Panda Johnson and the Death of the Gods: Panda Johnson, #2

By Harry H Batsford

Following the tumultuous events of Book One (The Monuments of Panda Johnson), Panda and his ever growing band of friends find themselves marooned on Earth 4.6 traversing foreign land and fending off both new, and old enemies. With Genevieve and Lord Overworn stranded on the same planet, it isn't long before their paths cross again and all hell breaks loose. When Lord Overworn's homeworld is invaded and captured by their mortal enemy, the Malagain, the race is on to find a way home, re-capture Panda and generally be as naughty as possible. Join Panda and friends in their continuing adventures, as they run away in the face of danger, laugh in the face of reality and generally wonder who, in the Twelve Lords of Gorm, they annoyed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harry H Batsford
• Release date: Dec 19, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386907770

Harry H Batsford

Harry H Batsford was born in the East End of London during the 1960’s, then moved to Cheshunt, Herts, after his late father was made redundant in the early 1970’s.  His early summers were spent at his Grandmother’s house, while his parents worked, and even though he hated school he nevertheless developed a love of storytelling and jokes from a young age.  This is something which he later combined and put to good use when he started to write in earnest.  Harry now lives in Cornwall with his family and his Collie, Jess, dealing with the effects of Reiter’s disease and IBS, but preferring the quietness of countryside and wide open beaches to the grime and hustle of East London.  When he isn’t bust writing, Harry collects records inspiring his words ever onwards.  A tattooed, eclectic, insane, anxious, OTT guy with a crazy sense of humour and an amazing and supportive family.

Book preview

Chapter 0.8

Too Much Dung Wee

Eight months had passed since that oh so fateful day when Genevieve’s great fleet of interstellar war ducks crashed into the Earth, or E4.6 as it was better known. Even with the destruction of thousands of huge interstellar warships, the Earth had ultimately been overthrown. Its inhabitants integrated into the Dark Queens new plan for conquering the Universe.

Integrated, might well be too strong a word; let’s just say she did the best she could with the tools available... She felt more as if she was trying to pluck a raw chicken while wearing oven mitts. The small island she now called home gave her the feeling, that its occupants, who for the most part were Terrans, wanted nothing more than to cause her grief. She was of the opinion their sole goal in life was to cease working every ninety minutes. Then drink a warm leaf based drink known as tea.

Genevieve tried everything she could think of, bar killing the entire population, to get them to stop this odd and, seemingly pointless custom.

Nothing she tried had any effect.

Her dear husband, Lord Overworn bored with it all returned to drink. He missed his home, his people, and being able to throw undesirables from his palace balcony, should he feel the need. Not wanting to be recognised when out on a bender, something, which is pretty hard when you’re an evil Overlord with two massive horns protruding from your head, he struck a deal with the owner of a very seedy, yet conveniently situated bar.

His normal stance would have been to threaten the owner, informing him how easy it would be to pull his innards out through the small hole that Terrans had on the back of their weak little bodies. Then, burn his entirely family. Right down to his extended cousins, their friends, their relatives and all their pets, but he just couldn’t be assed with it.

Genevieve had a never-ending list of things to do, building this, or plotting that, maiming a servant for fun, or being asleep. Sex was most definitely out of the question. Not because she didn’t want it, on the contrary, the Dark Queen was quite gagging for a role in the hay. However, given the location of her reproductive organs (see Book One), Lord Overworn was quite willing to abstain until he could find a way to get rid of her.

Yes, Lord Overworn no longer wanted his wife! He’d hoped to have the multi-breasted Telephonist who’d escaped with them as his ‘little bit of overtime.’ Something which Genevieve soon put a stop to, by feeding the poor girl to Mitzy.

This resulted in Lord Overworn spending the next months living off the couch to their new, yet temporary home. Their relationship grew even worse when he was caught with a local girl, behind something the Terrans called a bicycle shed. Lord Overworn spent the next three months living on the nearest Trooper base.

Something that neither Troopers, nor Lord Overworn enjoyed. The Troopers, although sworn allegiance to the Emperor, hated that their every move felt as if it were under constant scrutiny. Cases of arrest increased three hundred percent since Lord Overworn’s arrival. Mainly due to over eager Troopers being caught trying to impress him, and as a general rule these resulted in scuffles, fights, brawls, and on one unfortunate occasion a full-blown riot.

In addition, General Rule was none too happy at the way his name was used to describe such inappropriate behaviour.

Lord Overworn had grown semi-accustomed to sleeping on the sofa, but when Genevieve had banished to the rank and file, to spend his days and nights to live in a tin hut, then the air had turned a rather unpleasant shade of purple.

The most annoying aspect being that his hut door was only two feet wide, and given the length of his mighty horns he was unable to walk directly through the door. Instead, he had to turn sideways so that he could shuffle through.

Oh the indignation he felt, no matter, he would bide his time and gain the upper hand.

With such a small space, he’d no chance to perform any of his normal fung shui; his bed was tossed into the middle of the hut. And, being only three feet wide this caused more than a few problems, the most awkward of which, that his mighty, twisting horns kept piercing the soft tin sides.

Lord Overworn’s bijou residence lay directly next to the camp showers, Major Spurt thought it best to give the Emperor accommodation nearest to the camp facilities, and after all, he was the Emperor.

This did cause a few unexpected issues. The wall to the left side also doubled as the rear to the ladies shower cubicle. Which would have been fine under normal circumstances. It wasn’t so much that Lord Overworn regularly woke to find his bed turned into a small, and uncomfortable, child’s pool; it was more that one of showers patrons mistook his protruding horn as a hook, and promptly hung their bright purple and yellow gown over it.

When Lord Overworn burst into the showers in a fit of rage, ready to complain that he was in fact, Lord of Death and High Emperor to be over the Universe, and not some frivolous bathroom accessory! He didn’t get the reaction he’d hoped. Instead of bowing with fear and trembling in his presence, a wave of mass hysteria erupted when one woman screamed, Peeping Tom.

Now, Lord Overworn is an immense being, his horns stand wider than a Bull’s backside, and he could put the fear of god into any normal person. However, when a naked woman screams peeping tom in a bustling shower cubicle, things tend to go a little differently, and Lord Overworn got the towel beating of his life.

Genevieve on the other hand was living the life of luxury. Having taken over Buckingham Palace, a building that she initially found to be right up her street, she soon came to despise its over lavish décor, and dated styling. She really was no fan of the previous occupant’s tastes. After three weeks, the frilliness of everything so enraged her that she moved out, and ordered the construction of some more, up to date premises, to accommodate her needs.

Lavish in her own way the property was one of six she wanted built across the small island she now called home. Allowing her to live how she wished wherever she went.

After Lord Overworn’s shower incident, Cecil decided that a move to one of the larger encampments on the border of Wales would be a good idea. In truth, this was more of a punishment for his leaving Genevieve when her command ship plummeted to Earth than his own free will. She’d wanted to tear the treacherous torturer limb from limb, but under advisement from her, well, advisers, she’d reluctantly agreed that for now, she needed him.

The encampment held an impressive twenty thousand Terrans. All living in tin huts, and all at Cecil’s command, he revelled in his new position. His old ways as a torturer returning to him like a *Destronian Beasts amputated limb.

*Destronian Beasts are one of the Universe’s most mind-numbingly dull creatures. Weighing around three thousand pounds, the creature rarely ever moves. Revered by the people of Destronia, they worship its every waking moment, waiting on them, hand and foot. This, in itself is no mean feat, as the creature has no less than twenty-four outer limbs.

To say that the creature is everyone’s cup of tea would be a lie, a lot like someone from Istanbul saying they’re a Man United supporter... The creature has been the subjected to a multitude of assassination attempts, many of its limbs having been severed in the process. Here’s the thing, once severed, the limb, of its own accord, will make its way back to the beast and re-attach itself. 

This was good for the beast though never pleasant for anyone witnessing the event.

During his first week at the encampment, Cecil set about bringing those under his command in line, and if they did not comply... well, read Book One and work it out, think record players.

Many Troopers in higher-ranking positions were replaced with those that Cecil saw promise in. More often than not due to their particularly violent ways or the amount of cash they left in his office drawer or under his pillow.

There was however, once exception, Ms Ishango. Ms Ishango was unique, she spoke in such a way that Cecil was able to converse with her, his never-ending stutter non-existent. Ms Ishango spoke through math, Cecil held an affinity for numbers, numbers were the one thing he could pronounce all day long. Never misplacing a single vowel or consonant. 

She also had a penchant for beheading anyone that should look at her in the wrong way, using an enormous eight-foot double-headed axe that she carried on her back. She fast became Cecil’s favourite right-hand man, woman; alien... you know what I mean.

Disavowed with the Trooper base, Lord Overworn took a room above the bar he’d been frequenting. Nothing special, noisy at night with a smell that he could not quite place. Nevertheless, it was his, and there was no risk of being attacked by hordes of towel bearing women.

After Blinknott’s burial ceremony, Panda and friends spent the first few days staying out of the patrolling Troopers way. Monsieur Steelpants decided to head for his mum’s, as he was worried about her, and so left on the second day. Sadly, Paul Arder had been caught while trying to sneak back into town for supplies, he was taken to one of the encampments for ‘processing’, and his whereabouts remained unknown.

This left Panda, Misty, Bambii, and Alice; Dang hadn’t been seen since the day of the crash when Blinknott gave his own life to save his.

With Troopers patrolling the countryside twenty-four hours a day, they’d come to a decision to stay off the main roads and travel through back roads and forests only.

Alice pointed out that, Most of Wales seemed to be no more than small roads and forests, so it was more a matter of being cautious.

Alice and Bambii had both agreed, though this was a given in Bambii’s case as, Fukalite, could have literally referred to anything...

Yes, I can see you sitting there dear reader, your brow furrowed, thinking what the skelp? Last thing I knew Bambii had regained full speech when Misty slapped her hard on the back in order to stop her from choking...

You are of course, correct, but then this happened...

Seven days, a week if you like, after Blinknott’s death Bambii woke from a rather bad dream. Being awake earlier than her friends, she’d decided to take a walk, and forage for something to eat. All she could ever find were mushrooms, always mushrooms, Did this planet consist of any other form of edible plant life? If so, could it please make itself known.

It took no time at all for her to become bored with mushrooms; even the site of them brought her great frustration. Mushroom toast, mushroom tea, mushroom bake, baked mushrooms with raw mushrooms on top, mushroom soup, and worst of all mushroom custard... Eww.

Reluctantly she picked the all the mushrooms she could find and then headed back to camp. Hoping that some poor dear forest animal might have accidentally run into a tree, thus killing itself. Bambii licked her lips at the thought of a large sizzling steak with lashings of... well mushrooms, as there really was little else.

Much to her annoyance, no such thing happened; in fact, nothing happened at all, as her friends were all still fast asleep. Bambii sat, head resting in the upturned palms of her hands waiting for someone, anyone, to wake up.

She could quite easily have started the cooking, but her turn was the day before yesterday, no way in hell would she volunteer to cook again. The mere thought of cooking mushrooms caused her to heave.

Nevertheless, she felt a dire hunger ebbing away at her subconscious, she felt hunger greater than she could ever recall. How long had it been since she’d last eaten a decent meal, Bambii had no idea. She glanced at the mushrooms lying at her feet, encased in the old blue rag they used to collect food; she wondered what they would taste like raw. Surely they couldn’t be that bad?

The very idea of eating the skelping things filled her with an inner rage, usually reserved for her ex-geography tutor. She reasoned, that if she were to eat them raw, well, then, at least it would be over and done with...

Bambii tentatively picked up a mushroom, holding it in her fingers, she turned it this way and that. Inspecting the umbrella-shaped plant for bugs and unwelcome wildlife. Satisfied that there were no uninvited guests, she touched the tip of her tongue across the dome of the mushroom head, and instantly withdrew it.

Ugh... revolting. She complained to herself. Still clutching the mushroom, Bambii leaned forward to see if there was a smaller one to try, no such luck.

Maybe if I just eat it all in one go? Bambii often found herself unexpectedly speaking aloud, after suffering years of utter frustration, wanting nothing more than a decent conversation, she would more often than not disregard the fact that she could now speak aloud.

Without another word, she popped the mushroom into her mouth, her face changing like a small child dropping its newly bought ice cream, chewed twice and swallowed hard.

As she swallowed, a small lump lodged in her throat, causing her to cough in desperation. The hacking cough woke Panda, who up until that moment had been contentedly snoring just feet in front of her. He rose with so much force that Bambii jumped back, slamming her head into a tree. Then like a newly felled sapling, she tumbled to the floor unconscious.

A few hours later Bambii awoke to find Alice holding her, a cold, but dirty cloth smothering her forehead. Bambii smiled up at Alice in thanks, It's ok Bambii, Alice smiled back. Just a little bump, no need to worry.

Bambii sat up slowly, gingerly rubbing the bump on her head, God that stings like a kick in the fawanwana... were the words that tiptoed across her acing mind, whereas what she in fact said was, Crapulence.

Bambii, poor innocent Bambii had unwillingly returned to an alternative version of her diminutive vocabulary.

As the weeks progressed, the small group moved across the land as best they could, hiding in small villages, and living off the land, and on occasion receiving a warm meal from a friendly local. This was also problematic as not everyone could be trusted, Genevieve’s spies, moles, and infiltrators, were hiding in at corner. Many of the inhabitants were put to work in large encampments, leaving but a few on the outside. Of those that remained, they were either not fit for work, deemed a necessity to the sustainability of the Empire, or more than likely a working surreptitiously for the Dark Queen.

Panda became suspicious of everyone, and even though he was aware that a mysterious rebel army existed, he felt a deep mistrust for anyone who crossed their path. Misty, held a streak of natural distrust, that being said she did draw the line at diving into the nearest hedgerow every time a crow flew overhead. She agreed that their appearance did vie on the side of underhandedness, sneakiness and portray them as being forever on the sly. Nevertheless, she very much doubted given the resources to hand that even Lord Overworn could either train them to speak, build a camera small enough to fit, or teach them Morse Code. 

Panda did not agree, and spent the next day secreted beneath a selection of shrubs, deciphering the various taps of a nearby Rook. Disgruntled, and frustrated when all he managed to decipher was, My Ox grew wardrobes between his toes, filled with midgets left toes. I once a buffalo filled with Coconuts and was charged three hundred dollars. Misty, of course, revelled in her friend’s foolishness. Panda had not yield so easily, insisting instead that it was some form of elaborate code. Misty threw her hands in air, frustrated beyond words and opted to kick him in the shins.

After many weeks of journeying and not a hot meal in days, Misty had had enough. She stopped by a small bridge, which crossed a stream they’d been following, no signposts informed them where they were, or indeed heading.

I’ve had enough. Misty sighed.

Panda stopped and looked back. What do you mean?

I can’t do this anymore Panda, look at us, we’ve been walking, and hiding for months. We’ve not had a good meal in ages, our feet have blisters, the blisters have sores, and my thighs are chafing so much it looks like I’ve been riding camels bareback for the last six months.

I’ve got so many skelping blisters on my feet they look like a dot-to-dot book for the near sited. Alice added.

I stink so awful, I reckon it could put Dang to shame, Misty’s head sank to her chest; her whole body dropped as she flopped uncaringly onto the dank stonewall of the bridge.

We are not giving up! Panda hissed.

Panda, smiled Alice. There’s no need to speak like that, we’re all tired, and Misty is just saying what we all think.

So you agree with her? Panda felt shocked and irritated that Alice felt the same way.

Yes I do, we need to either, have a respite for a few days, or find somewhere that is at least habitable, perhaps even make a new start. Alice had obviously been thinking about this for some considerable time, and not just launch into something her brain felt was a jolly wheeze of a good idea, and her mouth didn’t hold the common sense to disagree with.

Panda sighed again, despite his initial anger he knew that Alice and Misty were correct, as a group they could not continue like this for much long longer, if they did then something would undoubtedly snap, and Panda very much wished to avoid any further mishaps in the elasticated trouser department.

Lord Overworn stretched, and yawned, the sound echoing round the box room. Rubbing his neck, he sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. Standing with a gentleness, which as a rule was set aside for his attendants, he made his way across the bare room, to a dirty miss-hung mirror that occupied the space above a now redundant fire place.

Skelp.  He groaned, the image that he was prevented with looked horrendous at best.

He’d spent another night sleeping in his clothes, disheveled and dirty he repulsed himself, Emperor? Pah!

Lord Overworn looked at the rusty clock hanging on the wall behind him, trying to ascertain the correct time by using the mirror. Light leached through a pair of ragged curtains, informing his brain that it was not two in the morning, but two in the afternoon. At least the bar would be open.

It was rare that anyone in the bar even approached him, let alone spoke to him. The lone exception being the housekeeper, who was to be fair, no spring chicken. Small in stature and with a full head of grey hair, she spoke in a way that told of an entirely different background to that of her rough and dirty appearance. The only thing that Lord Overworn had learned about the old dear was that she went by the name Elizabeth.  Elizabeth lived in the room below his at the bar and kept a number of very vocal and rather bothersome small, brown, and white furry animals. As his time there passed, it transpired that the animals came from the dog species, and this particular aggravating edition was called Corgis.

Striding back to the bed, he snatched up his wallet, saddened by its lack of weight. Checking the limited cash within, an inscrutable smile found his lips; at least he had enough cash for one more night of debauchery and drinking.

With the inscrutable smile set hard across his features, he made for the door. Pulling it back, the hinges squeaking like a dozen tortured mice, all squealing to be released; only to find that standing in the doorway, her arms folded, with a face that screamed, You are in so much shit Mr!

Was Genevieve...

Meanwhile... a little off to his left, and a mere squidly-didly moment in time away...

Where are we going? Alice demanded, trying to keep pace with Panda, who was striding at tempo down the road, something they’d not done in ages.

You wanted somewhere to stay, yes? He halted and turned to look at his three companions, who nodded their agreement.

I saw a sign, in the road about three miles back, pointing this way. Panda stood stock-still, all four arms planted firmly on his hips.

Good for you, Misty raised her eyebrows. Mind telling us what the sign said?

Knowing Panda... Alice whispered. It said Stag and Hen Public Inn this way.

Panda shot Alice glance, insulted, causing her to blush deeply.

It said, ‘Nantrelstrecrossnllysbontllandwells’ though I’m a little unsure on the exact pronunciation. Panda grinned, pleased that he’d supervised his tongue through the entire pronunciation of the word. He flushed with success having spoken the word in one go.

That’s easy for you to say. Misty coughed, trying to mute her words.

Arsole, giggled Bambii.

What the phuq does it mean? asked a perplexed Alice.

Well, I assume it’s the name of a village or town. Panda thought it obvious as to the words meaning.

You assume it means that. Alice did not feel happy that Panda wasn’t able to tell them where they were heading. For all you know it could mean this way to the pig farm, or next left for the death camp.

Misty interrupted her. I hardly think so, if it was a death camp, then it wouldn’t have been some insignificant road sign. You know how much Genevieve loves her dramatics. More likely to be a fifty-foot-high board with a skull and cross bones strewn across it, the words written in blood red letters, with a troop of belly dancers either side, just so there was no mistaking it.

An eerie silence occupied the space between for the next few seconds.

Have you been sniffing some of those weird looking mushrooms again? asked Alice, her face held a tone of seriousness Panda could only ever recall when she’d been worried about Mr Wiggles.

As you so politely informed me earlier, we need a place to either rest, or start afresh. I for one, have no idea if we’ll ever get off this planet, let alone home, I think we need to take a chance.

The three girls agreed, although when Bambii grumbled, Crapulence, he merely assumed she was agreeing. 

Panda’s face looked shocked, he’d expected a small argument, maybe even a long drawn out one, where various shades of opinion would be debated with much aplomb. When they agreed without as much as a raised word,  Panda was thrown, unable to think what to say, so instead smiled, turned, and started walking towards Nantrelstrecrossnllysbontllandwells again, Bambii, Misty, and Alice close on his heels.

Lord Overworn may have hated Genevieve more than being messed on by one the Great Ganft Birds of Mohodlim, whose stomachs could hold up to three hundred gallons at any one time. Despise her for everything she’d done to him, and want her out of his life for good. Yet, when he’d opened that bedroom door and found her standing there, a small part of him actually felt pleased to see her. However, which part we cannot say as this book is trying to avoid any X-Rated material. It could be said that trying to avoid it is like a Polar bear opening his eyes and expecting to find himself surrounded by the Florida everglades.

Whatever it was about her, Lord Overworn knew not, something inside of him could not resist her; he made no sarcastic or ill-mannered comments. Instead, Lord Overworn simply followed her lead, and, after a brief yet amorous ride, he found himself relaxing in a deep, luxurious, bath in one of the many new homes, which Genevieve had only recently finished building. An exquisite residence, containing obvious, and yet obscure hints that Genevieve’s hands had been plunged deep in the bowels of its design. Paintings of the Dark Queen covered the walls, many depicting her surrounded by bodies. The most unashamed insinuation that she’d dabbled with the décor came in the form of her face, fifteen feet wide, and strewn across the bedroom blinds.

After the initial bedding down, things soon returned to a more normal, haphazard way of life. Genevieve spent the first few days mulling about, something which made Lord Overworn very uneasy. He much preferred it when she was angry with him, she may be a skelping bitch to deal with, but at least he knew where he stood.

On the third day home, and being bored to the point of talking to her husband, Genevieve announced that she was popping off, visiting the Welsh border camp to inspect the troops, but more importantly to see how Cecil was performing. She had, ‘plans’, and this camp was of considerable strategic importance.

She would be back in a few days, so there really was no time for Lord Overworn to cause any trouble...

Lord Overworn was elated to say the least. With Genevieve out of his metaphorical hair, he could relax properly, and maybe even formulate some evil plans of his own.

Genevieve, packed her many, many, bags, making ready to leave; but before she left, she needed to give her husband something very precious.

Lord Overworn felt wary, and who could blame him, although on this particular occasion his concerns were misplaced. This is why he felt a bit of a royal tit, skulking behind the sofa, as she entered the room.

The gift, which Genevieve by some small miracle had managed to acquire. Was none other than twelve bottles of Ultarnium Dung Wee.

Lord Overworn was beside himself, his all too apparent discomfort vanishing faster than a Gola-Fwambi Lady of the Nights under garments. This rare drink being one he’d often shared with his mother. Obviously, this happened prior to her being sold. 

Genevieve departed with a cheery, Goodbye.

A still unnerved Lord Overworn shouting behind her, Just out of interest, where are we my love?

This was met by a loud laugh from Genevieve, Look at the map in the bathroom.

Lord Overworn turned and headed straight for the bathroom, there on the wall to his left, hung a large and very old looking map. The map itself was preserved behind some rather shiny, thick, Perspex. The Perspex looked as if it was the only thing still holding the map together. Scrawled across the top of the map, in almost incomprehensible handwriting was a single word. He tried to pronounce the word but failed miserably, and repeatedly, irritated, as it wasn’t a word Lord Overworn recognised.

He took a deep breath, filling his mighty royal lungs with air and tried again, Nanny-stress-balls-in-wells... his voice tapered off knowing full well he wasn’t even a ten acre field close to getting the pronunciation right. In any case, ‘Nantrelstrecrossnllysbontllandwells’ could never be considered an easy word for anyone to pronounce.

Still some distance away...

Misty glanced back down the hill, the setting sun obscuring her vision, and causing her to squint.  She could just make out the form of Panda carrying Bambii across his shoulders, as he made his way up the hill behind. She knew she really should be grateful; Panda had volunteered to carry them in turn to alleviate their blisters etc. Yet all she wanted to do was shout at him, and tell him to hurry along. It felt like watching he Great Aunt trying to peel an orange. You knew it would happen, yet also knew you could do it ten times faster.

She wasn’t about to volunteer on this occasion but she did so find his pace very infuriating. 

Misty jumped when Alice appeared beside her, You think we should help? she asked.

For the love of a good Wookie where did you come from? Misty gulped.

That skelping bitch who calls herself my mother, Alice snarled in response.

Misty felt unsure what to say by way of a reply, this was most definitely not the answer she’d expected.

Alice burst into tears, Misty, I’m sorry, forgive me please.

Misty patted Alice gently on the shoulder, There, there...

Alice snarled some more making Misty take a step back, where she all but stumbled into the approaching Panda.

Misty skipped out the way as Panda heaved the sleeping Bambii from his shoulder and onto the damp grass.

You two ok? Panda asked, a deep frown embedded on his face.

Just dandy... Alice grinned. Misty nodded her agreement, and with a feigned smile took another step back.

Panda, thinking that the two females had suffered yet another fall out, so more for his own sanity decided to let the point go. Turning to Misty he added, I think we need to stop for the night, I for one, am exhausted. Panda turned back in order to speak to Alice, but Alice was nowhere to be found.

Panda spun in slow motion, or as near to slow motion as his body would allow, straining his eyes through the semi-light for Alice, Misty did the same almost bumping into Panda again.

Where has that dopey mare gone now? Misty blurted out, thinking that was something she should have kept to herself. She gave Panda a fleeting look, thankful that the fading sun hid her now very red and embarrassed face.

There... Panda pointed with both left arms, his normally stationery ears waggling with an abundance of excitement.

Alice was no more than fifty feet in front of them, standing on top of a dead tree stump glaring hard down the other side of the hill.

Panda jumped onto the log next to her, apprehensive as to where Misty might be. His friends were disappearing and reappearing faster than the Greek economy. A little help would be nice. Misty pleaded, in a tone that spoke more of tempered aggression than helpless weakling. Panda flicked his head back to find Misty, dragging Bambii across the grass by her legs. Moreover, in spite of everything she remained under her own spell, sleep.

Panda turned back, Whoops... he followed Alice’s eye line down the hill, bemused to find a rather well to do home situated at the bottom. Lit by ill placed and extravagant lights, the only other discernible light coming from a large, and very busy looking city, somewhere in the distance.

You three stay here, said Panda in a much too serious tone. I’m going to investigate, no matter how long I’m gone... Do. Not. Move.

Misty wanted to object at being spoken to in such way but Panda was gone before she could even part her lips.

WHAT. HAVE. YOU. DONE? Genevieve screamed. Lord Overworn gave a curt, yet cautious smile. Don’t blame me, blame the skelping toaster and your over the top work surfaces. Lord Overworn had no intention of accepting the blame this time. Even if she had arrived home early from her trip, because all that remained of new home was a pile of burned lumber and ash.

As the sun rose over the city in the distance, the three girls sat staring at the now burning building below.

Boo! Panda laughed, unexpectedly appearing behind them, and causing all three to near jump out of their various coloured skins.

Panda. Johnson. You. Ass. Alice whacked his shoulder as hard as she could, seemingly whatever had been causing her stress the night before had now passed.

Total. Ass. added Misty.

Arsole, Bambii huffed wagging a finger of indeterminate value at him in anger.

Alice leaped forward, slinging her arms about him, You’ve been gone all night. We were worried out of our skins.

I’m sorry, really, but I have good news. Panda smiled.

You’re total Phuqing imbecile do you know that? hissed Genevieve at her now retreating husband.

Wait, just wait will you, with one arm extended in a futile effort to keep the Dark Queen at bay, he searched frantically through his pocket for something. 

Genevieve’s face contorted, confounded by what he was trying to pull on her. Her face turned from, ‘I’m going to slaughter you with a blunt rubber bucket and some rotting vegetables’, to, ‘Oh you clever boy’, in a millisecond. Lord Overworn held a small test tube, on the side, written rather poorly, was one word, Barry!

Back on the hilltop... (Was a lonely goatherd...)

I’ve got a surprise for you, grinned Panda.

Alice’s eyes lit up. For me? she clapped her hands together in excitement.

Well, no, for all of you, Panda corrected her.

Whilst the mood down below was about to deflate...

Give me that, Genevieve hissed at Lord Overworn. He did as ordered, thinking that overall, taking into account that he’d burned his wife’s new residence to the floor, that he’d come out of the night quite well really.

Now, give me the cube, insisted Genevieve with the enthusiasm of a Lion, who it just so happened had been kicked in the balls.

Lord Overworn delved into the other pocket, the emptiness within making the muscles in his backside twitch involuntarily. Alarmed, when his fingers poked through a rather large burnt hole at the bottom of the pocket.

Oops, he grinned.

Back on the hill, not everything was all peaches and cream...

Alice’s face dropped like a lead brick from a ten-metre diving board, and before she could say anything else, Panda pulled a tatty piece of cloth from his pocket, revealing its precious contents.

There in his palm, sat the cube.

Alice leaned forward, You know with all that’s happened I’d clean forgotten about that.

Misty and Bambii stared at one another, a look, which stunk of... ‘She has to be skelping kidding right?’ passed between them.

Alice raised a finger...

Nooooo. Misty screamed at Alice.

Alice turned to look at Misty, her brow furrowed.

Crapulence... screamed Bambii in horror.

Ohhhh.... Said Alice as an unexpected burst of white light appeared, and all four of them vanished. 

Chapter 1

The Torment of Bodilla

Austin shivered as a cold trickle of urine flowed relentlessly down the inside of his leg. How many times over the past few months had he suffered this particular indignation. On this, Austin had lost count some time ago, though why he’d ever started to count was now lost on him. At the very least his had captor pardoned him the subjugation of further embarrassment when it came to number twos.

Wherever Bodilla currently was, he’d no idea, nor wished to know. As to why he’d ended in this place, trussed up like an Emperor Days sacrificial bird?  He held even less idea of. During the time Austin spent with Bodilla she continuously struck him, as such a nice, innocent young girl. How wrong he’d been, he looks so deceptive, he felt as if he’d purchased a copy of an English to Mortvian Dictionary, only to find the entire book was in French.

Austin was clueless as to the exact location he was being held captive. The room, or prison, depending on whether you were its owner or captive, was antiquated at best, and held no clue to his whereabouts. No doubt, some form of nobility once owned the property, and from the scale of the room, and the view offered by a large, dirty window adjacent, he was being held at least two stories up.

In all the months spent there, Austin hadn’t seen another living person other than Bodilla.

Whereas wildlife roamed the gardens below and the bushes in abundance, unknown to Austin, the gardens, as its inhabitants, surrounded the property. He loved wildlife, though he felt very uncomfortable at constantly having to watch them participate in the, ‘dance of the beast with two backs’. Entertaining at first, Austin grew quickly tired of their incessant rumpy-pumpy.

He felt sure they could have done it behind a tree every now and then. This led him to ponder over the question of, whether animals could in fact be exhibitionists. Ultimately, this resulted in Austin suffering from a ongoing series of serious nightmares, their contents would forever remain his secret, vowing never to impart the contents with anyone.

Austin stiffened as he heard the now familiar sound of Bodilla’s footsteps approaching from the corridor. Bodilla swung into the room with an accuracy only ever found in accountants and ex schoolteachers. With one hand gripping the magnificent golden handles attached to the oversized double doors, she pivoted on her left foot, her right arm, and leg out wide; a smile, broad and happy occupying her young face. Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, she sang out with all the merriment of an over enthusiastic mortician.

Bodilla sprung from the door, landing on her feet, with her arms tight to her sides, raising her left hand to her forehead. With her palm out, she saluted Austin, Private Bodilla reporting for duty SAHHH!

Austin turned his head away, bored with her petty attempts at making his imprisonment into a thing of humourous belittlement. He’d met way too many traffic wardens to suffer such things.

Bodilla scowled, she did not appreciate being ignored, ever. Marching straight up to Austin, she grabbed his chin in her left hand, easily turning his head back to face her. She smiled, licking him from the tip of his nose to his hairline.

Austin didn’t flinch.

When... began Bodilla, twisting her mouth this way and that as if she were sucking on a way too hard toffee, ...will you see that you have to do what I say?

When the Seven Gods of Farn freeze and fall from the heavens. Austin snarled.

Oh, but darlin’, they already have. whispered Bodilla.

Austin was taken aback; he furrowed his eyebrows, which only caused Bodilla to laugh quite ferociously.

The, the gods have fallen? asked Austin. All he could think, all he could hope for, is that this was just another ruse on Bodilla’s part. Well, that and a good cheeseburger, he really could go for a good, hearty, grease filled, bacon topped, cheese slathered half-pound burger with all the trimmings.

Austin halted his thought process, realising that he was in fact drooling down his disheveled Guard’s jacket.

Bodilla stepped back, made a silly grin, and began hopping around the room on one leg. Austin rolled his eyes, then turned to the large wooden window, sickened by how own half reflection, how could he have been so dumb to have been caught, to end up restrained so severely.

Severely is a definite understatement, from neck to toe, every part of Austin that could move, had been restrained against a solid, three foot thick, platinum plate, by one means or another.

Every toe, every finger, was stapled at every joint. Wrists, ankles, elbows, and knees had steel plates riveted around them and into the plate behind him. His hips and shoulders were trapped by two-inch steel bars; again, these were secured to the thick platinum plate.

Austin wasn't going anywhere.

He watched as Bodilla vanished through a set of doors at the far end of the room, singing what sounded much like a child’s rhyme, the words of which Austin could not quite make out.

Before he had the chance to consider this any further, Bodilla pranced back in through the main double doors. Though this time she did a series of three hundred and sixty degree turns, before landing in front of Austin on one knee, with her arms out wide, and head raised to meet him,. Ta-da! she beamed.

Austin kept a blank, impassive face.

What, no applause? she mocked. Austin could not help himself and burst out laughing.

Bodilla’s face, which had embarked as an elated pink, docked as more of an angered crimson. She took a step back, and crossed to the window, her back turned against Austin, staring blankly into the rain soaked garden below.

Grabbing hold of the deep blue velvet curtains she tugged one free with ease, the rings, which held it in place, snapping like popcorn from the rail and raining down across the matted brown and red carpet. She sniffed the dusty, faded material in, and then, in one swoop, swung the curtain about her slender frame.

Standing in silence, she watched as a fox ran across the lawn in the distance. How old do you think I am? she asked Austin, her voice flat, emotionless.

Austin ignored her; he too saw the fox, watching as the animal ran for its life. Pursued back across the lawn by a group of wild dogs.

Answer me Austin. Bodilla growled. Answer me and if you’re within... say ten percent of my age I may set you free.

Austin’s gaze withdrew from the fox, the site of the animal being torn to shreds held no interest. He found himself staring at the back of Bodilla’s head.

I am perfectly serious Austin. Bodilla sighed.

Austin didn't know what to say, he knew how old she was, they’d spoken from time to time in the canteen back on Genevieve’s ship, he distinctly remembered her telling him about a week before the fatal destruction of Genevieve’s fleet, that she’d, Just turned seventeen...

For the life of him, Austin could not see how she was playing him; nevertheless, he knew Bodilla had an alternative plan.

Either that, or she was just plain batshit crazy, which given the dancing, and the general psychotic behaviour she displayed with indifference rarely found outside of North Korea, he may not have been far from the truth.

His heart near jumped out of his throat, when he felt a soft, yet deliberate tap on his left shoulder, there glaring down at him stood Mr Nibbles.

Austin couldn't believe his eyes, and closing them tight, he counted to three hoping that witnessing the giant rabbit was just a state induced mirage, or shadows on the wall playing tricks on him.

Austin opened an eye; no sign of the rabbit, with the eye fully open he risked exposing the other eye, letting his head sink back against the metal plate. He took a deep breath and sighed, relieved not to find the rabbit. Therefore, either his mind was playing tricks, or Bodilla had an uncanny ability for shadow puppets.

He feared no man or beast, not even his current tormentor/captor held much in the way of fear over him, and yet that skelping rabbit made him flinch worse than being told his mother had made custard for pudding. Even though his current situation found him pinned down harder than Mr Mystic the Magician O’ Wonderment.

Mr Mystic, a long forgotten children’s entertainer specialised in feats of daring. One particular trick received much applause and recognition.

He would place a bed of six-inch nails, twenty feet up on a platform, and then, with him tied to a chair would attempt to escape before the rope, which held the bed of impending death in place, burned through from the candle beneath it.

Needless to say, the trick only failed once...

Austin turned back to where Bodilla stood, the curtain draped about her person, making her look similar to a badly thought out, yet unnamed, childhood superhero.

Austin jumped in shock as Mr Nibbles reappeared, smiling widely at him.

Where the phuq... Austin bit his lip, mad that he’d spoken aloud, drawing attention to himself.

Bodilla turned her head, her brow furrowed, Problem? she asked.

Austin shook his head; a small fake grin occupying his face.

Good, I don’t want you thinking you can make sneaky remarks behind my back and get away with it? Bodilla raised an eyebrow to emphasise her point...

Austin bit his lip again, wondering why it was it that all the evil, and powerful women, he encountered all seemed to possess a natural leaning for over dramatics. Austin nodded, not wanting to make an issue out of it.

Surprised to see me? asked Mr Nibbles. Austin just glared at the rabbit.

Bodilla shook her head then began to make her way back across the room, I’m going to make some breakfast, don’t go anywhere now will you darling? She laughed hard as she swung back out of the room, before bouncing off down the hall. The curtain trailing behind her like some vagabonds wedding dress, or cape.

Austin returned his glare to Mr Nibbles, So where’s the other little psycho then? he spat.

Mr Nibbles’ eyes narrowed in on Austin, his white and pink nose flared, If you mean Glitter Girl she is here don’t you worry.

Oh, I’m not worried, replied Austin. But the last time you two spoke to me, I ended up slaughtering an entire Bridge Crew, and caused the mass destruction of Genevieve’s war fleet, which is something I’m sure she will not let go lightly.

I’m not here to make arguments with you Austin, Mr Nibbles gave a large rather unpleasant smile. Unlike you, I can leave whenever I want...

Austin snapped, "Then why the phuq are you here? It’s not like I need someone