of entirely biodegradable material. This resulted in a general air of decay on-board and a tendency for bits to fall off. Some components had to be replaced regularly because of rot. However CLAPTRAP was their pride and joy, upon which they lavished great care and attention. It had become their main means of travel for the last four years, and was a fundamental ingredient in their cooking up of adventures.

There was something about CLAPTRAP that over time had never been revealed to the IV. CLAPTRAP suffered from paranoia. When it thought, it thought Why me?

Chapter 3

The Gods Rule, OK?

Mr and Mrs God had had a difficult day. The meeting with Albert Soaringwings had gone well enough but that did not mean that either life, or immortality, was going to be easy from now on.

Preparing Sunday lunch for the Children had usually been a lot of fun. This was true even though the Children of the God’s were always bickering, seeking to outsmart each other, and claiming supremacy for their followers. Today was different.

Mr God, whilst he was attending to his ambrosia plants, had received a message from The Master of the Primordial God Soup.

It seems that the day of reckoning is upon us, He told his Wife. At least it is going to be in a few aeons time.

That’s a bit of a bummer, why so early? asked his beautiful, and to the point, wife Lady God. No one was sure why she had been called Lady but She had been so called from as long ago as the earliest days of the Soup. However, everyone knew why her husband was called Thelordthigh - because he kept telling everyone that it was his name, and who is going to argue with the Head of the Universe Household? Easy, said one of the attendant cherubim to another, all his Children and Lady God when the Children aren’t around.

It seems that some of the other members of the Experimental Life Forms (Harmony and Worship) class, are ready to be evaluated, said Thelordthigh God.

They can’t be, it has only been a few millennia since the class left the Primordial God Soup to start this field trip. I reckon they have failed and want to go home. Either that or they have stuck with very primitive life forms and have not allowed the worship side to develop in too complex a fashion.

You could be right Lady. However, We cannot rely on that possibility. I think We are going to have to speak to the Children and find a way to encourage an early resolution of the problems we have given Them. Indeed I think that We need to let Them see the Big Picture and share with Them the need to get to a solution quickly if They and the life forms on this planet are to survive.

Very well, My Dear. I suggest We speak to Them after the crumble and custard and before They get into the nectar.

Mrs God did not really enjoy the meal. The Children were at their usual competitive best, never conceding a point to each other and each claiming the undying, and expanding, faith of their devout followers who were known to the Children as peeps. Long ago Mr and Mrs God had set their Children the task of accumulating as many worshippers as possible, to be accomplished by developing a wide variety of life-forms and, without undue influence, succeeding in gaining the largest number of converts to their form of worship. However, it was now time that they learned about the Big Picture and got to grips with the full task set by the Master of the Primordial God Soup. She sat at the head of the table and surveyed the Children. She smiled with pride at what She considered to be boisterous high spirits amongst supremely talented individuals. She looked at her Husband, at the foot of the table, who was pulling at his beard and seeming a little despondent about the task ahead. Mr God also looked at the Children, but when he looked His thoughts were less charitable. He groaned and held His head in His hands. When would They ever grow up?

More crumble and custard. The youngest of the five Children of God had an enormous appetite. As usual, he sat next to Mrs God, at her left hand. Again, as usual, he was spilling his food. Humanigod had grown enormously since his recent birth many, many years ago, and developed a huge booming voice that He often used to overpower his siblings contributions whenever they were engrossed in debate. He also seemed to be endowed with a dual personality. This was very useful when He wished He was someone else but gave great problems to His followers. He either took on the persona of Pompigod or Funnigod. For all the humans that lived on the planet this caused a difficulty. They resolved the difficulty by a clear understanding that the God that they worshipped was Pompigod. The God that other humans worshipped was Funnigod. This allowed them to say that the God they followed was the only true God and they studied assiduously His mysterious ways. However the God of other humans must be a funny God and merited no study at all and was best considered against a background of total ignorance. The possibility of there being a God with a dual personality had not occurred to each set of followers, not the pompipeeps or the funnipeeps. Equally, it had not occurred to them that Humanigod, the God in charge of them was, in God terms, a bit of a troublesome teenager in the Family.

Sitting next to Humanigod was the pride of Mr God, the eldest Child Miscigod. He had been around almost since the Beginning, but obviously not until after Thelordthigh and Lady had spent a suitable time getting to know each other. Miscigod had been a great help in the creation of the planet. Since then He had been given responsibility for all Acts of God, Earth, Fire, Water and Things-That-Go-Bump-In-The-Night. He was a sort of miscellaneous events manager; anything the other Children were not responsible for became part of His empire. His enormous black eyebrows, which hovered over deep-set impenetrable eyes, and His flaring nostrils set above a huge jutting jaw and ever-changing smile tended to make others nervous and uncertain about His intentions. He felt it was unfair that He was viewed as cold and callous as well as explosive. In fact, although gods were supposed to be impartial, He recognised that He did have a soft spot for some of His more persistent and amusing followers. His favourite miscipeeps were probably thunder and lightning. They were almost inseparable and seemed, when they struck and rain soaked the ground, the quintessential interaction of Earth, Fire, and Water. Volcanoes and glaciers were other favourites that displayed in the prettiest colours the awesome, sometimes awful, but always inexorable power with which the miscipeeps could impact the planet. Less popular but no less essential were pestilence, plague and disease. These were unpopular with all the other Children of the Gods because they had the effect of suddenly and drastically reducing the number of followers ascribed to each of the Children. For day-to-day fun, it was Hot, Cold, Wet, Dry, and Windy that were probably the best at creating small-scale mayhem. The activities of Windy were of especial interest to Miscigod because his simple sense of humour was easily activated by the sight of pieces of paper and hats tumbling along the street hotly pursued by their owners. Miscigod despite the erratic nature of his role was probably the most constant of all of the Gods’ Children.

Well, I think Father should take Him in hand. said Animagod. All these miscellaneous Acts of God are causing chaos amongst my peeps. Look, Floragod, is there some way you could talk to Mother? I am sure she could get Father to rein Him in a bit.

Floragod thought about the suggestion and started the slow process of evaluating the idea. Osmosis was a serious thing for the God of all plants and vegetation. She liked to use it for any deep thoughts. Her serene face gave no hint of the answer that would eventually arrive.

Whilst waiting for a reply, Animagod, sitting at Mrs God’s right hand, sat and re-chewed Her food at the furthest point away from Miscigod, at the opposite corner of the table. She was still pouting about the demise of the dinosaurs. They had been highly successful and fiercely loyal followers of Animagod.  They had not deserved to be almost entirely wiped out by an Act of God. Furthermore, Animagod felt it was outside the rules for extra-terrestrial objects to be allowed to hit the planet and cause the dinosaurs destruction. Her view was that the experiment in the creation of life forms and development of worship was to be confined to the planet and its immediate atmosphere. She complained that miscipeeps seemed to be persistently causing havoc amongst her adherents and reducing her numbers significantly. It was understood to be all part of the game, but the recent introduction of giant asteroids was simply going too far. Miscigod had seen it differently. Acts of God are unpredictable and inexplicable and He liked that. Besides, if He could get asteroids to be classified as his followers he was in to a rich new seam of followers.

Animagod, despite the sulking tendency, was usually very good company. She was occasionally excitable, sleek, well muscled, and had a weakness for risqué jokes. She was invariably dressed in the skins of her followers, which She saw as taking pride in one’s job. She took great pleasure and satisfaction from being responsible for the activities of all animals, birds and fish. It meant she had a fair sized group that were potential adherents to her style of godding. This style was a style described by some as the-new-ways-to-dine-movement. All of her followers were into eating in a big way. Animagod tended to favour the herbivores since they ate the followers of Floragod who was sitting next to her at the table. The carnivores were a bit more of a problem. By eating other animapeeps they made it a constant necessity to be reworking the sums to see how many adherents Animagod had at any one time. In addition the regular production of animapeeps, potential followers of Animagod, had always been a constant and nagging problem. The strategy of producing lots of young in order to ensure the survival of particular species had only been partially successful. Recently She had faced real difficulties in getting some animapeeps to be remotely enthusiastic about reproduction, especially Yetis and Giant Pandas. Given that Giant Pandas seemed satisfied with bamboo as their key food source, She had concluded that they must be bears with a very little brain. She could never find the Yetis and so was unable to encourage them in the pleasures of breeding. She might be better spending her time encouraging rabbits to even greater productivity.

Floragod was the quietest and calmest of the God’s Children. She sat with her hands in Her lap after deciding to skip the main courses and wait for the chocolate nibbly things and the nectar.

Floragod was quietly convinced that She had the lead in absolute numbers of peeps. Florapeeps were made up of all the living plants on the planet including water and land plants. They were uncritical in their worship of Floragod, mainly because they did not have two brain cells to rub together. Indeed, although much of their life was spent being nibbled chewed and passed through the gut of other living things on the whole they were pretty content. Some might say they were complacent. They felt they could recover from all forms of natural disaster, re-seed and move on. Some of the plants, unlike any other life-forms, even required fire in order to successfully breed, waiting for many years for a fortuitous fire to turn up before they could enjoy the orgasmic bursting of re-birth. Floragod as a result had a confused attitude towards natural disasters and her Brother, Miscigod. She loved the opportunities His followers gave Her’s when the systematic rains came or when the unusual and erratic Acts of God provided new environments for plant colonisation. She was especially keen on ocean based volcanoes which spewed forth