

## The Galactic Adventures of Alex McKenzie

Book II

### Journey To Flush Fleas And Beyond

### Larry Rosenzweig

Published by Capital Books (2009)

An imprint of Melbourne Books

www.melbournebooks.com.au

Reprinted by Tingleman Print Media Group (2010)

3/ 11 Brough Street

Springvale, Melbourne, Victoria, 3171

Copyright © Larry Rosenzweig 2009

www.larryrosenzweig.com.au

info@larryrosenzweig.com.au

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publishers.

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry Author: Rosenzweig, Larry.

Title: The Galactic Adventures of Alex McKenzie Book 1: Journey to the Land of the Lonely.

ISBN: 9781877096457 (pbk.)

Dewey Number: A823.4

Front and back cover artwork: Heath McKenzie

Certain images on the front cover adapted from those supplied by NASA and the NSSDC

Images: www.freeimages.co.uk

### SPECIAL THANKS TO MY GROWING ARMY OF FANS.

YOU INSPIRE ME TO KEEP WRITING.

'I loved The Galactic Adventures of Alex McKenzie. It is the best book I have ever read. Michael' – **Michael Berkman (12)**

'I read this in no time at all, it was simply fantastic I couldn't put it down. It is the most the most exciting and funniest book I've ever read. I can't wait for the next edition.' – **Athos Sirianos (11)**

'Both my son and I have read the book. It is wonderful to see an eleven year old sitting engrossed in a book with a smile, a look of total immersion, a slight chuckle and very often a heartfelt loud laugh. The book has been magnificently written...' – **Sharyn McKay (mum)**

'This is a very interesting book. The features about the creatures are unique and also very funny.The illustrations were fantastic and interesting. I enjoyed the book very much. Well done Larry Rosenzweig.' – **Victor Chen (10)**

'I'm really enjoying your book. It's exciting and I'm always looking forward to what is going to happen next. I love all the characters especially Dementia. He has bad habit of forgetting things.' – **Andrew-Dean Foster (10)**

'Larry's book is the best book I have ever read' – **Noah Gadsden (9)**

'A book with lots of laughs. A lot of imaginative settings and people with lots of new ideas. Everything totally original never been seen before. . Thanks for a good read I loved it. A great book four and a half out of 5, I will upgrade it to five if you _please please_ write another as I want to continue seeing what happens to the characters. Also will you have any new ones? Thank you' – **Declan McKay (11)**

'I gave a copy of the Galactic Adventures of Alex McKenzie to my grandsons, **Lachlan (10)** and **Nicholas (8)** . They have both become very keen on reading. Both boys absolutely loved the book and the characters. They cannot wait for the second book in the series. Could you let me know when the second book will be available...' – **Charles Szigeter**

'fantastic story ,great characters -waiting for book 2 to come out' – **Erin Lurie (14)**

"The Soul wizards are the best. They can do all sorts of dangerous and crazy stuff and still survive. They're so lucky to be made of rubber." – **Magdalene Apostolou (11)**

### CHAPTER 1

### OPTIMISM

'What an incredible transformation!' exclaimed Sked joyously as he looked out at the lush carpet of silver-bladed grass that now covered the Land of Hope for as far as the eye could see.

A light sprinkling of blue and pink wildflowers poked their heads through the shimmering silver landscape and filled the air with the most fragrant of odours. The ten foot tall gentle-giant was already daydreaming about the wonderful pictures he would soon be able to sketch and paint.

'Yes!' replied the tiny white fur-ball, Fluffel, in his express-train-fast, high-pitched voice. 'It's hard to believe that much of this place was scorched black and totally lifeless only a week ago.'

'It sure is...' smiled Sked contemplatively, and unconsciously tried to stroke his curly brown beard that was no longer there. He had shaved it off just the other day, revealing a dashingly handsome face. 'The continuous rains have performed a small miracle!'

'They have!' agreed the tall, thin, broad bean-shaped Hildegard. 'And look at the amazing stream that the enormous Wolly worms have skilfully carved out for us! I can't believe it's almost complete! It has taken them less than three days to complete the 15 kilometres. They truly know the meaning of "hard-work" – unlike _others_ I know, who take _five_ days to spin _two_ solitary dresses. _Five_ whole days!'

Sked and Fluffel knew that Hildegard was talking ("bitching") about the bone-lazy, temperamental Glutton spider, Hairy. She had foolishly agreed to go into partnership with him in a dressmaking business venture. Despite the business having only been going for about a week now, she was already so fed up with his non-existent work ethic and condescending attitude that she was ready to rip his head off.

The Glutton spider and Lentina duo hoped to initially target the exceedingly wealthy and fashion-conscious female Messimy dwarfs who lived nearby. Despite supposedly being 50-50 partners, the distribution of work was divided between the two of them as follows: Hairy would spin the outfits, while Hildegard would do everything else – including dyeing and decorating them with thousands of sequins, sales and marketing, processing of orders, shop layout and window display, sweeping and cleaning, payment of accounts... and on and on.

Hildegard had discovered that they could overcome the problem of the stickiness of Hairy's web-threading by soaking the finished garments in fresh hot water for a few days.

' _Two_ dresses in _five_ days!' laughed Fluffel. 'I would have killed him by now!'

'Me too!' agreed Sked. 'I would have already stomped him underfoot like this!' He lifted one of his enormous, size-20 feet to knee height and then slammed it down hard. The ground shook.

'No, you wouldn't, Sked!' laughed Hildegard. Nonetheless, the image of orange goo splattering everywhere filled her mind with a surprisingly happy inner calm. 'You are far too gentle and forgiving for that sort of thing.'

'I suppose,' conceded Sked.

'Nevertheless,' continued Fluffel, 'you need to confront him on his laziness, Hildegard!'

'I am planning to have stern words with him later today,' replied Hildegard. 'Unless his attitude changes dramatically, we will be parting ways.'

'Good for you!' exclaimed Fluffel. 'I guess that means you won't be joining Sked and me later today.'

'What are the two of you doing later today?' enquired Hildegard. 'We are going to plant some more Gold Tree seeds,' replied Fluffel. 'Along those banks of the new stream that have already been completed.'

'It's only a _possibly_ at this stage, Fluffel!' smiled Sked. 'It just depends on whether or not I manage to finish painting my allocation of houses early enough. I have five entire exteriors to complete today.'

'Oh!' sighed Fluffel with great disappointment in his puppy-dog eyes. 'I thought it was a definite arrangement.'

'I wouldn't worry, Fluffel,' smiled Hildegard reassuringly. 'Sked also...'

Her train of thought was interrupted mid-sentence as Hairy suddenly came scuttling past. He was in hot pursuit of a large Murd fly and was shooting webs in rapid succession, but with absolutely no accuracy.

'As I was saying,' continued Hildegard, with extra emphasis on key words, 'Sked also knows the meaning of _hard work_ and will no doubt finish his chores well ahead of _schedule_!... Unlike _others_ I know... _bone lazy others_!' Hildegard stared directly at Hairy as she spoke. Although not the world's most intelligent spider, Hairy was perceptive enough to realise that Hildegard was having a direct dig at him. The deeply offended Glutton spider did not even bother swallowing his mouthful of Murd flies before responding venomously. Pieces of fly were expelled out of his mouth with great gusto as he began his tirade. As if trying to understand him through a mouthful of flies was not challenging enough, those listening also had to contend with his severe lisp – which resulted in him pronouncing almost _all_ of his letter "S's" and "Z's" as "Th's" and _some_ of his letter "R's" as "W's". At times, deciphering what he was saying could be as challenging as trying to solve one of those cryptic puzzles.

'Were you weferring to _me_ , Hildegard, when you thaid, " _bone lathy otherth_!" in thuch an aggweththive tone? I am deeply offended by—'

'Yes, Hairy. I was referring to _you!_ ' shouted Hildegard bitterly over the top of him. Her shimmering blue scales looked poised to explode. 'And quite frankly, I don't give two hoots if you are deeply offended!'

'Why mutht you be tho cwuel and nathty, Hildegard?' shouted Hairy. For extra effect, he burst into tears.

'You can stop the melodramatics right now, Hairy! I should never have agreed to go into partnership with you. The grand opening of our high-end-fashion studio is less than a month away, and all that you've managed to spin so far are _two_ dresses! A measly t _wo_ dresses in _five_ days, Hairy! We are going to need considerably more than _two_ dresses!'

'Firthtly, _Hildegard_ ,' screamed Hairy, 'I have thpun _four_ dweththes tho far, not two, ath you are wrongly and unfairly thuggethting. And thecondly—'

'Please, you threw a massive temper tantrum,' interrupted Hildegard, 'and tore the other two perfectly good dresses into hundreds of pieces! So they no longer count – unless you plan on selling the shredded pieces. They _apparently_ were not good enough for "Mr Fussy-boots". You then cried and sulked and moped about for an entire day. All you managed to do was eat!'

'How cwuel of you, Hildegard! How vewwy cwuel! They were tewwible dweththes, and you know it! They looked nothing like thith mathterpiethe!'

He pointed to the flamboyant, kitsch, sparkling sequin outfit that currently adorned his pumpkin shaped body and each of its 30 enormous limbs. The trim was lined with distastefully colourful beaded tassels.

'Nonsense, Hairy, they were perfectly good dresses. Besides, you could have just made the necessary adjustments. You did not have to rip them up so viciously!'

'You jutht don't get it, Hildegard!' countered Hairy in the most patronising of tones. 'You are in the pwethenthe of a highly talented _artitht_! I have vewwy high thtandardth and expectathionth. If you wanted a wun-of-the-mill, average, mathth-producing dweththmaker (He rolled his eyes at her for good measure), you thould have gone into partnerthip with one of thothe Dwudger wormth!'

Hairy's mouth salivated as he thought about the delicious Drudgers. He was always easily distracted by food-related daydreams.

'But—' continued Hildegard. She got no further because Hairy cut her off. He was on a roll.

'But nothing!' he shouted. 'Artithtic dethign taketh time, Hildegard. It cannot be wushed! I have to wait pathiently for new inthpirathional ideath to enter my head.'

'But—' tried Hildegard again.

'I'm not finithed thpeaking!' screamed Hairy and waved her away indignantly. The beaded tassels clanged together like noisy maracas. 'You need to underthtand that each drethth that emergeth from my talented handth ith a one-off _Haiwy_ original!'

'But—' she tried again.

'I'm thtill not finithed thpeaking, Hildegard! You are pwiveledged to be in the pwethenthe of an artithtic geniuth, and yet you choothe to tweat me with tho little wespect! Without me, you have nothing! I'm your meal ticket!'

'If you are my meal ticket, I will starve to death!' screamed Hildegard.

'How vewwy, vewwy cwuel!' screamed Hairy and burst into tears. His flamingo-pink lips wobbled like a tightrope walker who was about to fall. 'Your negative energy ith hampewing me in my attemptth to create mathterpietheth... I thimply cannot deal with the conthtant preththure, Hildegard! Pleathe, you're thlowly killing me!' He pounded several limbs into the turf, for added dramatic effect.

'Enough with the melodramatics, Hairy!' shouted Hildegard without an ounce of sympathy in her voice. 'In truth, you have been sitting on your backside, all day, every day, eating Murd flies! I think you are just lazy! Pure and simple, _lazy_. You don't like hard work!'

'How cwuel of you, Hildegard!' cried the distraught Hairy. 'Take that comment back! Take it back wight now... Or... Or... Or I'll thtop working!'

'As opposed to what?' laughed Hildegard wryly.

'What do you mean?' screamed Hairy, and in the process, accidentally expelled three Murd Flies that he had only just put into his mouth. They fell into a highly poisonous bucket of yellow Plenny-flower dye. There was therefore no way that they could be retrieved. 'Damn, thtinking, flaming, fiddle thticks!' he swore bitterly. 'What an abtholute wathte!'

'Please watch your language and tone of voice, Hairy!' said Sked calmly. 'You are in the presence of a lady!'

'Thowwy about my foul language, Hildegard!' cried Hairy. 'I don't normally thwear, but I am having a weally, weally, weally bad day!'

'It's ok, Hairy,' replied Hildegard. 'In truth, your lack of work ethic bothers me far more than your swearing. Instead of taking half-hour lunch breaks between hours of working, like the rest of us working-class folk, you take half-hour work breaks between hours of lunching! As soon as your indigestion clears, you drop tools and start stuffng your face again. This needs to stop right now, Hairy!'

'You are wight, Hildegard!' replied Hairy with a seemingly new found vigour and enthusiasm. 'As of tomowwow, you will thee a completely new Haiwy – a focused Haiwy, a hard-working Haiwy, a—'

'As of tomorrow!' shouted Hildegard. 'It is only 12 noon, Hairy! There are still five working hours left today. I would like you to start working hard right now!'

'You... you... you mutht be joking!' screamed Hairy. 'I am emotionally thpent wight now. And I have a weally thore tummy from all the thouting. Pleathe let me leave work early today and rest! Let me wecover from the trauma of our howwible argument and tomowwow you will have a star performer – I _promithe_!'

Hildegard sighed and nodded. 'I'll give you one last chance Hairy! But you had better arrive on time tomorrow. This habit of arriving two hours late and finishing an hour early needs to stop!'

'I will arrive early tomowwow and leave late, I pwomise!' With that, he went scuttling off to eat and sleep for the rest of the day.

'You are a real softie, Hildegard,' teased Fluffel. 'I can bet you anything that he will arrive late for work tomorrow.'

'I agree!' laughed Sked.

'I guess only time will tell,' smiled Hildegard. 'Anyway, where were we?'

'You were saying that you are certain that Sked will finish painting his allocation of houses today, ahead of schedule, because he has a good work ethic,' continued Fluffel.

'That's right!' smiled Hildegard.

'Thanks, Hildegard!' blushed Sked. 'I appreciate your confidence in me.'

'Can you guys believe that all of the houses have now been completed?' exclaimed Fluffel. 'And that some are already being painted. What colours will you be using today, Sked?'

'Ovrill orange, blustal blue, furple purple, fink pink and spreen green.' As he spoke, his aquamarine eyes surveyed the thousands of brownish-yellow mud brick, double-storey houses nearby, and imagined how spectacular they would all look once painted.

'Awesome!' exclaimed Hildegard. 'And I believe that construction begins tomorrow, on the School of Hope. It's all happening!'

In the distance, Sked caught sight of Dementia. The ageing supreme Soul wizard was staring upwards into the clearing purple skies. Sked incorrectly assumed that Dementia was looking at the 23 magnificent rainbows that still stood testimony to the fallen Sugar fairies. He had no idea that Dementia was in fact nervously scouring the skies for any signs of the _supposedly_ extinct Cabats. More about this later!

Down at the newly created stream, the orphans and Friendlie kids entertained themselves by watching the massive 100-metre long, 30-metre thick Wolly worms finish the final two kilometres of excavation work. All the deep boring and tunnelling had already been completed and they were now simply widening out and compacting the edges.

Their drill-bit heads, corkscrew bodies, and grater-like skins easily churned through the soft, crumbling, tangerine-coloured soil. Given that they were no longer venturing underground, they had kindly offered to allow any willing kids to come along for the ride on their enormous backs.

Over a hundred excited kids gratefully accepted the offer and climbed aboard. A few adults who were charged with supervising the kids, strapped them on tightly with enormous pieces of thick rope, provided by the Wolly worms.

The kids laughed and screamed with delight as their unconventional, vibrating rides set off at blistering speed. Thick gluggy mud was churned up and drenched all of the adults watching on, from head to toe. Of course, this was just an added bonus for the kids.

Further downstream, the famous Soul wizard rainbow-maker, Romulus Bowrain, was about to start construction work on a magnificent rainbow bridge that would allow safe access from one side of the new wide-spanning stream to the other. Its construction had been commissioned by the Sugar fairies and Soul wizards of Flush Fleas as a very generous 'housewarming' gift to the citizens of the Land of Hope.

Romulus began by removing the lid from what appeared to be a sophisticated chemistry set. It had vials of colourful liquids and crystals, test tubes, filament papers, Bunsen burners, and some objects and tools that are simply too strange to describe. He gently removed seven test tubes and seven vials of colourful liquid; each vibrant liquid was a different colour of the rainbow – red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. He was about to start placing each test tube 50 metres apart when he was abruptly interrupted by a high-pitched voice.

'Excuse me, distinguished Soul wizard sir!' smiled Willowood shyly. 'I hope you don't mind me asking, but what are you doing?'

Willowood and Violeena had been watching on with fascination. Technically speaking, I should now be referring to them as 'King Willowood' and 'Queen Violeena' because they had recently tied the knot in a low-key ceremony hosted by their neighbours, the Golfibobs. Only Dementia had attended. He gave Willowood away and King Luticious gave Violeena away. Proof of their matrimony took the form of the matching gold and silver sacred Elkwoodian crowns that now adorned both of their heads.

'I am about to start creating the new rainbow bridge that will connect one side of the stream with the other; for those who cannot fly across,' responded Romulus, without looking up to see who he was speaking to. He was way too deep in thought for that.

'Of course – you must be the famous rainbow maker!' exclaimed Violeena joyously. 'They said you would be coming today.'

'Err, yes. The name is Romulus Bowrain,' smiled Romulus generously and lifted his head to see who owned this honey-sweet voice. Only now did he realise that he had been addressing a king and queen so disrespectfully. 'Please forgive my rudeness, Your Majesty and Your Highness...' he mumbled. 'I had no idea—'

'Its fine!' smiled Willowood. 'We prefer to be treated like everyone else anyway. We understand that you are hard at work and apologise for interrupting.'

'No need to apologise! I am honoured by your interest in what I am doing.'

'Do you mind if we watch you work?' asked Violeena. 'We promise not to interfere.'

'Not at all!' replied Romulus. 'In fact, if you two are not too busy, I might get the both of you to help.'

'It would be our honour!' replied Willowood with great excitement and enthusiasm.

'Good!' smiled Romulus. 'But you will need to pay close attention to what I tell you. I have no desire to cut either you or your radiantly beautiful queen out of the rainbow!'

'Understood!' laughed Willowood. Violeena blushed and then nodded in agreement.

'Good... Right, Your Majesty, you take—'

'Simply refer to us as Willowood and Violeena!' interrupted Willowood. 'No need for formalities.'

'Fine. Willowood, you take these four test tubes, and Violeena, you take these three. I want you (he pointed to Willowood) to place your test tubes approximately 50 metres apart, working your way downstream, and I want you (he pointed to Violeena) to do the same thing with your test tubes, only working your way upstream. If you both do your jobs correctly, I will have seven test tubes spaced evenly, close to 50 metres apart.'

'Why such a large distance between each test tube?' asked Willowood.

'No questions right now, please!' said Romulus politely, but sternly. 'My apologies!' Willowood then set off in his awkward, gangly-kneed, bum-shaking style. Violeena, equally awkward, set off in the opposite direction.

Despite having one more test tube to place than Violeena, Willowood's competitive spirit kicked into gear. He was determined to return back to Romulus before she did. In his haste, he accidentally tripped and went head first into the mud-slushy turf. Embarrassed, he stood back up with mud-coated face and hair, and a bruised ego.

'Slow down, Willowood!' laughed Romulus. 'I don't want you accidentally breaking any of my special test tubes.'

Once the test tubes had been set out correctly, Romulus gave Violeena the red, orange, yellow, and green vials of coloured liquid, and Willowood, the blue, indigo and violet.

'I would like you to fill each test tube with a different colour liquid. Just remember to first remove the rubber stopper before you start pouring. And make sure you pour accurately. And make sure to move out of the way quickly.'

Both Willowood and Violeena wondered why they needed to move out of the way quickly. The answer became blatantly clear the moment they each emptied their first coloured vial.

The red and blue liquids started to bubble over with a continuous flow of frothy foam that hardened in midair to the consistency of sponge, and fell to the ground. Despite each test tube only being tiny, they kept producing more and more of this spongy froth.

By the time both elves had reached their second test tubes and poured their second colours (orange and indigo) a red hill and a blue hill could already be seen – and yet the spongy froth continued to spill. Soon, seven colourful, 20-metre-high spongy hills emerged. They looked magical and surreal.

Romulus then used the laser-like tip of his wand to cut away large sections from each of the spongy hills and began skilfully carving them into perfectly arced sections of rainbow – like massive pieces of Lego. With Romulus' permission, Willowood and Violeena had great fun jumping from one section of spongy rainbow to another. Romulus could clearly see that these two elves were more than just boyfriend and girlfriend, husband and wife, king and queen; they were soul-mates.

Once all the rainbow sections were complete and had set to the correct consistency, Romulus planned on asking Willowood and Violeena if they would mind helping him join them together over the stream. Despite each section being as strong as nails, they weighed little more than polystyrene and were therefore easy to manipulate into place. Still, it was tricky work. Each piece had to be glued together using a tool that resembled an oversized ventolin pump, which discharged misty puffs of an extremely powerful bonding agent. Should one of the segments accidentally collapse whilst being joined, he would rather _they_ go tumbling into the stream than _him_. He smiled at the thought.

In the background, the powerful, echoic sound of metal pounding on metal could be heard. It was thanks to Frother. With the encouragement and financial backing of both King Mullimus and King Flambay, the kind-hearted Doolan dragon had decided to open an ironsmith shop. He was currently receiving first-rate iron forging lessons from several of King Mullimus' finest Burlian ironworkers, and precision flame blowing (and heat oscillation) lessons from two of King Flambay's finest Doolan dragon flame blowers. All agreed that Frother was a model student and an absolute pleasure to work with. He received compliment after compliment, and always responded with the same humble, 'Sh-sh-shucks... Y-Y-You are t-t-too k-k-kind!' stutter, and then continued working.

He was picking up the new skills exceptionally quickly and showed an enormous amount of natural talent. The Burlian ironworkers were amazed at the brute power that he could exert with the quick whip-like downwards motions of his powerful tail. The last 20 centimetres of his tail was covered over by a specially designed thick metal sheath with a flattened base. It resembled the head of an oversized sledgehammer and weighed over 50 kilograms. It allowed him to turn thick metal rods into wafer-thin sheet metal in record time.

He had recently presented Dementia with a beautifully crafted iron kettle. Dementia was amazed at the craftsmanship and really treasured it. Frother's shop was due to open in about a week's time (coinciding with the grand opening of the town mall) and he already had a backlog of orders. There was a huge demand for agricultural and domestic implements cast from Holidian iron and other cheaper derivatives.

Frother realised that he would probably need to employ an apprentice of his own very soon. He had set up a makeshift shed in one of the vacant fields for the time being. The kids thoroughly enjoyed watching him practice and crowded around the shed. They were fascinated by the variety of hammers, anvils, fullers and pliers. They were mesmerised by the glowing hot metal and the intense heat of the volcanic rock furnaces. They loved watching the sparks fly as cold metal smashed down against hot metal with tremendous force, and listening to the sizzling sound of boiling hot metal cooling off in the water-filled slack-tubs. They always cheered loudly when Frother would blow flames out of his mouth for jobs that required precision welding, whilst at the same time, pounding metal rods with his sledgehammer tipped tail. It was like watching a well executed circus trick.

They all begged to become his apprentice. This would make the selection process all the more difficult. He would have loved to have had someone of Sked's brute strength onboard, but appreciated that the gentle giant had his own calling in life.

He was most pleased, nevertheless, that Hairy was already engaged in his own high-end female-fashion business venture with Hildegard. It meant that he was under no obligation whatsoever to offer the pumpkin-shaped Glutton spider any work. He could think of nothing worse than working alongside the lazy, temperamental whinge-pot. It was hard enough simply _living_ with him! He was not sure if Hildegard was brave, naive, or stark-raving-mad, _willingly_ going into partnership with Hairy. It was like signing one's own death warrant.

Sked had managed to complete his house-painting jobs in record time and was now enjoying planting his beloved Gold tree seeds along the sections of the new stream's wide banks that had already been completed. He planned to watch these Gold trees grow; he planned to nurture them like a proud parent. He could not wait for them to take root, sprout to the surface, and then begin growing tall. He longed for the day when he would be able to watch their gold leaves fade to silver in autumn, and then bronze as winter approached. Given that these magnificent trees grow more than two metres each year (in their first five years of life), he would not have to wait too long.

Fluffel was happily helping Sked. They were a very strange looking couple indeed – the ten-foot-tall permed giant and the fluffy soccer ball. Mind you, the light drizzle had soaked Fluffel's coat, making him look more like a drowned rat than a soccer ball. The enthusiastic little fellow enjoyed Sked's company immensely; a little drizzle was not going to ruin their time together.

Sked was using his enormous toes to scrape holes into the wet, muddy soil. He was then dropping a single seed into each hole and kicking back the soil to cover the holes. Fluffel was then compacting the soil around each seed by jumping up and down repeatedly. From a distance, it looked like he was having a temper tantrum.

As they worked, they happily and freely talked about a range of topics. It was a real treat to be able to talk without having to watch their backs or censor what they said. Their discussions were filled with happy thoughts. The constant jumping up and down made Fluffel's bullet-train voice also sound wobbly. It was a real challenge for Sked to decipher each utterance; still, at least he had the patience to do so. Any lesser mortal may have succumbed to frustration and compacted Fluffel!

Whilst they enjoyed their chat, the petite gothic Sugar fairy, Majika, was thoroughly enjoying performing a makeover on her new boyfriend, the young Soul wizard Zoola.

'The black hair colouring looks _fantastic_ on you, Zoola!' she smiled adoringly. 'Now all we need to do is dye your robe black.'

'What!' exclaimed Zoola. 'You never said anything about dying my robe black!'

'You can't have black hair and white robes, Zoola!' shouted Majika. 'It clashes!'

'You've got black hair and white wings!' argued Zoola.

'Fine!' conceded Majika. 'I'll dye my wings black if you agree to dye your robes black.'

'Deal!' replied Zoola.

'Good, now, whilst your robe is soaking in the dye, let's discuss your nose!' smiled Majika.

'What's wrong with my nose!' shouted Zoola.

If you recall, Majika had made a mental note that she would get him to make his nose a little less pointy as soon as they started dating. After all, Soul wizards like Zoola were made of Bend rubber and could mould and modify their faces and bodies as they saw fit. It looked like the gothic couple were about to have their first domestic dispute.

Meantime, the thousands of soccer-ball-shaped Coolaboohs and broad-bean-shaped Lentinas, who had recently migrated here on the backs of the Doolan dragons, were enjoying their new lives in this peace-loving place and settling in nicely. They were slowly adjusting to no longer being under the subservient and aggressive rule of the Riboltians. But the absolute freedom, safety and self-determination was still hard for many to fathom; old habits were hard to break.

Despite now being totally safe, many Coolaboohs still walked around cautiously and on-edge, expecting to be kicked in the bum and sent sailing through the air, any moment. Likewise, many Lentinas still responded to voluntary requests for assistance from Wertheimer (Fart-Face) and his team of Project Managers by cowering and compliantly replying, 'Yes Master!' They had to be continually reminded that they were no longer slaves and could choose whether or not they wished to assist.

Just for the record, Hairy failed to turn up for work early the next day (despite his solemn promise to Hildegard). In fact, he failed to turn up at all! Instead, he asked Frother to inform Hildegard that he had not slept a wink all night and was simply too exhausted to work today.

'B-B-But I h-h-eard y-you sn-sn-snoring all n-n-night!' exclaimed Frother.

'Err, um, well... That wath coughing you heard Fwother, tewwible, tewwible coughing... I have a vewwy, vewwy itchy throat at the moment!'

### CHAPTER 2

### PESSIMISM

Since having discovered the distinctive bunches of grape-like Cabat feathers scattered around the spot where the evil Traizon's missing memorial diamond should have been resting, Dementia kept having the same frighteningly-real, recurring nightmare. The contents of the dream were so terrifying that he dreaded going to sleep and fought as hard as he could to stay awake.

The nightmare always started off fairly pleasantly and then descended into absolute terror. It started with Willowood's outstandingly accurate slingshot strike that sent Traizon's memorial diamond hurtling out of the tainted Soul wizard's glowing soul and towards the rapidly approaching, arm-spinning Sked. It then showed Sked's enormous right forearm connecting with the stone and sending it hurtling more than 80 metres through the top storey window of the Orphanage of Love. He would then see Traizon and his evil wand, Evooli, go up in a puff of smoke, and the allies start celebrating the victory and mourning their losses.

Whilst this was taking place, he would suddenly spot a group of about six pitch-black Cabats stealthily sail through the top storey window of the orphanage. He would vividly see their gaunt, angry, Sphynx cat-like faces and their triple layered, razor-sharp, bat-like wings. 'How can this be?' he would think to himself and immediately set chase after them, vaulting up the large flight of stairs, three at a time, towards the top storey of the orphanage. 'They were meant to have become extinct over 400 years ago!' By the time he arrives at the top, the resurrected Cabats have already left the scene with Traizon's memorial diamond.

Life then progresses fairly pleasantly, until one day, out of the blue, a massive black vibrating cloud descends on the Land of Hope and casts a shadow of darkness. As the noisy cloud comes closer and closer towards the ground, it becomes clear to Dementia that it is not in fact a cloud, but rather millions of Cabats swarmed tightly together. The noisy vibrations are being caused by their fast flapping wings. They suddenly break up into hundreds of lethal squadrons and swoop down on the unsuspecting, peace-loving citizens. They use their razor-sharp, paralysis-venom-coated wing tips to slash the peaceful citizens to smithereens and render them all temporarily paralysed from the head down. They then move around casually, killing one motionless victim after another with lethal bites from their highly poisonous, sharp fangs.

Surrounded by another squadron, Traizon's Flexan bird form then suddenly descends and heads towards the motionless Willowood and Violeena. 'These two are mine!' he laughs evilly. As Dementia runs towards the helpless young Elkwoodian elves, his path is suddenly blocked by a solid wall of Cabats – a wall so thick that he is unable to penetrate it in time.

Dementia would always awake from this hideous dream, the very moment Traizon begins using Evooli to slowly incinerate Willowood and Violeena. Despite logic telling Dementia that this is only a dream – _Traizon is dead and cannot be resurrected_ – he remained worried stiff because Soul wizard dreams as vivid and persistent as this, usually served to forewarn them of impending doom. Besides, the mystery of the abandoned Cabat feathers and Traizon's missing memorial diamond remained unsolved.

Nothing made sense! Cabats had been extinct for more than 400 years. Therefore, either these feathers were very impressive fakes – designed to deliberately mislead and conceal the real identity of the thief behind Traizon's missing memorial diamond – or the Cabats had, in fact, somehow been reincarnated, and had reason to steal Traizon's memorial diamond. If these "Flying Assassins" were indeed circling the skies once again, his current level of trepidation would need to be upgraded to outright _dread_!

At this point in time, the other citizens of the Land of Hope remained blissfully unaware of Traizon's missing memorial diamond and the discovery of the Cabat feathers close by. Whilst Dementia realised that he had a moral obligation to inform everyone of this new potential danger, he was also very wary of causing unnecessary fear and panic. After all, what if the grape-like feathers in his pockets were indeed nothing more than impressive fakes?

He was planning to conduct an experiment shortly that would conclusively confirm or deny the authenticity of these feathers. If they proved to be genuine, he would inform his closest allies immediately, and then set off in haste towards Flush Fleas and the home of the undisputed expert on the subject of Cabats – the famous Soul wizard, Fuzzard. If they proved to be fake, he would be no closer to solving the mystery of who had stolen Traizon's memorial diamond and why, but could at least put the dreaded Cabat theory to rest.

For the experiment, Dementia required a jarful of Murd flies. He had considered asking Hairy to help him catch the flies, but realised that the pumpkin spider would probably whinge about being inconvenienced or make some sort of pathetic excuse – you know, that he had run out of webbing, or stubbed a few toes, or had a splitting headache; anything to avoid helping. So instead, Dementia decided to use Old Faithful like a powerful stun-gun. Hairy, of course, spotted Dementia 'stealing' some of his beloved Murd flies, and threw the mother of all dummy-spits. He accused the ageing Soul wizard of trespassing on _his_ turf and depriving him of his daily sustenance.

'Thame on you, Dementia! Thame! Thame! Thame!' protested Hairy. 'Thith ith _my_ Murd fly tewwitory! Find your own Murd fly tewwitory! If you choothe to compete with little-old-me, be it on your head when I _thtarve_ to death.'

Dementia was so frustrated with Hairy's aggressive tone that he was tempted to turn the disrespectful Glutton spider into a Mud slug. But purely out of respect for Frother, he showed restraint. He assured Hairy that this intrusion into his territory was a once-off and would not be repeated. Instead of being satisfied with this response and zipping his lips, though, Hairy sensed weakness and decided to go for the jugular. He demanded to know why Dementia needed this batch. To his thinking, if all went well, he may even manage to seize this unauthorised cargo for himself. It would sure save him a lot of time and energy.

'I could tell you why I need them, Hairy,' replied a seething Dementia, 'but then I would need to kill you!' The ageing wizard had a look of murder on his face and had Old Faithful poised to strike.

'It'th ok, Dementia,' gulped Hairy uneasily. 'I guethth I don't weally need to know.'

Dementia left the nosey parker Glutton spider shaking in his glistening, Shimmer stone-encrusted boots and retired to the privacy of his bedroom. He securely closed his bedroom windows and door and made the room as airtight as possible by blocking the gap under the door with his other two robes. He then removed one of the distinctive-looking, grape-like bunches of Cabat feathers from his enormous right pocket. If you recall, he had found several bunches of these foreboding feathers scattered around the top storey floor of the Orphanage of Love – close to where Traizon's missing memorial diamond should have been resting.

He then removed the lid from the jar of Murd flies and set the droning pack free. He squeezed down as hard as he could on the entire bunch of grape-like feathers, in an attempt to pop a few of them. If they were genuine Cabat feathers, each burst pod would release a toxic gas ten times more powerful than cyanide. It was one of the Cabats' well-known lethal defence mechanisms. Whilst the lethal gas would have no impact on him (on account of his form being synthetic), it would kill the Murd flies within milliseconds.

'Stubborn buggers!' he shouted, as a number of individual latex-like pods bulged outwards under the pressure of his clenched fist but failed to pop. In sheer frustration, he yelled out a command that turned Old Faithful's tip into a needle-sharp point. He then began popping the pods one by one.

His gravest fears were realised as every last Murd fly died instantly. There was no question in his mind now, as to the authenticity of the feathers; but _how_ had the Cabats become reincarnated, by _whom_ and _why_? Furthermore, of what use would Traizon's memorial diamond be to them, or their boss, anyway? It was nothing more than a lifeless sparkling stone with a motionless holographic image of the dead tormenter deep within. Memorial diamonds were nothing more than glorified urns... weren't they?

Dementia shuddered at the thought of the mass panic that would sweep through the Land of Hope if news of these feathers were to become common knowledge. Hope would fade rapidly and be replaced with dread. It would create outright pandemonium and eat into everyone's spirits like a cancerous growth! For every living creature between the territories of Flush Fleas and the Land of Hope knew only too well the ghastly history of the Cabats. It was a critical part of this sector of the galaxy's history and a compulsory component of all school curriculums. Volume 120967 of the famous Telvick Galactic history books makes the following entry into relation to Cabats:

This unsavoury mixing of the 'six-winged paralysis-bat' with the legendary 'poison-fanged cat', was carried out by the evil Sugar fairy – Tishy gnome mix, Pugnacious, during the 'Time of the Black Vibrating Clouds'. Under the control of Pugnacious, the Cabats were responsible for the brutal and callous deaths of thousands of innocent creatures. Were it not for the oldest and wisest of all Flushflean wizards, Fuzzard, and his beloved Dragon dogs, Pugnacious and the Cabats would probably still be in existence and creating havoc.

In desperation, Dementia called upon Old Faithful to create a 'Return of Stolen Goods' spell. The spell compelled anyone who had stolen anything from the Land of Hope within the last two weeks to return the stolen goods immediately. Unfortunately though, the spell could only cover a radius of about one thousand kilometres. Therefore, unless the thieving Cabats were still within this radius of the Land of Hope, the spell would have no impact on them.

The spell compelled one young orphan girl to return half a dozen Guffy eggs and a bowl of Murkleberries that she had stolen from the orphanage kitchen. The embarrassed young girl was planning to create a jar of Majika's famous black stodgy makeup for herself. She idolised the petite gothic Sugar fairy and wanted to look more like her. Dementia lectured her on the wrongs of stealing but allowed her to keep these items. The only other thief to emerge was Hairy. He sheepishly returned a metal pot that he had allegedly 'borrowed' (without permission) from one his neighbours' houses to make his favourite fly and grasshopper head soup.

'Shame on you, Hairy!' scolded Dementia.

'Honethtly, Dementia,' cried Hairy, 'I thwear on my thpider-god and all that ith good that I wath planning to return thith pot to itth wightful owner tomowwow!'

Unfortunately, the Cabat or Cabats that had stolen Traizon's memorial diamond failed to surface. This meant that Traizon's memorial diamond was now more than 1000 kilometres from the Land of Hope and snugly in their evil grasp. This was an absolute disaster! He had no idea where to start looking for the Cabats or the missing memorial diamond.

Thus, it was not surprising that Dementia spent the next few days introspectively pondering and the next few nights tossing and turning. What was he to do? How was he going to explain to the Friendlies that Traizon's memorial diamond had gone missing? They were expecting for it to be imbedded into one of the enormous glass pavers that would adorn the main street of the new town mall. That way, they could now walk all over the creature that had once walked all over them. It would remain as a constant reminder that good always prevails over evil.

It was scheduled to be laid in place under much pomp and ceremony in less than a fortnight. The closure that they so desperately sought and needed would have been cruelly snatched from them. It would be like coming to the end of a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle only to find that the last piece is missing. He dared not even think about the fear and mayhem that would break out if they were to also discover that its likely abductor were Cabats.

The thick glass paver that would house Traizon's memorial diamond had already been fired by Frother and his helpers. Wertheimer would no doubt request the sparkling stone very soon. Time was of the essence if Dementia was to successfully track it down and retrieve it, and solve the mystery of the Cabats.

On the Friday that I was due to be picked up, Dementia made a decision to make a hasty trip back to Flush Fleas to visit the oldest and wisest of all Soul wizards, Fuzzard – or 'Old Fuzzy', as he was more affectionately known. Nobody knew more about Cabats, and how to destroy them, than this wonderful, charismatic, 700-year-old and his amazing Dragon dog pets.

It was time for Dementia to confide in those closest to him. He summoned Willowood, Frother, Sked and Majika. Despite all four nearly jumping out of their skins when he revealed the bunches of Cabat feathers and advised that Traizon's memorial diamond was missing, they insisted on accompanying him on his quest to recapture it and destroy the Cabats. They were loyal friends and only too happy to share the burden.

'I ap-ap-apologise D-D-Dementia,' stuttered Frother, 'b-but I w-w-will n-need to br-br-bring H-H-Hairy a-a-along. I f-f-feel resp-onsible f-f-for h-h-him and can-can-cannot l-l-leave him a-a-alone h-h-here!'

'I understand, Frother,' smiled Dementia graciously and clenched his teeth.

'And what about our Earth friend, Alex McKenzie?' asked Willowood. 'He is expecting us to pick him up at 2pm today.'

After much discussion and debate, it was agreed that the trip to visit Fuzzard would also be a good opportunity to introduce me to the Land of Flush Fleas. After all, there was no place safer than Flush Fleas at this point in time – or so they presumed. With a lingering tinge of reluctance, Dementia accepted this arrangement; on the proviso that I would be returned to Earth prior to the commencement of the hunt for the Cabats and Traizon's missing memorial diamond.

Dementia was midway through reciting the teleportation spell (to Old Faithful) that would transport him and Willowood to my cave in Tidley, when Willowood suddenly interrupted.

'Excuse me, Dementia!' he smiled nervously.

'What is it Willowood?' shouted Dementia gruffly. 'It had better be _critically_ important because I was halfway through reciting the teleportation spell! Now I am going to have to start over again. Do you _realise_ how irritating that is?'

'M-M-My sincere apologies, Dementia!' stuttered Willowood. 'N-Never mind. It's probably not that important anyway.'

In truth, what Willowood was about to mention (but didn't) was _extremely_ important.

### CHAPTER 3

### JOURNEY TO FLUSH FLEAS

Dementia, Willowood, and Violeena arrived at my well-concealed cave just after 2pm on Friday 3 February 2007.

Exactly a week had passed since I had last seen them. Dementia still looked very disturbed. Whatever was bothering him last week, obviously remained unresolved. His mop of white Wobbit hair was uncombed and matted, and his beard and robes looked like a smorgasbord of unfinished meals. His right foot had been burned black and the melted individual toes had merged together like strips of overlapping plasticine.

'What happened there?' I asked and pointed downwards.

'Ah, yes. Another domestic incident!' sighed Dementia. 'Serves me right for trying to dry my wet toes in the fireplace... Got a little too close to the flames. Silly thing to do!'

Willowood and Violeena looked amazing together. Both were wearing half-length capes and magnificent matching crowns. Before I could enquire as to the meaning behind the matching crowns, Dementia announced the exciting news.

'Willowood and Violeena are now officially a married couple – King Willowood and Queen Violeena!'

'Congratulations to both of you!' I exclaimed. 'Wow... King Willowood and Queen Violeena. Totally _awesome_!'

'Thank you!' replied a beaming Willowood. 'But don't you dare address us as "king" or "queen". We are still just regular kids like you.'

'No worries!' I smiled. I could never picture myself being married at their age. But then again, my thinking may have been quite different if Hanna and I were the last of our species. Although, there is a good chance that Hanna would _still_ reject me.

Willowood's crown was made of solid gold and had what appeared to be some form of ancient hieroglyphics perfectly engraved into its surface. The engravings were about five millimetres deep and a centimetre wide. Violeena had an identical solid-silver crown with the same hieroglyphics. However, the hieroglyphics on hers were embossed and protruded outwards about five millimetres and were also about a centimetre wide.

There was no doubt in my mind that the raised letters on Violeena's crown would have fitted perfectly into the depressed letters on Willowood's. Did this have some significance? The individual letters looked something like this:

Curiosity got the better of me. 'I hope you don't mind me asking,' I enquired, 'but what do the matching symbols on the two crowns mean?'

'Both are written in the most ancient of Elkwoodian tongues!' smiled Willowood proudly. 'Both say, "The most powerful weapon is..."'

'Is what?' I asked impatiently. I absolutely loved riddles and general trivia.

'I don't know!' replied Willowood. 'It is said that the answer will only be revealed when the two crowns become one again. Only then will they spell out the answer.'

'Why don't you just put them together quickly and discover the answer?' I suggested rather flippantly. 'The suspense is killing me!' 'No!' said Dementia sternly. 'It is believed that the crowns will start to vibrate when the time is right for the answer to be revealed. Isn't that so Willowood?'

'That is correct Dementia.'

'But can't we just _try_ putting them together and see what happens?' I begged.

'Go for it then!' smiled Dementia. He already knew what would happen if one tried to do this. He wanted to teach me a lesson though, for not listening and being impulsive. Willowood and Violeena also knew what would happen and struggled to suppress their giggles. Their faces swelled like bulging hot-water-bottles. It was already too late to back down. Willowood and Violeena both handed me their crowns. As I tried to touch the two together, I was propelled across the cave with at least ten times more force than the massive electric shock I had received a few years ago when I accidentally placed a metal knife onto the glowing elements of our toaster at home. My body was now trembling like a leaf and my legs felt like jelly; my ginger hair looked statically charged, just like Willowood's and Violeena's.

'Right, Alex, enough messing around,' said Dementia nonchalantly. 'Please dust yourself off. We must get going right away. I have urgent personal business to attend to in Flush Fleas and I don't want to be late.'

Still half concussed, I wiped off the dust and feebly tried to stand back up – with about as much conviction as a newborn calf taking its very first awkward steps. 'What business do you have in Flush Fleas?' I mumbled and then crashed to the ground again.

'There are some things that you do not need to know at this point,' said Dementia contemplatively, 'and some things you do not _want_ to know at this point. I assure you!'

As he hoisted me back onto my feet, I felt a hot, radiant energy flow from his rubber hand through my entire body. I immediately felt totally reinvigorated. It was like I had just drunk an entire litre of Gatorade.

'Wow! Thank you!' I exclaimed. 'But how—'

'A wizard _never_ reveals his tricks!' smiled Dementia. 'Anyway...

because I will be preoccupied for most of the day, one of the other adult Soul wizards or Sugar Fairies will be charged with looking after the three of you today!'

'That's cool,' I replied. 'But will you have enough time to still get me home before 5pm?'

'I should,' continued Dementia. 'But if I am running late, I will instruct one of the other Soul wizards to get you back on time. So please don't worry!'

Dementia grabbed hold of Old Faithful and began a chant:

Flush Fleas please

Without delay

Where Sugar Fairies fly

And Wobbits play

Where Drudger worms create art

And Soul wizards... Um... Um... _Fart_

Dementia had undergone one of his ever more frequent mind-slips at precisely the wrong time and completely stuffed up the last line of the spell. I could not believe that the word 'fart' had come out of his mouth. The 'Powers That Be' absolutely hate it when Soul wizards stuff up simple spells (especially Soul wizards of his ilk). They often punish sloppy operators by sending them way off course, sometimes even to other dimensions. On this occasion, though, they took pity on Dementia and slogged him with a fairly lenient penalty.

A loud splash rang out as they landed us plonk in the middle of the translucent stream that gently meanders though the centre of Flush Fleas.

'Very funny, Powers That Be!' scoffed Dementia and looked up into the lime-green skies above.

We were all soaked to the bone. As my eyes adjusted to the lime-green skies and my brain recovered from the shock of being dunked, a picturesque landscape emerged. Thousands of magnificent Sugar Fruit trees blossomed everywhere. They were packed with Sugar Fruit canes. Their syrupy aroma dominated the air. All the grass was dark purple and lavender scented. Flowers of indescribable beauty and variety, sprouted wildly for as far as the eye could see. At even intervals along the stream, at least 20 magnificent-looking rainbow bridges could be seen. In the background, I could also see the beautiful Glem Mountain. Its millions of colourful Zophobian crystal veins shimmered in the sun and gave it a really surreal look.

Two Sugar fairies had obviously recently died; their stunning memorial rainbows decorated the skies. What a fantastic way to be remembered. I, on the other hand, could picture myself taking the form of a genuine, pig-skin footy when I die; not quite as romantic, I guess, but fitting nevertheless. Hey, as long as I get to hover over Princes Park — the old home ground of my beloved Carlton Blues footy team — I couldn't care if I even take the form of one of those disgusting-looking Scottish blood-sausages that my mother loves so much.

The thousands of Warpel wood and Zophobian crystal block houses gave the place a real mystical look. I could clearly see the enormous star-shaped crystal clad house that had once belonged to the Flishys. It stood out like a sore thumb against the humble, bended and twisted, crisscrossing stacks of pretzel-like structures that surrounded it.

As a result of Weezel Flishy's corrupt actions, the house had been confiscated by the Flushflean council and converted into an enormous playhouse/activities centre for the local Soul wizard and Sugar fairy children. The Flishys now also live in a humble Warpel wood structure. Despite this, Wandina still remains fairly 'up herself'!

Whilst there was no denying the beauty of the Flush Fleas landscape, the three _most important_ ingredients were missing.

'Where are all the Sugar fairies, Soul wizards, and Wobbits?' I enquired with great disappointment.

The place was eerily quiet and lifeless, like a ghost town. I had expected to see Sugar fairies joyously hooping and looping through the air, Soul wizards practicing their wand magic down below, and Wobbits playing joyfully with whoever was available. I expected our arrival to be greeted with much excitement and fuss. Where were all my Sugar fairy kisses, for goodness sake! I felt truly cheated. Not a single creature could be seen.

'I have no idea!' replied Dementia sombrely. There was real concern in his eyes. He anxiously pulled us all behind him as if he were some sort of protective shield and then blew loudly on his Hundoondi horn. Slowly, thousands of petite white-winged Sugar fairies dressed in colourful shades of pink and purple emerged, along with thousands of white-robed, Bend rubber Soul wizards, and hundreds of enormous snow-white Wobbits. Despite all being excited to see us, the Sugar fairies looked sad and weak, the Soul wizards looked worried and frustrated, and the Wobbits looked adorably confused. None uttered a single word. The deathly silence was really quite spooky. At least they were all alive and accounted for, I guess.

Soul wizards began pulling out chunks of the dark-purple, lavender-scented grass, and frantically carving messages into the clayey-orange soil with the tips of their wands. Sugar fairies began composing and then releasing glitter messages. They rose into the air and spelt out sentences. The Wobbits thought this sudden flurry of activity was some sort of game. Some excitedly tried to erase the Soul wizards' carved messages by dragging their enormous furry bums across the ground (like dogs de-worming) and scratching at them with their rubbery paws, whilst others jumped up as high as they could and chomped at the Sugar fairies glitter messages.

Despite the Wobbits managing to destroy many of these written communications, and the blustery weather conditions playing havoc with most of the floating glitter messages, enough survived (in some shape or form) for the general gist to come through loud and clear. Below are examples of some of the more coherent messages:

What an awful predicament! Everyone had lost their voices. The Sugar fairies' and Wobbits' throats were becoming progressively more inflamed with each passing day. It was now already excruciatingly painful for them to swallow. And how do you eat if you cannot swallow? After having recently almost been wiped out by becoming dangerously overweight, the Sugar fairies could now soon face extinction as a result of starvation. So could the poor Wobbits. They were no longer helping themselves to Sugar Fruits.

Even though the synthetically constructed Soul wizards were spared the pain and inconvenience of sore throats, and could therefore still eat to their hearts' content, they were also left mute. This meant that they had no voice to command their wands. Without their wand magic, they felt totally useless and extremely vulnerable.

And what of the ancient Shrewd trees? They relied on the spoken word of others in order to gain the sustenance required to keep them alive. What if they were to die out as a result of the current predicament? What alternate source of wood could the Soul wizards and Sugar fairies then rely on to produce powerful wands? Was there any other source? What good would Soul wizards be without their powerful wands? About as useful as a rubber tyre, I imagine. It was their wand magic, after all, that made them a powerful force in this dimension.

Although most of the Flushflean citizens were convinced that a horrendous virus had swept through the land, Dementia could clearly see that most of the older and wiser Sugar fairies and Soul wizards suspected an evil curse to be the cause. Whilst they dared not mention it, he could see it in their eyes, and more importantly in their souls! Their souls' auras glowed green – a sign of great fear. What awful new force had taken the opportunity to fill the void left by the demise of Neuro and Traizon?

Half an hour later, Dementia was sitting face to face with the new Mayor of Flush Fleas, the distinguished Soul wizard Glovetia. The grimfaced Mayor, scribble-expressed his concerns to Dementia, from the privacy of his humble offce in the historic town hall.

'I suspect that a curse of some sort is behind this catastrophic set of circumstances, Dementia, rather than a virus!' he scribbled onto a sheet of fading ink paper. The message appeared for a few seconds and then disappeared for good.

Dementia fully agreed, especially in light of his knowledge of the Cabat feathers and Traizon's missing memorial diamond. He strongly suspected that this current crisis was somehow related to these recent discoveries of his. However, rather than agree outright, he decided to play devil's advocate.

'What makes you think that it's a spell, Glovetia?'

'Firstly, because of us!' scribbled Glovetia. 'You know as well as any that we _never_ get affected by viruses. None of the deadly viruses of the past 5000 years have affected a single one of us. Yet, here I am, unable to speak, just like everyone else... even though my vocal cords are synthetic!'

'Fair point,' agreed Dementia. 'But this virus may simply be more powerful than any other, capable of affecting our souls. As you know, our souls power every part of our synthetic forms.'

'Possibly, Dementia,' continued Glovetia, 'but it hit us all so quickly. One moment, we were all talking; the next moment, we were all mute! Surely no virus can work _this_ quickly.'

'None that I am aware of. But this may be some new, horrendous strain.'

'If it is,' scribbled Glovetia hurriedly, 'how do you account for the fact that you and your friends are still able to speak? If this virus is so powerful and contagious, surely you would also have become mute by now. After all, viruses spread indiscriminately, whereas spells only affect those who are in the vicinity of the spell at the time that it is released.'

'As much as I hate to admit it, I think you are right. And—'

'But who could be behind this spell?' scribbled Glovetia. 'Both Neuro and Traizon are dead. Who else is left?'

Dementia took a long pause and stroked his Wobbit-hair beard nervously. Glovetia picked up on the body language and immediately knew that the ageing Soul wizard was sitting on some disturbing information.

'What is it, Dementia?' scribbled Glovetia.

It was time to come clean and confide in this trustworthy Soul wizard. 'Well, speaking of Traizon... I think he has been resurrected.'

' _What! How can that be? I thought he was dead – you know, now just a memorial diamond!'_

Dementia nervously tapped his right thigh with Old Faithful. 'Yes, well... Speaking of memorial diamonds, his has gone _missing_... And I found _these_ scattered around the place where his memorial diamond should have been resting.'

Glovetia's synthetic eyes nearly popped out of their rubbery sockets as he stared with absolute terror at the distinctive bunches of Cabat feathers.

'CABAT FEATHERS! HOW?' he scribbled frantically. His face contorted like a dried-out prune. He unconsciously pushed so hard with his colourful Flexan quill tip, that it engraved these words into the wooden desk as well.

'I don't know!' replied Dementia grimly. 'None of this makes any sense to me. But Old Fuzzy may know.'

'Old Fuzzy... The keeper of Dragon dogs!' scribbled Glovetia. 'Nobody has seen him in years. Nobody even knows where he lives. Are you sure he is still alive?'

'Yes, he is very much alive, and I know exactly where he lives. Well, sort of.'

### CHAPTER 4

### SPOKEN TO A SHREWDIE LATELY?

Before setting off in search of Old Fuzzy and his Dragon dog pets, Dementia paid myself, Willowood and Violeena a quick visit.

'I need all of your help!' he smiled calmly at the three of us. 'Sure!' we replied in unison, without first enquiring as to what we were signing ourselves up for.

'Whilst I am visiting Old Fuzzy,' he continued, 'I would like the three of you to visit the Shrewd trees in the Mystical forest and speak to them continuously. They desperately need to feed on some spoken words!'

'Sure – but what in particular should we speak about?' asked Willowood.

'Anything you wish. They love new facts and stories. Oh, and their absolute favourite of all verbal treats is gossip!'

'Cool!' I added. 'And what about singing to them? I'd love to introduce them to my favourite Earth music, like Pink Floyd, Depeche Mode and REM.'

'Yes, they also love songs. If they really like your singing, you may even see their branches begin swaying in rhythm with the music.'

'I sing in our local Church choir,' I explained. 'So hopefully my voice is not too bad.'

'I'm sure your voice will be fine, Alex,' reassured Dementia. 'If not, they would no doubt be fascinated to hear about your life on Earth. As far as I know, they have never met, nor listened to, an Earthling before.'

'So how do we get there?' asked Violeena.

'We would be happy to act as your guides,' said a silky smooth voice from about five metres behind us. Walking hand in hand towards us were a teenage Sugar fairy and Soul wizard. The owner of this voice was the Sugar fairy. She had beautiful, larger-than-average, feathered wings. The outer feathers were dyed pink and the inner feathers, purple. She looked stunning, with silky-blonde hair, turquoise eyes, and perfectly-shaped, ruby-red lips. The Soul wizard looked like a regular human kid – save for the glossy, synthetic quality of his skin and his thick mop of snow-white Wobbit hair. He had a massive, deep cut on his right arm that extended from his wrist all the way up to his shoulder.

Yet, being 100 percent synthetic construction, no bone showed through and no blood gushed out. It was like looking at a gash in a worn-out tyre. His striped yellow and blue robe was splattered with orange mud and stained with black Murkleberry juice splotches.

'Absolutely!' agreed the Soul wizard boy. 'It would be our honour to take you!'

'Wandina, Eldorian!' exclaimed Dementia excitedly. 'The two of you can still speak!'

'She's the Sugar fairy who got caught in one of Hairy's webs during the race with Majika!' I whispered to Violeena. 'And he's the Soul wizard who got flattened like a pancake when a Jumping tree landed on him!'

I obviously spoke too loudly, or both have exceptional hearing. Either way, they heard every word and immediately tried to defend themselves.

'Yes, that was me!' blushed Wandina. 'However—'

' _Firstly_ ,' interrupted Eldorian, 'I was tired on that particular day. _Secondly_ , it was overcast conditions and difficult to see. _Thirdly_ , it was no ordinary Jumping tree. It was—'

'As I was saying,' shouted Wandina, 'before I was so rudely interrupted by my scruffy _boyfriend_... I am a very different Sugar fairy now. I can assure you. I have learnt some very serious lessons since then.'

'I realise that!' I smiled reassuringly. 'I recently saw Majika in the Land of Hope and she now speaks fondly of you!'

'Yes, well... As I—' continued Eldorian.

He was too slow and meek, though, and Wandina stormed over the top of him.

'You've met Majika!' she screamed with joy. 'Isn't she just the _best_! The gothic look and all...'

'Yes, well... as I was saying—' continued Eldorian once again, only to be cut off a second time. But this time, it was by me.

'I have, and she is! Sorry Eldorian. Please continue.' 'Oh, never mind!' he sulked.

'More importantly,' enquired Dementia. 'how is it that the two of you can still speak?'

'Well, we have only just returned to Flush Fleas, after a wonderful three-day trip to the Glugoony giants,' explained Wandina. 'Perhaps whatever caused the others to lose their voices has already passed by. Or do you think we will also lose our voices shortly?'

'I wish _you_ would!' thought Eldorian to himself rather pleasantly. Wandina had talked 'at' him non-stop for three solid days, and he could do with a break. It was just as well the Glugoony giants were such tolerant souls. Any others species would have ripped out her vocal chords after the first day of her constant yabbering and burnt her at the stake!

'I am not sure,' replied Dementia. 'But while you do have voices, I would appreciate it if you could also spend a few hours talking to the Shrewdies. I am told that they are in desperate need of some verbal nourishment!'

'I would _love_ to speak to them!' smiled Wandina. 'I—'

'I'm sure you would!' interrupted Eldorian in a sarcastic tone. His thoughts had accidentally bypassed his brain and slipped out of his mouth. Oh well, now that things were out in the open, there was no turning back.

'And what exactly do you mean by that!' shouted Wandina.

'I mean, you could speak the mud off a Mud slug, the blood off a Bleeding bobbin, the feathers off a Guffy bird, the—'

'If that's how you feel about me,' she cried, 'then our relationship is over!'

'Good!' replied Eldorian harshly. 'At least my ears will now get a chance to recover!'

'Ehem,' coughed Dementia. 'Would the two of you _please_ leave your domestics for later? I need you to escort Earthling Alex, _King_ Willowood and _Queen_ Violeena to the Mystical forest right now.'

'My apologies, Dementia,' replied Eldorian shamefacedly. 'And my sincere apologies for being so rude in the presence of royalty. It is an honour to meet you, Your Majesty and Your Highness. We have heard such wonderful things about the two of you!'

Eldorian graciously bowed down at Willowood and Violeena's feet.

'Thank you and no need to apologise or bow down, or refer to us as king and queen!' smiled Willowood. 'Please just treat us like everyone else.'

'I have to say,' smiled Wandina, 'the two of you look _adorable_ together. I just _love_ the velvety capes and the matching "his and her" crowns. They are simply _to-die-for_!'

'Thank you!' replied Violeena. 'Right, now who's going to lead the way?'

' _I_ will!' replied the love-jilted pair in unison and then stared at each other distastefully.

We all followed close behind as Wandina led from above and Eldorian led from below. Suddenly, and completely out of the blue, a loud explosion rang out. It sounded like one of those deafening, New Years' Eve fire crackers.

'Pikeeeeeeeww!'

Willowood, Eldorian and I all let out effeminate yelps and crashed to the ground like falling dominos. Talk about the Three Musketeers – _not_ ; more like the three blind, petrified mice. We left Violeena standing completely by herself.

'Look up, quickly Violeena!' squealed Wandina excitedly. Violeena saw a glowing-red tree trunk, along with all of its

branches and roots, whistle through the air. 'Is that a—'

'Yes, it's a Jumping tree!' said Eldorian grumpily.

'Sorry about that Violeena!' whimpered Willowood. 'But the other two tripped me!'

This was a complete lie, of course. Being boys, though, we showed camaraderie for our fallen soldier and covered for him. We both took responsibility for tripping him. Our version of events, of course, completely contradicted one another.

We soon approached the magnificent, convex-shaped rainbow bridge that led to the Mystical forest. Before stepping onto it, I touched its surface and was quite surprised by how solid and polystyrene-like it felt. I had expected it to feel spongy. Apparently, its consistency changes in accordance with the weather. The surface becomes very spongy on hot days and makes crossing over as difficult as wading ones way through a gooey marshmallow swamp.

As I took my first step onto it, I realised just how slippery its polystyrene-like surface was; my feet slid in all directions – like skating on ice. I would definitely need to use the handrails. Willowood and Violeena soon realised that they would also need to use the handrails. However, because the two of them were so short, they had to use them more like monkey bars and rely on their arm strength to hoist themselves across.

'Watch this!' bragged Eldorian. Having gained everyone's attention, he attempted to run up the convex-shaped rainbow bridge at full speed. Unfortunately for him, and to our delight, he lost his footing and came flying back downwards. He landed headfirst in a puddle of soft, gluggy orange mud. Willowood and I struggled to extract his head from the mud, with the same degree of difficulty as it takes to extract a stubborn cork from an old bottle of wine.

'Thank you!' he said bitterly and used the handrail this time round.

I have to say, whilst I don't consider myself to be a hugely spiritual person, I felt the most powerful sensation course through my veins as we stepped into the Mystical forest and came face to face with its Shrewd tree residents. Even the smallest of these incredible specimens have tree trunks that are wider than my bedroom.

And the exquisite, iridescent-green colouring of the bark was quite stunning. Each strip looked like a massive emerald vein and shone with the same intensity. The purple leaves were fluorescent and the millions of fallen ones illuminated the ground like LED lights.

Surrounding the Shrewd trees were literally thousands of intricate stone carvings of strange looking creatures of all different descriptions. Some I could recognise from the descriptions Dementia and Willowood had already given me. There were half a dozen carvings of stone-winged Carbanaras and about 30 carvings of gigantic Riboltians. The level of detail was incredible. There were also at least two dozen carvings of creatures with Sphynx cat-like faces and triple-layered, razor-sharp edged bat wings covered in feathers that resembled bunches of grapes. I was soon to learn that these were Cabats. There were also a few carvings of decidedly ugly-looking creatures with bald, bumpy heads – as if a bag of marbles, of varying sizes, had been pushed haphazardly into their putty-like scalps. These creatures were short, stout, and grossly overweight. Their eyes looked nasty and their exposed skin seemed to be covered in boils. I was also soon to learn that these were Tishy gnomes.

Eldorian advised us that these stone statues are in fact the remains of real creatures who had tried to steal Shrewd tree branches without permission and had been turned to stone by the Shrewd trees as punishment. They remain as constant reminders to others of the dangers in trying to steal Shrewd wood. According to Eldorian, the way in which the Shrewdies do this is a process known as petrifaction. I found his explanation fairly longwinded and complicated, but the simplified version goes something like this: Their fibrous roots suddenly sprout to the surface en masse and, like sharp needles, penetrate through their victim's feet and ankles and then suck the living daylights out of them. They then fell the victim's empty carcass with natural, organic compounds found in the soil below that turn to stone (petrify) when exposed to the above-ground, atmospheric pressure of Flush Fleas. I hope that made some semblance of sense!

To this day, evil creatures still fear this part of Flush Fleas and refer to it as the 'Petrified Forrest'. Despite the high risk, every now and again an audacious evil creature will still chance their arm. Some obviously feel that the magic that lives within these trees is worth chancing death to attain.

The branches of many of the Shrewd trees looked a bit droopy and a few Shrewdies were semi-uprooted. Even some of the trunks appeared to be slouching.

'My poor Shrewdies!' cried Wandina. 'You look simply terrible!' 'I'll give _you_ terrible!' thought the patriarch of the Shrewdies, Sir Branchalot and seriously considered 'clotheslining' the pretentious little Sugar fairy with one of his enormous, low lying branches. He did not like Wandina at all!

Although she spoke a lot (which was good for the Shrewdies), it was always about herself and her better-than-anyone-else family. So the content was rarely new and fresh and therefore had little nutritional value. Her sense of self-importance made his bark crawl. In his opinion, her family's fall from grace had done nothing to change Wandina. Yes, she had volunteered to fight alongside the allies in the recent battle against Traizon, but now she never shut up about how critical her role had been in this battle – to the exclusion of all others. If only he had a dollar, so to speak, for every time he had heard her say, 'It was my wand magic,' or, 'It was my idea,' or, 'It was my brave action,' – and on and on and on. It was always 'me', 'me', 'me'!

'Damn it!' thought the matriarch of the Shrewdies, Lady Woodsworth, as Wandina plonked herself down in front of her enormous trunk.

'You're the lucky one today, Lady Woodsworth!' smiled Wandina condescendingly. 'I have so much to tell you about myself! Firstly, I—'

'Good luck, my dear!' laughed Sir Branchalot facetiously. His telepathic message reached her loud and clear.

'Don't laugh too quickly, darling,' she responded. 'Looks like you have the Earthling!' Her leaves ruffled heavily as she failed to contain her laughter. Like most, the Shrewdies had also heard awful things about Earthlings. So, I guess in a way, I was an ambassador. My actions would either confirm their suspicions or dispel some of the myths.

It was really weird speaking to a tree, mind you. I felt like a complete idiot. It helped only slightly that my companions were doing likewise. When Sir Branchalot leant forward (as Shrewdies do when they are interested in what one is saying) and I heard the loud creaking that accompanied this movement, I immediately assumed that he was about to fall on top of me and started running for my life, screaming, 'Timber!'; like I was a trained lumberjack – or more precisely, a trained _idiot_!

'Why are you running away, Alex!' shouted Wandina. 'Because the tree that I was under is starting to fall!' I yelled. 'No, he is not!' laughed Eldorian. 'Sir Branchalot is simply leaning forward because he is interested in what you have to say. It's a huge compliment. When Wandina speaks, the trees tend to lean backwards!'

'Ha ha ha, very funny!' shouted Wandina. 'Now where were we, that's right, I—'

As Wandina waffled on about herself, I sheepishly returned to Sir Branchalot and apologised for my rudeness – and then continued. 'Now, as I was saying, I come from a small rural district in outback Victoria, Australia, Earth, called Tidley Creek. My parents own a 90-hectare sheep station... I don't suppose you know what sheep are? Hmm, if you can picture curly haired Wobbits with much smaller heads and...'

Whilst I commenced my lecture on 'Boring Life in Tidley Creek', Wandina bitched to Lady Woodsworth about Eldorian. 'He thinks I talk too much. Do you think I talk too much? Of course you don't. You like my talking... Blah, blah, blah, blah... Blah, blah, blah, blah... Blah, blah, blah, blah!'

Lady Woodsworth had already tuned Wandina out a few minutes ago and was now relying solely on the magic filters in her thick bark to suck up the continual drivel pouring out of Wandina's mouth. Despite most of it being low-grade content, she still enjoyed the well-overdue feast.

Willowood and Violeena told a few of the younger Shrewdies some of the most intriguing stories from the annals of Elkwoodian folklore. The younger trees seemed to be particularly intrigued by the story of how the matching gold and silver crowns emerged. They listened intently to Violeena's every word.

'Once upon a time,' she smiled, 'there lived an Elkwoodian king and queen, who loved one another dearly. The queen died whilst giving birth to identical looking Siamese twin boys, Zuni and Matala. Although both boys had their own separate heads and necks, they shared a single body. This forced them to spend every moment of every day together. Naturally, they formed a very close bond. Only days after the boys turned 20, their father, the king, died in a tragic accident – or so everybody thought. In truth, it was no accident! Rather, he was killed in cold blood by an evil Brandenberg witch named Seldameena. The still very young and impressionable twins took over dual ownership of the crown. There was one slight problem, though. There was only one sacred Elkwoodian crown but _two_ heads to fit.

'The twins resolved this issue by happily sharing the crowns usage, each getting to wear it for an entire day at a time. Whoever was wearing the crown made the decisions. There was no real issue with this because they shared the same ideals. This was until Seldameena secretly killed the most highly regarded of all royal advisors, Hemplin, and used her shape-shifting magic to assume his form. From that point onwards, Seldameena, posing as Hemplin, spent every moment of every day trying to get Zuni and Matala to argue with one another. She did this with such skill and cunning that the brothers had no idea that they were being manipulated.

'Gradually, day by day, the brothers began to bicker with each other more and more. It did not take long before they were unable to see eye-to-eye on anything. They began to openly accuse one another of being power hungry and putting their egos ahead of the needs of their citizens. It eventually got to the stage where the two of them were so angry with each other that they would not even make eye contact – not so easy to sustain 24/7 when your heads are only 30 centimetres apart.

'"Please, enough with the constant bickering!" shouted the imposter form of Hemplin. "It's really quite simple. Let's melt down the thick crown and then reforge it into two thinner crowns. Those citizens who like your ideas, Zuni, can live under your rule. And those citizens who like your ideas, Matala, can live under your rule."

'"But what of the Death Curse for any king who allows the sacred Elkwoodian crown to be altered in any way?" exclaimed Zuni.

'"Its hogwash, nonsense, urban myth!" insisted the imposter Hemplin. "Designed to scare and intimidate!"

'When the crown was melted, it separated into two distinct puddles; one contained all the precious gold and the other contained all the precious silver. Despite every effort to blend the two metals and then divide the mixture evenly, the gold and silver continued to repel each other like opposing magnetic fields. Hence, one crown had to be forged solely in gold and the other, solely in silver. When the crowns were presented to the two kings, both wanted the gold crown. The argument that ensued was awful and continued late into the evening. The shouting and screaming kept all in the palace awake.

'"Excellent!" thought Seldameena. "Excellent!"

'By about 3am, when everyone else was fast asleep, the two emotionally spent brothers finally calmed down and started to think rationally. They realised that the issue of who wore which crown paled into insignificance when compared with the strain that this issue was placing on their once inseparable relationship and on the Elkwoodian community. They needed to love and respect one another, and work together for the common good of the community.

'"After all," said Zuni, "it is not the constitution of one's crown that makes one a good king or a bad king. Rather, it is the constitution of one's heart!"

'"Agreed!" said Matala. And with that pleasant thought, both went to sleep, totally at peace.

'When the kings failed to surface for breakfast the next day, one of the royal servants was sent to check up on them. The royal servant looked out with horror at the two dead kings. Both of their throats had been slit and each was found with a bloodied dagger at their side...'

The Shrewd tree branches shook and their leaves bristled. 'Anyway,' continued Violeena, 'In the merged pile of green congealed blood were carved the words, " **DECEPTION'S** **ENEMY** ". But what did this mean? Equally mysterious and confusing, was the inscription that had been engraved into the gold crown and embossed into the silver crown which read:

THE MOST POWERFUL WEAPON IS...

Nobody understood the significance of the message in the blood or the message on both the crowns. The only thing that seemed obvious was that Zuni and Matala's terrible argument of the night before had resulted in them killing each other.

'In keeping with Elkwoodian tradition, the dead kings were cremated, so that the new king, Rodalis, could consume a mouthful of their ashes. To everyone's utter surprise, in the centre of the ashes appeared a solid gold medallion with an incredibly realist looking heart embossed into its surface. As Rodalis touched its surface, the image of the heart began to pulsate...'

Willowood revealed the sacred gold medallion hanging from a thick chain under his velvety shirt. 'This is the medallion of which Violeena is speaking!' he chimed. The Shrewd trees leant forward at 45-degree angles. They were clearly entranced.

'"What does all of this mean?" asked Rodalis,' continued Violeena. 'The wisest of the elders in the tribe spent weeks discussing and pondering, but came no closer to resolving the mystery of the message in the blood, the inscription on the crowns, or the gold pulsating heart. Then, a week later, Rodalis was invited to visit Flush Fleas. The closer he came towards Flushflean territory, the quicker the sacred gold medallion began to pulsate.

He followed the ever-increasing pounding, and it led to a secluded area of swampland. As he stepped over a fallen log, the ground on the other side suddenly opened up and swallowed him under. He landed with a thud in a dark underground tunnel. As he followed the poorly lit path, the pulsating continued to intensify. The end of the tunnel opened up into a large underground room.

'"Welcome. I've been expecting you!" cackled the hideous Seldameena.

'"Who are you? And what do you mean _expecting_ me?" exclaimed Rodalis. He drew his sword from its sheath just in case.

'"I mean, you have a shiny gold item hanging from your chest that belongs to _me_!" she cackled. "After all, it was _I_ who killed Zuni and Matala! So the prize should be mine!"

'"Nonsense!" shouted Rodalis. "They killed each other!"

'"So you all thought! So you all thought!" cackled Seldameena and transformed back to the form of Hemplin.

'"So that is what the message in the blood meant!" exclaimed Rodalis sadly. "They were trying to warn us that—"

'"Yes! They were!" replied Seldameena. "I deceived you all! Now that the crown has been separated, the Elkwoodian territory will never be safe again. For, the crown is now blind and can no longer see the... the... the—"

'She got no further with her sentence, because, from the centre of the gold heart, suddenly emerged the ghosts of the slain Siamese twins. They spun around her like a whirlwind, covering her from head to toe in a veil of darkness. She screamed and screamed and then all went silent. When the ghosts moved aside, Seldameena was frozen stiff and as dead as a doughnut. The gold medallion had stopped pulsating.

'"We showed her the inside of her heart!" murmured the ghost of Zuni. "She did not like what she saw!"

'Since then, the gold heart has been passed on from Elkwoodian king to Elkwoodian king, and had remained quiet up until recently, when it warned the allies of Traizon's arrival and allowed them to pre-plan their counterattack. And the gold and silver crowns are now worn by the Elkwoodian king and queen, respectively. The two crowns still repel each other. However, the elders strongly believe that they will one day come together once again; when the time is right...'

### CHAPTER 5

### OLD FUZZY AND HIS DRAGON DOGS

Dementia passed by the Mystical forest on his way to the Swamp tree woodland that the reclusive Fuzzard (Old Fuzzy) and his Dragon dogs call home. He smiled broadly as he heard me belting out my own rendition of the Depeche Mode classic, 'People are People':

People are people

So why should it be

You and I should get along so awfully

So we're different colours

And we're different creeds

And different people have different needs

It's obvious you hate me

Though I've done nothing wrong

I've never even met you so what could I have done...

'Not a bad song!' he thought. 'The words have great meaning behind them. It's a shame that Alex's voice sounds like a Wobbit slowly choking to death on a Sugar Fruit. Hopefully the Shrewdies are tone deaf! Either way, I'm sure they are recharging nicely.'

As Dementia reached the perimeter of the Swamp tree woodland, he gasped. 'My word, Fuzzard! By the looks of it, you certainly don't want to be found.'

Dementia was referring to the solid wall of intertwining branches and vines that greeted him. Fuzzard had deliberately allowed the 50 acres of Swamp trees that surrounded his large but humble abode, to grow so thickly that it now resembled an overgrown jungle. The thin vines of the Swamp trees resembled elaborate cobwebs. Even Hairy would have been impressed. Dementia was forced to use Old Faithful like a lightsaber. Instead of hacking his way through Droids, though, he would be hacking his way through vines. As long as he could clear a path, he knew the secret to finding one's way into, and back out of Fuzzard's place: You simply followed the trees that were scented at their base with the distinctively pungent smell of Dragon dog urine.

As Dementia came within 900 metres of the cleared perimeter that surrounded Old Fuzzy's place, his favourite of all the Dragon dogs, Hotdog, suddenly swooped down from a high reaching branch and started licking the ageing wizard's face as if it were the tastiest of lollipops.

'Hello, big boy!'

Hotdog's long fluffy tail wagged furiously and his well-proportioned, dog-hair-covered dragon wings flapped excitedly. He had obviously missed Dementia terribly. The only thing missing was Hotdog's usual high-pitched, tweeting. Yes, Hotdog, and all the other Dragon dogs normally tweet like budgies. The virus/curse had obviously also reached this neck of the woods. Still, his chocolate-coloured Labrador face smiled warmly and this said more to Dementia than a million utterances ever could have. It told him that Fuzzard was well; for if any harm had come to his master, Hotdog would have been in a terrible state of depression. His coat would not have been so shiny and his ears would have been drooping downwards rather than pushed backwards and standing on end.

Dementia patted Hotdog's chest and tummy repeatedly with one hand while he scraped away the glutinous doggy slobber from his face with the other hand. Chest and tummy pats had always been Hotdog's absolute favourite and his Labrador face grinned gratefully. Whilst still hovering in the air, Hotdog suddenly turned onto his back, so as to give Dementia better access to his nicely bloated tummy. The fact that he was still able to maintain a perfect hover even though his feet were facing skywards and his wings towards the ground, is real testament to the Dragon dogs amazing aerial abilities.

'Yes, Yes, ok, my _big_ boy!' smiled Dementia and continued to pat. 'Where's your daddy?'

Hotdog tried to 'tweet' his reply, but nothing came out. Nevertheless, he spun back to his feet and led the way. He coasted effortlessly through the air. A few other Dragon dogs followed close behind, repeatedly darting inwards and outwards to sniff each other's and Dementia's butt. It just goes to show that you can't take the dog out of a Dragon dog.

Inside Fuzzard's enormous dwelling (or as Dementia liked to refer to it, 'the five-star Dragon dog kennel'), it was just a 'normal' winter's day. Two heavily-yawning, half-asleep Dragon dogs begrudgingly began their half-hour shifts, feeding and stoking the fire that burned in the huge mud-brick fireplace which dominated the massive main living area. The main living area was so large and unfurnished that it resembled a school assembly hall. The only furniture to be found was Fuzzard's large rocking chair, an open-style wardrobe in the far-right corner of the room, and several Modesta unicorn hair rugs on the floor. The room needed to be large and sparsely furnished in order to accommodate Fuzzard and his 313 Dragon dogs.

Whilst the two Dragon dogs who had just finished their fire-duty shift plonked themselves down on one of the large shaggy rugs and went back to sleep, the new 'keepers-of-the-fire' commenced their shift. They started by throwing fresh pieces of Swamp wood into the fireplace and then blowing flame after flame (through their enormous, flint-lined nostrils) at the fresh pieces in an attempt to remove all the internal moisture so that they combusted quicker. Their nostrils glowed red-hot. They also used their wings to fan the flames. They both watched on enviously as the rest of their happily dozing companions snored loudly and farted contently. The average Dragon dog fart is so potent that it would easily stun a fully grown elephant from a distance in excess of 20 metres.

Fuzzard had overcome the problem of sharing his abode with his 313 lethal farting machines, by simply removing the sense of smell from his Bend rubber forms. He would rather smell nothing at all than have to smell a single one of their potent farts.

Given that he never had any visitors popping in – other than the occasional unannounced, welcome visit from Dementia, and the occasional unannounced, unwelcome visit by an ill-intentioned stone-winged Carbanara named Bliksem – the fact that the place smelt like a gigantic Dutch oven made no difference to his life whatsoever. In fact, the lethal fumes served as an amazing defence mechanism. Fairly recently, the cunning Bliksem (who had made Fuzzard's destruction his lifelong ambition), managed to disguise his distinctively garlicky scent from Dragon dog detection by rolling from head to toe in Dragon dog urine.

The urine-soaked Bliksem then quietly jimmied open one of the windows of Fuzzard's 'doghouse' in the early hours of the morning and crept in. He got no more than a metre before the lethal waft of the Dragon dog farts whacked him in the face with such intensity that he passed out. As he fell, his stone wings made a loud clunk. Several of the Dragon dogs awoke from their deep sleep and surrounded him. They then chased him back through the Swamp tree woodland, blowing flame after flame at his rumpy posterior. As Bliksem sat on an ice pack that night, he contemplated his next move. Some sort of oxygen mask would definitely be required next time.

Speaking of stone-winged Carbanaras, Skellem (who had recently turned from Dementia's hunter, to guardian angel) had tried to track Dementia through the Swamp tree woodland and was now terribly lost. In hindsight, concealing herself behind a heavy boulder and having to roll it along with her in order to move forward without divulging her position, was not such a good idea. Despite the forest floor being relatively flat and Dementia having cleared an excellent path for her to follow, pushing the enormous boulder was still extremely cumbersome and exhausting work; plus, there was the occasional protruding root to contend with.

When Dementia spotted the 'mysteriously' moving boulder – that by pure _chance_ happened to be taking the exact same path as him – he immediately knew it was Skellem. The game of hide and seek had now officially started and he was determined to win. He increased his pace and made a concerted effort to cover his tracks better. It took all of Skellem's self-control to prevent herself from screaming out in agony as the boulder accidently rolled backwards a few millimetres and painfully crushed two of her camel-shaped toes. From that point onwards, the limping Skellem fell behind quickly and eventually lost the track. However, instead of abandoning the rock and turning back at this point, she continued to push forward.

Whilst Skellem moved around like a limping, blindfolded donkey and became ever more lost and disoriented with every painful step, Dementia drew closer to his destination.

Totally oblivious to what was going on outside, Fuzzard kept gently prodding the current Dragon dog 'keepers-of-the-fire' with a long stick so as to prevent them from nodding off and accidentally setting the entire place ablaze. The reason all of his Dragon dogs were so tired was because they had only had 20 hours sleep in the last 24 hours. Whilst this may sound like a lot to you and me, Dragon dogs normally sleep for at least 22 hours each day during winter – like hibernating bears. However, Fuzzard had made every last one of them spend four tiresome hours yesterday collecting fallen Swamp wood branches because the current pile was running low.

Those who were not on fire-tending duty, took the opportunity to catch up on some well-earned rest whilst awaiting their turn to have their long, thick toenails clipped and their dirty soot-filled nostrils cleaned by Old Fuzzy. This grooming and maintenance requirement was done monthly, and today was the day.

He used heavy-duty looking secateurs to clip his way through their stubbornly strong nails, and a purpose-built miniature bottlebrush to clean the insides of their enormous nostrils. As he finished with each Dragon dog, he would gently awake the next in line by pulling on their long fluffy tails. The one whose turn it was would then jump onto his lap and stretch out its paws. Despite being the size of Labradors, each sat on his lap with the compliance of a tiny Chihuahua as he clipped away at their toenails and then poked and swirled in their nostrils. Even the smaller females engulfed his entire synthetic form so that all to be seen was his face, arms, and legs.

Once all 313 Dragon dogs had received their manicure and nasal cleansing, he would then have to clean up the piles of nail clippings, soot, moulting hair and shed scales. Yes, under their matted fur coats were magnificent glistening purple dragon scales. Boy, oh boy, were they hard work to maintain! But it was well worth the effort because he loved each and every one of them like a father loves his children, and had names for all. He had chosen each of their names based on either personality or physical traits. This helped him to remember who was who in the 'zoo'. His most loyal (and arguably, favourite) of the Dragon dogs was Hotdog. Hotdog had been so named by Fuzzard because the flames that he blew out of his nose were extremely intense, even as a puppy. His flames are said to be as ferocious as your average Doolan dragon's flames. Not a bad effort, when you consider that the average Doolan dragon is about 20 times larger than the average Dragon dog.

As Fuzzard looked down at the continually mounting mess, he thought wishfully about how much effort it would save him if he could master Dementia's 'Sparkle' spell. Despite being a master-magician and a pioneer in both teleportation and trans-morphing magic, he could not master this fairly straightforward, simple spell – a spell which was now taught in 'Magic for Beginners' classes. He had tried using this cleaning spell numerous times but always with less than desirable results. When Dementia performed this spell all the rubbish, dust and cobwebs disappeared and the entire house sparkled. When Fuzzard performed the same spell, the place ended up looking like a garbage tip that had been hit by a tornado. Did he have the wrong wand-waving technique, or was it his tone of voice? It had to be one or the other, because Dementia had meticulously written down the words to the spell for him last time he visited. And he always recited it word for word. Tone of voice was irrelevant at the moment though, anyway, because he was completely mute.

Even the deadly combination of Swamp wood smoke mixed with Dragon dog fart fumes failed to mask Dementia's rapidly approaching scent. It was the distinctive smell of the Melancholy berries that Dementia used to dye his Bend rubber forms blue that was the easy giveaway. The Dragon dogs all woke with great excitement, and went flying up through the massive chimney to greet Dementia. Even the Dragon dog currently on Fuzzard's lap dove off, carving permanent scratch marks into his rubbery thighs with its yet-to-be-clipped claws. They all adored Dementia – almost as much as Fuzzard. He was like their second dad. And although the voiceless Fuzzard was unable to ask what all the excitement was about, he correctly suspected that Dementia must be approaching.

'Excellent!' he thought. 'My Sparkle spell has arrived just in the nick of time.'

Outside, Dementia was swarmed upon and received more licks than an old roll of postage stamps.

'Hello big boys, hello big girls! Ok, ok, enough now. You're drowning me in slobber! I see you've all lost your tweet!'

Dementia was really disappointed that they had all lost their voices. He was normally greeted by a magnificent tweeting choir. Still, even if their throats were also excruciatingly sore (like the Sugar fairies and Wobbits), at least they weren't in danger of starving. After all, they never ate – unless you classify breathing in air as eating! Yes, they live on nothing but air. Please don't ask me how this is possible. Only Fuzzard knows the answer to this. After all, it was he who created them. Most importantly though, their flame blowing abilities had not been in any way compromised by their sore throats. This is because, unlike Doolan dragons, Dragon dogs don't rely on sucking air upwards in order to ignite their flames. Rather, the air they use is cycled and recycled through their nostrils. Their flame blowing abilities would soon come in very handy – as a weapon.

### CHAPTER 6

### WELCOME, FUZZARD STYLE

Before stepping foot inside Fuzzard's 'doghouse', Dementia quickly removed a sharp knife from one of his enormous robe pockets and casually cut off his nose. This would prevent him from having to contend with the lethal smell inside. Once outdoors again, he planned to simply re-attach it using the tube of strong bonding agent that he kept in the other pocket.

'Hello, my eccentric wizard friend!' smiled Dementia warmly as he stepped inside.

Old Fuzzy excitedly waved his right hand in Dementia's direction and then pointed with his clenched left fist at the open-style wardrobe in the far-right corner of the room. Hanging from devices that vaguely resembled coat hangers, were eight Bend rubber forms that looked identical to him in every respect. You see, unlike most Soul wizards who only make new Bend rubber forms on a needs basis, Fuzzard had already pre-made these ones. Whilst the process had taken an entire day, he now had enough new forms to last him a year. He tapped his left fist three times and the third form from the right suddenly detached itself from its coat hanger and clumsily made its way toward Dementia, taking guidance on every step forward from the movement of Fuzzard's fist. As it approached Dementia, Fuzzard opened his clenched fist wide and the form's arms opened wide. He then closed his fist again and the form hugged Dementia tightly.

'Most impressive trick! I had no idea that you had mastered this type of telekinesis!' commented Dementia admiringly. 'Now, if you could please just get it off of me! It's becoming a little bit too "huggy-feely" for my liking!'

In truth, Fuzzard had by no means mastered this most complex form of telekinesis. It was still a work-in-progress; he was simply dabbling. If he had achieved the end goal already, he wouldn't have had to bother doing any of the domestic chores himself. Each of the eight forms would have been allocated a specific task to perform. At this stage, however, his abilities were limited to commanding them to carry out a few primitive, jerky forward movements and a few basic arm movements. He had to manually lift and turn them around every time he wanted them to start moving in the opposite direction.

In response to Dementia's totally reasonable request, Fuzzard opened and closed his fist repeatedly in an attempt to get this form to release its bear-like grip. But it was all to no avail; his magic was malfunctioning dismally. He pushed aside the Dragon dog that had just jumped back onto his lap and rushed to Dementia's aid. Fuzzard pulled and Dementia pushed. But still, the stubborn form held on like super glue.

'Oh well, I'll just have to add repairing this form to my mounting list of chores!' thought Fuzzard bitterly, as he amputated both of its arms, just below the shoulders. 'On the positive side, though, no more domestic chores for a while! Now that I have my amazing "Sparkle" spell producer! I hope he plans to stay for a while. Lots of cleaning to do! Lots and lots of cleaning to do!'

'Sorry about the technical malfunction!' scribbled Fuzzard into the thick dust on the floorboards directly in front of where Dementia was standing. 'This "form controlling" caper still requires a lot of refining. And, please excuse my writing everything down, but I have lost my voice, as have all of my furry friends. Must be a nasty bout of flu going around at the moment!'

'I don't think it's fu, Fuzzard,' sighed Dementia. 'I think it's a curse!'

'A curse!' scribbled Fuzzard. 'But who, why? I thought all the baddies had been eliminated!'

'Possibly not,' responded Dementia grimly and removed the bunches of Cabat feathers from his right pocket. Fuzzard's soul literally jumped out of its synthetic skin when he saw them. Having temporarily lost its controller, his rubber form crashed to the ground.

All 313 Dragon dogs had a similarly bad reaction. They raised their hackles, bared their sharp canines and began snarling silently. Steam poured out of their nostrils. It was like 626 kettles boiling at exactly the same time. The air inside the room became as hot and humid as a sauna.

'You may wish to delay re-entering your form,' said Dementia to Fuzzard's exposed soul, 'because what I am about to tell you is even more disturbing.'

Fuzzard soul gestured for him to continue.

'Traizon's memorial diamond is also missing. And I found the Cabat feathers scattered directly around the area where the memorial diamond should have been resting.'

A shocked and bewildered Fuzzard re-entered his form and then scribbled (more like engraved) four words through the dust and into the floorboards:

PUGNACIOUS MUST BE ALIVE

As Dementia stared at these words with utter fear and total disbelief, Fuzzard began frantically packing his bag for the trip that was suddenly necessary.

'What are you talking about?' shouted the shell-shocked Dementia. 'Pugnacious has been dead for more than 400 years now!'

'Obviously not dead; more like resting!' scribbled Fuzzard. 'For if the Cabats are roaming the skies once again, Pugnacious must be alive and active. It is only he who knows the secret to creating Cabats! Anyway, enough with the chatter. We had best be going!'

'Going where?' asked Dementia.

### CHAPTER 7

### STRANGE INTRODUCTIONS

As I was belting out the chorus to 'Learning to Fly' by Pink Floyd, hundreds of large-nostrilled, chocolate-brown Labradors with flapping wings descended through the dense canopy of Shrewd tree branches and leaves.

I had no idea whether or not these creatures were dangerous and immediately hid behind Sir Branchalot. I then pushed my body as close to his bark as possible, so as to be as inconspicuous as possible. In truth, I probably blended in as naturally as an elephant in a fishbowl.

Willowood and Violeena also used the nearest Shrewd tree to them for cover and looked equally out of place; save for Willowood's luminous-green hair, which blended in quite nicely with the emerald-green bark.

Wandina and Eldorian simply stared upwards in awe. I wasn't sure if they were overcome with joy and wonder, or whether they were simply so gripped with fear that they were frozen stiff.

From behind me, I suddenly heard a deep voice and it startled me.

'Is that—'

' _Whowazzat_!' I screamed and spun around.

'Is that what they are referring to in Earth culture,' continued Dementia, 'when they use the term, "tree-hugging-hippy"?'

His approach from behind had taken me by complete surprise – as did his bizarre altered appearance. You see, he had accidentally reattached his nose to his face with the nostrils facing upwards. Despite now looking quite freakish, he could not justify wasting valuable time re-beautifying his form, when there were far more important issues to deal with. The nose still functioned, and quite frankly, this was all that concerned him.

Standing alongside Dementia, was an equally eccentric-looking Soul Wizard. It was Fuzzard, of course. Although Fuzzard's skin tone was more conventional than Dementia's, his snow-white, waist-long hair was pulled into two tight pigtails which ended in colourful bows, and his thick, plaited beard was so long that it combed the floor before his feet. Quite frankly, he looked like a complete fruit-loop, a certified nutcase! I fleetingly wondered how many Wobbits needed to be fleeced each time he required a change of scalp and facial hair.

I avoided answering Dementia's question in relation to the 'tree-hugging-hippies' jibe because there were more pressing issues right now – like the rapidly descending pack of large-nostrilled, wing-flapping, flying Labradors!

'Look up!' I exclaimed.

'Yes,' replied Dementia matter-of-factly. 'Dragon dogs. They're with us. Cute little blighters, don't you think?'

'Thank God!' I replied, with _huge_ relief.

'Don't thank God, thank Fuzzard!' smiled Dementia. 'After all, it was he who created them.'

Fuzzard smiled warmly at me and shot a wink in my direction. I immediately liked him.

'I'm afraid Fuzzard and his Dragon dogs have also all lost their voices. So I'll try my best to do all the introductions.'

Fuzzard bowed graciously and his Dragon dogs flapped their wings with acknowledgement as each introduction took place. I enjoyed being introduced once again as 'Alex of Earth'. It made me feel important; like a knight of the Round Table. Led by Hotdog, several Dragon dogs moved forward and started sniffng me.

'They must be picking up the scent of my sheepdog, Jessie!' I smiled. 'She is continually licking my face and arms. And I did not shower this morning.'

'Probably,' agreed Dementia. 'And thanks for the update on your personal hygiene. Right, now for the difficult part. Trying to remember all 313 Dragon dog names, and who is who. This is Hotdog, and this is Nostralis, and this is...'

Dementia managed to correctly identify about 50 of them without any prompts. For the rest, Dementia and Fuzzard played the game, "Charades". As each Dragon dog stepped forward, Fuzzard used body movements and hand gestures to give Dementia clues to its name.

'Two words' said Dementia. 'The first word sounds like...

(Fuzzard pointed at his feet)... Like feet... Umm... Heat, seat, beat, tweet...'

Fuzzard nodded his head furiously at the word 'tweet'. 'Of course, its Tweeter, isn't it!'

Both Fuzzard and Tweeter nodded their heads to confirm.

The game was really good fun to watch and the Shrewd trees seemed to also be enjoying it. Groans could be heard as revitalised trunks and limbs straightened.

'Right!' said Dementia. 'It's time to get you back home, young Alex, before you are late for dinner. You don't want the _roast_ _chicken_ or _rack of lamb_ to go cold.'

He was really enjoying sharing his rapidly growing knowledge of Earth culture. Quite frankly, I found it rather irritating.

'No, please Dementia!' I protested. 'Can't I stay for just a little bit longer? I'll make an excuse for being late. You don't have to worry. I'll take full responsibility. Please!'

'I'm afraid not!' he said sternly but compassionately. 'To be honest it's not just a question of getting you home in time. It's now also a matter of keeping you safe as well!'

'What do you mean?' I cried. 'I thought things were safe since Traizon was destroyed. He doesn't have an angry twin brother or something like that, does he?'

'Not that I know of,' chuckled Dementia.

'But he does have an acquaintance named Pugnacious,' thought Fuzzard ruefully.

'Then what's the danger?' asked Willowood.

'It's complicated, boys. And I would rather not get into the details right now,' replied Dementia rather defensively. 'Let's just say that if my suspicions are correct, the territories from Flush Fleas all the way to the Land of Hope may soon be in grave danger once again. Or the whole thing may simply be my misunderstanding and a completely false alarm. Either way, I would rather be safe than sorry.'

'No wonder you've been acting grumpier than those sourpuss Drudger worms lately!' exclaimed Willowood. 'You've been sitting on some really serious stuff!'

'Hopefully it's not too serious,' sighed Dementia. 'I am not 100 percent sure yet!'

'I am!' thought Fuzzard.

'Isn't there some other option?' I protested. 'Can't I just stay for one more day? You're not expecting World War III to break out overnight, are you?'

'I honestly have no idea, Alex. That's the problem!' 'I am willing to take the risk... Please, please, please!' 'Are you certain, Alex?'

'Yes. I am certain!'

'Ok then. But I will need to create a clone of you, just in case something—'

'When you say, " _clone of me_ ",' I interrupted, 'do you mean, an exact replica of me?'

'Down to your very last freckle and pimple!' smiled Dementia. 'Cool!' I chuckled. 'Let some other kid also share the burden of my freckles and pimples!'

'It's no laughing matter, Alex,' sighed Dementia. 'You have to understand that cloning has many inherent dangers. Firstly, the clone will get to live your life, completely unchecked, whilst you are with us. And secondly—'

'What do you mean by " _live my life_ "?'

'I mean, it will have all your mannerisms, memories and knowledge. If you have the habit of biting your nails, so will _it_. If you unconsciously scratch your nose when thinking, so will _it_. If you were planning to do something tomorrow, _it_ will do that very thing. It will think like you, breath like you, dream like you – It will live your life!'

'Awesome! Let's do it! Let it have to endure Mr Reed's boring maths classes whilst I explore Flush Fleas.'

'It is not that simple Alex! I really need you to think this through _very_ carefully. The "real you" will return to Earth in a few days time with no knowledge whatsoever as to any events that have occurred, and any of the conversations that have taken place, between your clone and others in Tidley Creek whilst you were gone.'

'I can claim to have fallen out of a tree and gotten temporary amnesia!' I smiled.

' _Furthermore_ ,' continued Dementia sternly, 'the clone of you will have to be destroyed before you can return. It will have tasted life and therefore not be willing to give up its own that easily. We will have to send a Fodderflob to do the cleanup job whilst your clone sleeps.'

'By, " _do the job_ ", you mean "kill", right?'

'Yes. Kill and conceal. The Fodderflob will visit Tidley Creek whilst all are asleep, kill your clone, and then eat every last bit of flesh, splinter of bone and morsel of hair so that no trace of your clone exists. Not even the slightest splatter of blood. Only then will you be able to return!'

Despite feeling sick inside, I knew that I needed to show strength.

'I am happy with this arrangement!' I proclaimed.

'I wasn't quite finished yet, Alex! If, hypothetically, things here were to turn nasty and you were to be killed, your clone would end up living the rest of _your_ life. Your every last dream would be stolen by your clone.'

My Scottish-blood temper reared its ugly head. 'If that clone-bugger lays a single hand on Hanna Smith, I'll rip—'

'This is precisely what I am talking about!' smiled Dementia calmly.

'Please excuse my outburst,' I apologised. 'I am willing to risk it!' 'Are you absolutely sure, Alex?'

'Y-Yes, Dementia, I am certain!' My reply was far from convincing, though. It was soaked in uncertainty.

Clones, replacement, death, Fodderflobs! I felt nauseous. I had to concentrate hard to prevent myself from keeling over. For I knew that if I showed any weakness at this point, Dementia would take me home immediately. In the end, I only just passed the test.

Dementia reached into his enormous left pocket and removed a big green dot – about the size of a five cent piece. He then firmly rubbed the dot into my forehead. When I placed my hand on the dot to feel its texture, I could feel nothing. Its ink-like substance had obviously seeped into my skin like a permanent tattoo. When I caught sight of my reflection in Fuzzard's glassy-green eyes, I wanted to cry. I had already been cursed with pimples and freckles. Surely I did not deserve a permanent huge green dot on my forehead as well!

Dementia saw the worry on my face. 'Don't worry!' he offered. 'The green dot is not permanent. I just need a way of distinguishing the _real_ you from the _clone_ you. Just in case something goes wrong.'

'Whew!' I sighed with great relief.

'Now pass me your right thumb please!' he smiled sadistically and pulled out what looked like a sharp scalpel. He then casually sliced a thin layer of skin off the very tip of my right thumb. It was extremely painful I might add! He then recited a complicated piece of magic that sounded like voodoo being recited with a Russian accent. Slowly, the piece of skin started to grow into an exact replica of me; first _my_ head, then _my_ body, then _my_ arms and finally, _my_ legs.

'Real Alex, meet clone Alex!'

It was an extremely eerie feeling to look at a perfect copy of myself – a _naked_ copy of myself! It made me feel very self-conscious. It did not help that Wandina's and Violeena's eyes were transfixed by my clone's private parts.

'What's that thing sticking out with the tiny bag underneath?' asked Violeena innocently.

'It's their sexual organs!' replied Dementia matter-of-factly. 'Yuck!' exclaimed Wandina tactlessly.

'Thanks a lot!' I replied. I felt both embarrassed and insulted. 'Sorry Alex!' said Wandina. 'It's just that I've never seen anything quite like it!'

It made me wonder how Sugar fairies and Soul wizards procreate. But I said nothing.

'Speaking of naked, Alex,' continued Dementia, 'I need you to strip down to your bare essentials and hand over your clothing to your clone. He can't return to Earth naked.'

'But what about me!' I cried. 'I can't travel around this dimension in just my underwear and footy socks. Apart from the bad publicity for my race, I will surely freeze to death.'

'Here, take my robe!' smiled Dementia and casually pulled it over his head. 'I don't feel the cold anyway. I'll grab another robe from home later.' It did not seem to bother Dementia in the slightest that he was now a complete nudie. Yes, he wore no underwear beneath his robe. As I took a curious peek downwards, I was stunned to find that he had no genitals – at least, nothing that I could see! So how did they procreate and urinate? I was not game to ask, for fear of getting the answer.

Clad in my new robe, and feeling somewhat like the famous philosopher Socrates, I asked my clone questions about my life. He knew the answers to everything, including the major crush that I had on my neighbour, Hanna Smith.

'She's really hot!' he replied smugly. 'I'm thinking of asking her out on a date.'

As I rushed forward to take a swipe at his smug face, Dementia intervened.

'Right, clone Alex, it's time to return to Earth.'

I truly hoped that this fake piece of dirt would keep his filthy hands off Hanna whilst I was away. If he was a true copy of me, though, he would be all talk but no action when it came to Hanna. On several occasions, I had confidently assured my friends, Jonny and Justin, that I would ask Hanna out on a date, only to chicken out at the last moment. Nevertheless, I had suddenly become very territorial over my life in Tidley Creek. I realised that it was because I had no power to control how my clone would represent me back on Earth. It was a very surreal and scary feeling.

'I'd best get going!' said Dementia. 'Frother and the rest of the crew should be arriving soon. And I would like to be back in time to greet them.'

### CHAPTER 8

### ARRIVAL OF THE COMPANIONS

Dementia had arranged to meet Frother and his travel party outside the main town hall at approximately 6pm. It was now already 5:45pm. Before hastily departing the Mystical forest, we all bid the Shrewdies farewell. They responded with an appreciative bristle of their leaves. Having dropped my clone off, Dementia then made a quick detour and picked up another robe from his cabin, located in the heart of the Serene forest.

At precisely 6:05pm, Frother's magnificent form suddenly appeared high above in the fading lime-green skies. On his back were Hildegard, Fluffel, and a black-haired, black-robed Soul wizard boy who I could not recognise. Sitting on top of his stunning powder-blue Mohawk (like "Lord Muck") was Hairy. The pumpkin spider was clutching onto the Mohawk with all 30 limbs. Flying independently beside him was the black-clad Majika. Even her wings were now black. I have to say, she looked awesome! Although she had flown on Brother's back for large portions of the flight – on account of them being in a hurry – there was no way she was going to make her grand entrance to Flush Fleas on anyone's back. She was far too independent and proud for that. Trailing close behind Majika, were here older sisters, Honeypop and Twinkledust. They had obviously also wanted to make their own entries. The two of them had been visiting Majika in the Land of Hope for the last week, helping with the rebuilding effort; sort of like a working-holiday. In the distance, from along the ground, came hopping at full speed, a dopey-looking Wobbit. The tips of its floppy ears were firmly in its mouth. Yes, it was an excited Flopsy. He had spotted Majika and her sisters in the air.

As Majika touched down, Flopsy plastered her face in thick slobber and then rolled onto his back and pointed to his belly frantically for tummy tickles.

'Not right now, Flopsy!' she giggled. 'I first have to say hi to everyone and do a few things – but maybe later!'

We were all drenched by the tears of disappointment that cascaded from Flopsy's eyes (more than two metres high) and then came splashing down. Every crying session must have left him totally dehydrated.

'Majika, please just tickle him,' motioned Dementia, 'or we'll all be drowned soon!'

'Ok, fine!' chuckled Majika and began tickling his belly button. 'Sorry about this.'

As Frother touched down, I realised that the young Soul wizard with pitch-black hair and matching robe was Zoola. Having introduced everyone, Dementia then took the opportunity to tease his young nephew about his radical makeover.

'I see that you've undergone a _slight_ transformation, Zoolich!' smiled Dementia sarcastically.

'It looks like we both have, uncle!' replied Zoola and pointed at Dementia's upside-down nose.

'Ah, yes! I completely forgot about that!' laughed Dementia. 'I shall fix it up later... But what's up with the black hair and matching robe? They look like more _permanent_ changes!'

'It was Majika's idea!' replied Zoola defensively and then stared accusingly at his gothic Sugar fairy girlfriend.

'What we only do for love!' laughed Dementia. 'It looks like she's got you under her thumb, Zoolich... on the old "ball and chain"!'

'But doesn't he look great?' smiled Majika.

'Err, well...' coughed Dementia. 'If you like that sort of look I guess. What do they call it, "the modern chic witch look"?'

I had the best comeback line for Zoola, but thought better of expressing it. What I would have liked to have said in Zoola's defence was, 'You mean, as opposed to the Moses meets Papa Smurf look?' There would have also been a million one-liners in relation to his awkward nose positioning. Zoola said nothing though. He was either slow-off-the-mark or simply respected his uncle too much to be a smartarse. I suspected the latter.

'Where's Sked, by the way?' continued Dementia. I thought someone was missing.

'I h-h-had to dro-dro-drop h-h-him off ab-ab-about 100 k-k-kilometres sh-sh-short of Flu-Flush Fleas,' stuttered Frother. 'H-H-He was—'

'He wath thimply too heavy to carry all the way!' rudely interrupted Hairy. Frother hated others finishing his sentences. 'Fwother wath getting a weally bad backache!'

'D-D-Don't f-f-finish my sent-sent-sent—'

'Don't finith your thententheth!' interrupted Hairy. 'I know! I'm not _thtupid_!'

'Then stop doing it, Hairy!' shouted Majika.

'Thith ith what I get for trying to be _helpful_!' shouted Hairy and immediately went into sulk mode. He folded all 30 limbs defensively and refused to speak to anyone. The only time his mouth opened was to consume another Flusal fly or Pliga-moth.

'I've seen how quickly Sked can move!' added Fluffel in his bullet-fast voice. 'So he should be here before dawn breaks.'

'What was that!' said all who could speak, at exactly the same time – with the exception of Hildegard, who had become fairly proficient at deciphering the furball's utterances. What the rest of us heard come out of his mouth sounded something like this:

'I'veseenhowquicklySkedcanmove.Soheshouldbeherebeforedawnbreaks.'

Fluffel repeated the sentence, but still, none of us (other thanHildegard) could decipher its blistering speed. It was like word salad.

'I'm sorry, Fluffel, but I didn't quite get that,' urged Dementia diplomatically. 'Would you mind slowing down your speech a twitch to accommodate this ageing Soul wizard's sluggish brain?'

'Isaid,' continued Fluffel as slowly as he could, I'veseenhow quicklySked canmove. Soheshouldbehere beforedawnbreaks.'

'Again please!' smiled Dementia 'But even slower this time.' 'Icannotspeakanyslower!' shouted the frustrated Fluffel and stomped his feet. YouneedtolearntolistenbetterDementia!'

'Again please!' shouted an equally frustrated Dementia. 'But this time, even slower! That was still way too fast!'

Hildegard could see that fisticuffs were about to erupt between these two easily riled hotheads over _nothing_ , and decided to act as interpreter – at least until such time as the others brains' adjusted to Fluffel's express-train way of speaking.

'Fluffel said,' began Hildegard, 'that he's seen how quickly Sked can move. So he reckons the big fellow should be here before dawn breaks.'

As we all sat around an enormous bonfire that night (we had no shortage of fire-lighters, thanks to the Dragon dogs and Frother), Dementia briefed us on his and Fuzzard's concerns and recited the story of 'The rise and fall of Pugnacious'. He could not yet tell the story of how this revolting creature had arisen once again, because, simply put, he had no idea. He could not even be certain at this point in time whether Pugnacious had in fact arisen again. Not even the resident expert, Fuzzard, could be certain. Whilst the evidence was fairly compelling, it was still circumstantial. Every single creature present, with the exception of me, knew the name 'Pugnacious' only too well, and listened grimly.

'As you can see, Alex, just by looking at everyone's faces,' said Dementia, 'despite more than 400 years having passed since this awful creature's reign of terror and destruction came to an end, his mere mention still provokes fear and dread in all creatures living between the territories of Flush Fleas and the Land of Hope.'

'That's because,' added Majika, 'thousands of Sugar fairies, Soul wizards, Elkwoodian elves, Golfibobs, Tarantin trolls, Fwitches, and other good citizens who inhabited these regions died during this time – The time of the Black Vibrating Clouds!'

'"Black Vibrating Clouds",' continued Dementia, 'makes reference to the tens of thousands of cat-bat like creatures, known as Cabats, that served as Pugnacious' messengers of death. En masse they resembled a large black cloud, and their simultaneously vibrating wings made the ground below tremble.'

I soon learned that all who lived in this dimension knew the history of this dark period of time very well. It was an important part of their primary and high school curriculums. There were memorial plaques to honour the dead everywhere. There was hardly anyone who hadn't lost at least a few ancestors during this time of extreme terror and cruelty.

'Anyway, getting back to Pugnacious!' continued Dementia. 'If Traizon and Neuro scared you, I suggest that you block your ears right now.'

Only Hairy blocked his button-hole ears. That was ok, though. Frother would look out for him anyway.

'For compared to Pugnacious,' continued Dementia, 'the other two were saints. After all, it was Pugnacious who recruited Traizon to the dark side and taught him his trade. Of course, like any intelligent master, he did not teach his apprentice everything. The secrets to performing the nastiest of tricks, he kept to himself. To explain the rise and fall of Pugnacious, I need to take you back in time by about 400 years, to the dark period that Majika referred to a moment ago, "The Time of the Black Vibrating Clouds".'

### CHAPTER 9

### THE TIME OF THE BLACK VIBRATING CLOUDS

Dementia's eyes suddenly became as large as saucers and he started unconsciously whispering. One had to listen very closely because he was barely audible. It was like he was worried that spooks or spies may be eavesdropping. The intensity of his fear sent a cold shiver down my spine.

'Pugnacious was given birth to by Glitterina,' continued Dementia, 'one of the most gentle and loving of Flushflean Sugar fairies. Sadly, she died only moments after his delivery. She took to the grave the identity of his father. She was not married and fell pregnant out of wedlock. Yet, when the baby was delivered, it was neither a Sugar fairy nor a Soul wizard! (In case you are wondering, a special type of infrablue magic light is used by Sugar fairy mums to see their newborn Soul wizard babies – until such time as the babies learn how to climb into their already prepared, visible, Bend rubber forms).

'Based on the freakish, visible looks of the newborn Pugnacious, it was clear that the father was not a Soul wizard, but rather an evil Tishy gnome. This was very strange and fishy because it was common knowledge that Sugar fairies only ever date and marry Soul wizards, and that they never engage in sexual intercourse until they are married.

'Pugnacious' short, stout body, larger-than-normal head, boil-infested skin and pointed, cauliflower ears were absolute proof of his Tishy gnome heritage. He also had the hundreds of raised bumps on his head that are so unique to Tishy gnomes. Fortunately for him, these hideous looking bumps were soon completely concealed by his long flowing, silky blonde Sugar fairy hair.

'One did not have to be too astute to realise which of the Tishy gnomes was the father. For the only Tishy gnome to share the exact same, evil, burning-orange eyes as Pugnacious was the king of the Tishy gnomes, the late Tishlief. All other Tishy gnomes had weak, pale-pink eyes.

'Glitterina died only moments after the Soul wizard doctor cut the umbilical cord. The highly poisonous Tishy gnome blood splashed onto her skin and killed her almost instantly.

'Another Flushflean Sugar fairy-Soul wizard family kindly offered to adopt the orphan boy and raise him. They soon came to regret this decision. By age three, Pugnacious was already displaying glimpses of his ferocious temper, gluttonous appetite, and mischievous intentions – all of which were further telltale signs of his Tishy gnome heritage. By the time he turned five, he was already eating six times more than the average adult Sugar fairy and almost as much as the average adult Soul wizard. In typical Tishy gnome fashion, he swallowed his food whole, rather than chewing it, and he wolfed it down. If he was not fed on time, he would scream blue murder and throw things as hard as he could at his foster Sugar fairy mother. His fire-orange eyes would burn with rage all the time.

'Pugnacious never really fitted in amongst the Sugar fairies and Soul wizards of Flush Fleas. For him, it was like living with a bunch of boring goodie-two-shoes. At Wizard school, he used each bit of new magic that he had learned to produce evil rather than good. This was completely against the Soul wizard Codes of Conduct. 'The Powers that Be' were most unimpressed and continually called for disciplinary action to be sanctioned against him. Clearly, his Tishy gnome genes were dominant because Sugar fairies are innately peace-loving and law-abiding. Tishy gnomes, on the other hand, are inherently mischievous, nasty and self-serving.

'There is a documented incident where Pugnacious allegedly used a well-known "Fire Creation" spell to burn down an entire plantation of Sugar Fruit trees. He did so because the Soul wizard who owned the plantation took offence to him continually stealing the Sugar fruits and had given him a stern warning. Pugnacious was caught red-handed after his Shrewd wood wand also went up in huge flames and set his thick mop of blonde Sugar fairy hair alight. Every last hair was singed to the roots, revealing the hundreds of ugly Tishy gnome bumps that garlanded his skull. He received first-degree burns to most of his scalp.

'You are probably wondering why his wand went up in flames. I can tell you that it had nothing to do with Pugnacious' spell-creation skills. On the contrary, he was purported to have been extremely talented for his age. At age six, most Soul wizards were lucky if they could use the "Fire Creation" spell to light a simple candle, let alone set ablaze an entire Sugar Fruit plantation! The reason that the wand Pugnacious was using at the time spontaneously combusted was because it was a genuine Soul wizard wand and genuine Soul wizard wands do not like being used for evil purposes. They punish the offender when they feel like they have been manipulated by suddenly bursting into flames.

'When I say "genuine" Soul wizard wands, I mean wands that are made exclusively from Shrewd wood; not to be confused with "supreme" Soul wizard wands, derived directly from the wood of Sir Branchalot and Lady Woodsworth.

'The wands that youngsters like Pugnacious were given at the time, were made from the least powerful of the Shrewd trees. Some of the trees were still considered to be infants by Shrewdie standards. Some had not even reached the 10,000-year mark, and were less than two metres wide. For Pugnacious to summon such havoc from so young a wand was a true sign that he had the potential to one day be an amazing magician. The question was whether he would use these powers to produce good or evil. Early signs suggested evil.

'The incident in which Pugnacious lost his hair and destroyed his wand took place a few days before his seventh birthday. With his thick-blonde Sugar fairy hair now missing and his bumpy and burned Tishy gnome skull totally exposed, he looked like even more of a freak. Despite the vast majority of Flushflean Soul wizards and Sugar Fairies growing up to be kind and honourable citizens, as kids they act like kids and can be as nasty as the next. So, when the bald and burnt-scalped Pugnacious arrived at school the next day, looking decidedly more like a Tishy gnome than he ever had, a group of Soul wizard boys and Sugar fairy girls could not resist the temptation to heckle him:

Pugnacious, Pugnacious, go back home

To the land of the Tishy gnome

Remove your evil Tishy gnome butt

And head off to your primitive hut.

'These words of contempt hurt Pugnacious profoundly and sent him over the edge. He took out a sharp knife and deeply cut all ten of his fingers. His venomous blue Tishy gnome blood spurted out in all directions. He then ran around chasing those who had heckled him, smearing the thick-flowing, lethal blood all over their exposed faces. It was the most frightening and deadly game of "Tag" imaginable.

'Before the Soul wizard teacher on ground duty was able to respond, eight young Sugar fairies lay dead on the ground and Pugnacious had fried Flush Fleas. The damage would have been much worse were it not for the fact that the Soul wizard boys' faces were made of synthetic bend rubber and were, therefore, incapable of being poisoned.

'Pugnacious took refuge with his dad, King Tishlief, and the tribe of Tishy gnomes. Yet here, he found himself being treated like a complete leper because he looked so different from the average Tishy gnome. Although he had many features in common, he also had many features that were completely different. His long flowing, silky blonde hair (which grew back quickly), pointy nose, flat stomach and slender, long neck made him look like a complete abomination to Tishy gnome eyes. Purebred Tishy gnomes did not have a single hair on their bodies. And they had flat, squishy noses, barrel-like stomachs, and absolutely no necks. They had to turn their entire bodies every time they wished to turn their heads.

'His abhorrent appearance caused Pugnacious to endure savage verbal and physical abuse on a daily basis, at the hands of almost all of the male Tishy gnomes. Female Tishy gnomes dared not even speak in the presence of males – even in front of half-breeds like Pugnacious. So he was at least spared their scorn.

'His dad also treated him like an outcast. He was clearly embarrassed by his son's strange appearance. Despite Pugnacious being the oldest of his progeny and the rightful heir to his throne, Tishlief had five much better, full-blooded heirs in mind. He often threatened to remove Pugnacious' fiery-orange eyes so that this obvious association with him would disappear forever.

'With each passing year, Pugnacious became more and more intent on killing Tishlief, his five half-brothers, and every last Tishy gnome male who had ever teased him. Over the years, Pugnacious had become extremely involved in the study of genetic engineering. He did not mix with any of the other Tishy gnome kids and spent every spare moment experimenting with insects and small creatures that he managed to capture. Lots of innocent creatures died as a result of his savage and ruthless experiments. It all started out as little more than sadistic enjoyment and role-play; gather up a group of insects, name each after the worst of his Tishy gnome oppressors, slowly torture them to death. One of his favourite tortures involved cutting two completely different insects in half, gluing their severed bodies together and then watching them slowly die as they moved around awkwardly.

'As Pugnacious matured, his intelligence and curiosity blossomed, and he was soon observing each experiment very closely and taking copious notes. It was no longer exclusively about the sadistic pleasure. It was now also about the science. How long did it take for various insects to die? Why did some die immediately whilst others survived for days? Slowly, he started to understand the building blocks of life – genetics. He soon graduated to the study of small animals. The guiding principles were exactly the same.

'The major breakthrough occurred when he managed to successfully create a new creature that was 60 percent butterfly and 40 percent snake. He had grown it from micro gene splices taken from both of its captured parents. The poor creature lived a life of torment because it was too heavy to fly and too awkward to slither quietly.

'Having discovered the secret to mixing creatures genes to come up with new abominations, he slowly worked on refining his skills and understanding. He wanted to create the ultimate killing machine.'

### CHAPTER 10

### THE CABATS

'Pugnacious' masterpiece was the creation of the Cabat!' continued Dementia. 'A perfect blend between the six-winged paralysis bat and the legendary poison-fanged cat. This genetic concoction produced exquisite evil. Its victims could be paralysed from the head down by receiving only the slightest of grazes from any of the razor sharp edges of its six paralysis-venom coated wings, and then fatally poisoned with a single puncture mark from its two lethally poisonous fangs. Pugnacious painstakingly cloned thousands of these hideous creatures in a secret, well-camouflaged cave, which was more than two kilometres away from Tishy gnome territory.

'On the day of his 20th birthday, he set the Cabats free on the entire Tishy gnome community. The Cabats were instructed to only paralyse their prey on this occasion. He returned to the Tishy settlement with what appeared to be a black vibrating cloud completely smothering him.

'"Attack!" he screamed, and the black vibrating cloud suddenly dispersed into thousands of individual Cabats. The Cabats attacked every last Tishy gnome citizen with the exception of their master. The attack was vicious and frenzied. Within the space of a few seconds, all, including Tishlief, lay paralysed and helpless, but completely conscious. Their razor-sharp wings were lined with blue Tishy gnome blood. Despite this Tishy gnome blood being extremely poisonous, it was nowhere near as lethal as the blood that flowed through the Cabats' veins. It was about as harmful to Cabats as curdled milk is to us humans. At worst, they would have a tummy ache for a few hours.

'Pugnacious then moved around from body to body, deciding who deserved to die and who deserved to be spared. He enjoyed playing God. He conducted summary trials in front of each prostrate, motionless body. The eyes of each petrified creature raced from side to side in helpless frustration. Their crimes were listed and then their punishment determined. Even the smallest of crimes against Pugnacious resulted in death. But first, each of the condemned was subjected to atrocious acts of humiliation. Revenge was turned into a brutal game.

'Although some of the details are too gory to discuss, it must be noted that Pugnacious is said to have bragged loudly about how much he had enjoyed pulling out his dad's left eyeball and eating it, as the other eyeball stared back at him in horror.

'By the time the carnage was over, most of the male Tishy gnomes were dead. Only ten adult males (who had never once teased him) were spared, along with all the women and most of the children. Before noon that day, the ten adult males, along with their female partners and every last child, fled for good. The rest of the women would become the slaves and breeding partners of Pugnacious. He intended to build a new race. Each and every newly born would carry his genes.

'He let the Cabats gorge themselves silly on the dead remains. After all, they would need their strength for their march to, and invasion of, Flush Fleas. The "Time of the Black Vibrating Clouds" had commenced in earnest.

'Sugar fairies, Elkwoodian elves, Golfibobs, Burlian dragon slayers (now referred to as Burlian ironworkers) and Tarantin trolls were no match for the deadly Cabats. They were sliced and diced and then lethally injected with minimal effort. Before leaving their victims, the Cabats would carve the dreaded symbol of Pugnacious into their victims' chests or heads. The symbol was a bumpy edged circle (to symbolise his head) and an evil eye in the middle. As the Cabats would flee the crime scene, they would let out a spine-tingling screech. This would alert everyone within a five-kilometre radius that a Cabat had just struck and add to the overall atmosphere of fear. It was psychological warfare at its best.

'Fortunately, Soul wizards like myself and Fuzzard were completely safe from Cabat attack. As you are probably aware, you cannot paralyse or poison us because we have no flesh or blood or vital organs. Our form creations are synthetic figments of our own imaginations. So the only real threat to Pugnacious and his loyal pets were us, the Soul wizards of Flush Fleas. In light of this, Pugnacious came up with a brilliant and cunning plan – brilliant for him, I might add; not so rosy for us!

'He started kidnapping Soul wizards in the early hours of the morning, as we slept. Squadrons of Cabats would swoop down on us, their unsuspecting, snoring targets, and spray our synthetic bodies from head to toe with a special formula that prevented our souls from exiting our forms. To this day, we still have no idea what this formula is, or how he came to discover it.

'Many credit his young, rebellious, Soul wizard apprentice, Traizon (only 15-years-old at the time) with its discovery. The youthful Traizon had joined Pugnacious after being severely scolded by the 'Powers That Be' for continuously using his rapidly emerging, magical genius, unscrupulously. Pugnacious offered the disgruntled Traizon free room and board, and complete freedom to explore the evil side of magic. In order to perform evil magic, though, Traizon required an evil wand; and it was Pugnacious who presented him with Evooli – the sinister Brood wood wand, purchased directly from the Brandenberg witches. The rocky relationship between master and apprentice, is a story in itself, but will have to be kept for another day. Suffice to say, Traizon left after only a few months, went into hiding, and began planning his own evil empire.

'Anyway, getting back to the Cabats... They would then fly off with their victims often kicking and screaming helplessly, to the volcanically active Angry Mountain. The Soul wizards would then be dropped one by one into its scorching-hot, fiery epicentre. A loud "poof" would be heard as their synthetic forms evaporated and their bright glowing souls ascended.

'Before these stunned glowing souls could escape, Cabats armed with what resembled large soup ladles, would reach into the glowing souls and scoop out their memorial diamonds. This would sound the death of each Soul wizard. Their souls would enter their memorial diamond and rest peacefully for eternity and the remaining vapours would simply dissipate into the surrounding air. The Cabats would then return to the secret cave with their new consignment of glittering gems for their master. Pugnacious would excitedly add each new addition to his growing collection with the same enthusiasm as a kid collecting marbles. He would spend hours staring at the holographic images of each trapped wizard. He would laugh at each image tormentingly. It was a very disrespectful way to treat the dead.

'The memorial diamond that Pugnacious wanted most of all was that of the legendary Soul wizard, Fuzzard – who sits before you right now.'

The humble Fuzzard was clearly embarrassed by Dementia's kind words and folded his beard around his face several times to hide from the accolades. It was a very strange reaction indeed.

'Yes, well...' continued Dementia. 'Pugnacious' squadrons of Cabats tried on several occasions to capture our friend over here, but his protective magic was simply too strong.'

### CHAPTER 11

### THE DRAGON DOGS

'Meanwhile,' resumed Dementia, 'our Fuzzard, had been working on a creature of his own that he hoped would eliminate every last Cabat.'

'The Dragon dogs!' I exclaimed.

'Precisely, young Alex,' smiled Dementia. 'Our brilliant friend knew that if he could create a creature capable of destroying these flying assassins, Pugnacious would then be easy pickings. Whereas Pugnacious had used genetics to combine two evil creatures, Fuzzard relied on complex magic to combine two of the most loving and loyal of creatures, the Devine dragon and the Samuelson dog.

'Fuzzard literally burst into tears, like a proud dad, when the first of the Dragon dogs finally sprung to life and started flying around his living room. Isn't that so, Fuzzy?'

The beard-smothered head nodded. Hotdog flew forward and licked Fuzzard's exposed ears affectionately.

'Yes, Hotdog was the very first Dragon dog to emerge,' continued Dementia. Hotdog obviously enjoyed this acknowledgment from Dementia because his face burst into a huge, proud smile. His mouth opened wide, revealing an enormous pink tongue and frighteningly sharp canines. His tail wagged furiously from side to side.

'The moment Hotdog's eyes opened, he began enthusiastically tweeting at the top of his voice and blowing flames everywhere. He nearly burnt poor Fuzzy's house to the ground – didn't he, Fuzzy?'

Fuzzard nodded his head and his body shook intensely as he laughed quietly but hysterically at the fond memory. Hotdog joined in the silent laughter. It was the first time that I had ever seen a dog actually laugh. It was absolutely priceless!

'This new creature's flame blowing abilities would need to be refined,' continued Dementia. 'Once all the initial teething problems had been ironed out, Fuzzard created an initial batch of 350 of them and set them free. They were programmed to hunt and destroy nothing other than Cabats.

'The Cabats tried in vain to paralyse and poison their new nemeses. Dragon dog skin though, was simply too thick and hardy because, concealed beneath their shaggy dog hair coats, are several layers of stone-hard, glistening-purple, dragon scales. Would you like to see?'

'Yes please, Dementia!' exclaimed Willowood.

'Hotdog, would you mind if I showed them your scales?' asked Dementia.

Hotdog confirmed that this was fine by flying towards Dementia and then assuming the submissive position on the ground before Dementia's feet. As Dementia pushed away a patch of thick fur, we could all clearly see the glistening-purple scales below. We all got to also feel these scales. They felt as hard as fibreglass to me.

'The Cabats were simply no match for the Dragon dogs and were burned to frizzles. As the Cabats numbers started to dwindle, Pugnacious started to panic. He needed more power. If only he could harness the power of the 63 Soul wizards' souls that lay trapped in the memorial diamonds in his possession. He had tried dropping incredibly heavy rocks onto these memorial diamonds in a futile attempt to split them open and release their souls. He dreamed of consuming each of their souls as they ascended out of the cracked memorial diamonds, in the same way as one can sniff some of the more powerful potions through ones nostrils.

'And then the idea of how to achieve this outcome came to him!

He excitedly gathered together a group of about 40 Cabats, which would be his "taxi ride" to Angry Mountain. From the ground, he looked like he was floating on a black, feathery flying carpet. When he got to the epicentre of Angry Mountain, he released the entire bag of marbles into its fiery depths. They disappeared but nothing ascended.

'"That's ok," he thought to himself. "It will take quite a while before the intense heat is able to melt these stubborn diamonds and release their souls. Patience is a virtue!"

'After a frustrating four-hour wait, the 63 Soul wizard's souls' were eventually freed from their molten memorial diamonds and started their stunned-mullet ascent. Their combined souls took the effect of a thick plume of purple swirling smoke.

'Pugnacious captured every last drop of this precious nectar in vacuum-sealed vats smeared with the same secret formula as the one that prevented their souls from escaping from their synthetic forms. The megalomaniac was so excited that he did not even bother to head home first before starting to consume their souls. He greedily started sniffing in the vapours there and then. As he drained each vat of its contents, he felt an incredible surge of energy flow through his body. By the time he had consumed the last of the vats, he felt immortal and invincible.

'There was only one chink in Pugnacious' armour, though; he could not fly – yet! Suddenly, out of nowhere, about 80 Dragon dogs attacked, with a miniature Fuzzard riding on the back of Hotdog.'

Fuzzard removed what appeared to be a charm bracelet from his arm. It had at least 20 different charms. One of them was a perfect Bend rubber miniature replica of himself. He showed it to everyone.

'You are kidding!' chirped Dementia. 'Is that the exact miniature that you assumed at the time?'

Fuzzard nodded proudly. He had kept it as a memento and family heirloom.

'That is tiny!' laughed Dementia. 'I had always visualised you being at least the size of a Wobbit's head... Anyway, the flying carpet of Cabats was completely incinerated by Hotdog and his pack. Pugnacious was sent tumbling uncontrollably into the volcanic mouth. He met his death with complete shock. How cruel to be so powerful yet so powerless!

'We all assumed that this was the last of him. After all, there was no possible way that anyone or anything could have survived that fiery pit. Or so we assumed. If he had indeed survived, how come nobody has seen or heard from him in more than 400 years? He is way too vain and power-hungry to have gone into hiding and become a recluse. How is it possible that, 400 years later, he and his Cabats may once again be active? And has he also managed to somehow reincarnate Traizon as well? Why else would Traizon's memorial diamond have gone missing? Who else would have a need for it?'

'Excuse me, Dementia!' blushed Willowood sheepishly. 'I apologise for not having mentioned this earlier, but the embossed heart on my sacred gold medallion started vibrating again a few days ago... Ever so—'

'What!' exclaimed the clearly shocked Dementia.

'Ever so slightly though... Little more than a gentle flutter. I did try—'

'Are you sure, Willowood?'

'Yes Dementia, I'm sure. I did try telling you before we left to pick up Alex! Remember?'

' _No_! When was that?'

'I interrupted you midway through your teleportation spell. Remember?'

'Ah, yes. Now I remember. But—'

'You were so angry that I decided to leave telling you, for another time... And in truth Dementia, I really thought nothing of it anyway, because I had witnessed Traizon's demise with my own two eyes. I thought the medallion must simply be malfunctioning.'

'Items as magically powerful as the sacred gold medallion _never_ malfunction, Willowood! If the golden heart is pulsating even slightly, then you can be rest assured that Traizon is alive once again – in some shape or form. The golden heart will continue to pulsate until such time as Traizon is destroyed once again – as per the oath you swore on the day that Traizon destroyed your family and your tribe.'

'I am really sorry, Dementia. I should have—'

'It's ok, son!' Dementia lovingly rubbed Willowood's stooped shoulders before continuing. 'It is in fact _I_ who should be apologising to you. I should have thought to check with you whether or not you had felt any vibrations coming from the sacred medallion lately – given my suspicions that Traizon may have been resurrected... My mind is not as sharp as it used to be.'

'It's fine Dementia! At least we now know for certain that Traizon is lurking once again. And we can track his movements because the golden heart's pulse rate will increase and decrease respectively, as Pugnacious moves closer to, and further away from us.

'Indeed! Given what we now know, it is more than likely that a reincarnated Pugnacious-Traizon duo are responsible for making so many Flushfleans mute – the master and his apprentice working hand in hand... Hmm... Interesting!'

'But what do they stand to gain by trying to make everyone here, mute?' asked Violeena.

'I'm not quite sure, Violeena,' responded Dementia grimly. 'Perhaps they are trying to make us weak in anticipation of an imminent surprise attack. We—'

' _Dementia_!' screamed Willowood. 'My golden medallion is suddenly vibrating _wildly_!'

Before Dementia could even respond to Willowood, an incredibly loud explosion shook the ground before us. The noise clearly came from the direction of the Swamp tree woodland, about 20 kilometres away. As I looked that way, I saw an enormous yellow-orange fireball engulf the entire forest. It rose at least 60 metres into the air and left a mushroom of rancid smoke in its wake. It did not take long for the smell to reach us.

'I'm so sorry Fuzzard!' said Dementia empathetically. There was no doubt that the five-star Dragon dog kennel would have been obliterated. Nothing could have survived a blast as devastating as that. It was just as well that no other creatures shared the forest with Old Fuzzy and his Dragon dogs.

'Be pleased, my friend,' scribbled Fuzzard into the orange, clayey soil, 'for we now have the element of surprise! Pugnacious and Traizon will now incorrectly assume that you, me, and the 313 Dragon dogs are dead!'

'Very true! Very true!' replied Dementia. However, there was little conviction in his voice. His thoughts had turned to his beloved Skellem. He desperately hoped that this adorable stone-winged Carbanara had managed to find her way out of the Swamp tree woodland before the explosion occurred.

### CHAPTER 12

### TEAM SELECTION

As you can imagine, after this major scare, nobody slept a wink that night – except for Hairy, of course. Fear never got in the way of his sleeping and eating. It was like his brain sorted everything into boxes and only opened the boxes that were appealing.

As I was finally starting to doze off at about 6am, I was awoken with shock as the ground below me shook quite violently. My immediate thoughts were quake or explosion. It was neither, though. Rather, it was the heavy footsteps of Sked. He had just finished power-walking 100 kilometres and still looked as fresh as a daisy. He was warmly greeted, then introduced to everyone. Dementia gave him a brief run-down on the current events that had taken place and the imminent threat.

Sked was very relieved to discover that we were all safe and accounted for. He feared that the enormous explosion that he had also witnessed, albeit from a much further distance, may have been intended for us.

'It was intended for Fuzzard and the Dragon dogs,' stated Dementia grimly. 'For they still remain Pugnacious and his Cabats' potential Achilles heel! It may have also been intended for me. We cannot be sure... It all depends on whether or not Pugnacious was aware that I was visiting. Either way, we need to start moving quickly!

Just then, Willowood's gold medallion started pulsating wildly again.

'Take cover!' he screamed.

Another loud explosion rang out from the direction of the Serene forest - the scenic location where Dementia's Pritushi-clad cabin _used to be_ located; I say, "used to be", because it was blown sky-high. The entire cabin (along with all the technological gadgetry that Dementia had secretly stashed under the floorboards and inside the wall cavities) could be seen somersaulting through the air. The young Shrewd wood beams that gave the cabin its shape, were all fatally wounded and screamed out long droning cries, as captured words escaped their splintered exteriors like fleeing prisoners. The word that they kept repeating with their last laboured breaths was, 'Puuuuggggnnnnaaaaaccciiiooouusssss!' They were trying to warn us. Although we were all too far away to hear this, it didn't matter; we already knew that Pugnacious was to blame.

Dementia mourned the loss of these fine young Shrewd wood specimens and the loss of his technological gadgets. He also wondered whether acts of terrorism were covered under his galactic home insurance policy. He now wished that he had read the fine print more closely before signing it. Either way, he would have to deal with this issue at later date. There were far more pressing matters to deal with – like avoiding being killed.

'We need to visit all of our allies in the surrounding territories and warn them of the impending danger,' he said stoically. 'We also need to see if any of them are willing to stand with us against this new threat. Hopefully, they still have their voices. If they do, we might even ask a few representatives from each to come back to Flush Fleas and help talk to the Shrewdies.

'Fuzzard and I will take Willowood, Violeena and 50 Dragon dogs with us. We will head to Tishy gnome territory and search for Pugnacious and his motley crew. We will start by visiting the new territory of the Tishy gnomes and then the old, if need be.

'If you need to contact us, it will have to be by glitter message.

There is no other way, unfortunately. Therefore, each group will have to have at least one Sugar fairy present.

'Frother, I would like you to lead Hairy, one Soul wizard, one Sugar fairy, and 50 Dragon dogs to the territory of the Doolan dragons. They could prove to be powerful allies. And King Flambay has the greatest of respect for you, so he will listen to what you have to say!'

'Th-ank y-y-you De-De-Dementia. C-C-Can I t-take M-M-Majika and Z-Z-Zoola w-w-with me?'

'I'm afraid not! I need Majika to lead a different team. No, I would like you to take Wandina and Eldorian with you – provided the two of them can promise not to kill each other!'

'We'll be fine!' said Eldorian. 'As long as she keeps her mouth shut!' he thought.

'Good!' continued Dementia. 'Now Majika, you will take Zoola and—'

Flopsy placed his enormous bloated rabbit face and polar bear body in front of Dementia and started bouncing up and down like an overweight pogo stick.

'It's fine Dementia,' smiled Majika. 'He will be good company!' 'Ok! But I would also like you to take young Alex and 50 Dragon dogs with you. You will be visiting our good friends, the "hot-headed" Tarantin trolls. Based on what Alex has told me about his younger sisters' shocking temper tantrums, he will have no issue dealing with the trolls!'

'What about us!' shouted one of the female Drudger worms bitterly from the claustrophobic confines of Majika's fairy purse. 'Yet again, we go without mention! How disrespectful! It's like we don't even exist! It would be nice to one day crack a mention. We are not looking for _leading roles_ or even _best supporting actor_ or _actress_ nominations. We would be happy if we were even just acknowledged as insignificant _extras_! Isn't that right?'

'Here, Here!' agreed her angry, juicy companions.

Although the Drudger worms' abilities to speak aloud had not been affected in any way by the 'Mute' spell, they spoke at a frequency that very few creatures' ears are capable of detecting. For some reason, Flopsy's ears could pick up this frequency. However, his very basic brain could not understand what any of these auditory signals meant. It just sounded like more noise to him.

About a year ago, Majika had gotten Dementia to order her an Auditory-Frequency-Converter (AFC) chip online from Galabad whilst he was visiting one of the more sophisticated dimensions that had Universal Internet Connection (UIC). She was hoping that she could inject it into the vocal cord region of her favourite Drudger worm, Juicel, and that this would allow her to open lines of communication with Juicel and the others. Unfortunately, when the AFC chip arrived, it was way too big to inject into Juicel's vocal cord region. It would have blocked the poor creature's windpipe. As I visualised this, I was reminded of that poor guy who choked to death after unsuccessfully attempting to swallow a mango pip for a stupid _one dollar_ dare. The pip became wedged sideways in his throat.

Speaking of attempts to communicate, the citizens of Flush Fleas had tried fitting their pet Wobbits with top-of-the-range translator chips in order to gain some sort of insight into what their Scooby Doo like "Arooooohs" meant. Unfortunately, their Arooooohs translated as Arooooohs! So, one really had to rely on a Wobbit's body language to gain an insight into what they were thinking or how they were feeling. Fortunately, though, their body language was very expressive.

'Please just remember,' continued Dementia, completely oblivious to the ongoing protests of the Drudgers, 'that despite being small, the Tarantin trolls are ferocious fighters and enjoy conflict. So be very careful about what you say in their presence. They are prone to misunderstanding what is being said and jumping to the wrong conclusions. They have exceedingly bad tempers and are the kings and queens of holding grudges!'

'Actually, we hold that title, Rubber head!' screamed an annoyed male Drudger worm. 'Why do you think we always look so disgruntled? Do you think it's for our own health! You —'

Only Flopsy heard the high-pitched, foul language that spewed from this irate Drudgers mouth for the next five minutes like a burst sewer-pipe. The Drudger's screams were so loud and high-pitched that Flopsy resorted to rolling up his own ears and using them as earplugs. He looked ridiculous but did not seem to care.

Dementia's description of the Tarantin trolls reminded me so much of my younger sisters, Rachel and Leah. They also misunderstood everything I said and were always deliberately looking to incite fights with me. And when they lost their tempers, their Barbie dolls either became lethal clubs or flying missiles – or both. After a fight or argument, they would give me the "silent treatment" for hours.

'Sked,' continued Dementia. 'I would like you to lead a team to visit the Burlian ironworkers. They absolutely idolise you after your attempted act of martyrdom during the battle to defeat Traizon.'

'I am very flattered Dementia!' blushed Sked. 'Who else will I be taking?'

As Dementia was about to respond, he noticed a soot-covered shadow prowling in the long purple grass nearby. The protruding stone wings and baboon backside were an instant giveaway.

'Skellem!' cried an overjoyed Dementia and ran towards the grass. 'You're alive!'

'Drat!' thought Skellem. 'I've been discovered again!' Dementia lightened Skellem's disappointment somewhat by giving her an enormous hug. She nervously told the story of the massive explosion in the Swamp tree woodland and how she had narrowly escaped being killed. It must have been a very narrow escape because the pink fur on her bum cheeks had been scorched black. She still appeared to be a bit shell-shocked. Her hands were trembling and her beak was clattering loudly.

'As I was exiting the Swamp tree woodland,' she advised rather shakily, 'an enormous black vibrating cloud started to move over the entire canopy, instantly blackening out all the moonlight. Directly underneath this vibrating cloud was one of the largest looking birds that I have ever seen – at least ten times my size!' And Skellem was by no means small; she was about size of a fully grown ostrich. 'The massive bird yelled out a command and suddenly, the cloud started raining what smelt like Wham-Wham tree oil.'

This oil is known to be highly flammable. Flushfleans use it to fire their primitive ovens and hot water systems.

'No wonder there was such a huge explosion!' exclaimed Dementia. 'The Cabats were dropping Wham—'

'Cabats!' screamed Skellem. 'But I thought they were—'

'I know, so did we!' sighed Dementia heavily. 'But unfortunately, they are very much alive.'

Skellem's observations had confirmed that there were at least a few thousand Cabats. It would take a few thousand crowded together in order to give the impression of a black cloud the size described by her. It also confirmed that Pugnacious or Traizon may be taking the form of a very large bird.

Based on the description of the bird, it could well be a Quisitive bird. Interestingly, Quisitive birds were found primarily around the immediate vicinity of Angry Mountain. The rich soil in this region meant that there were plenty of juicy Squalimus worms on offer for the constantly ravenous Quisitive birds.

'My apologies, Sked... As I was saying, if you could please take Majika's older sister, Honeypop, a Soul wizard boy named Spledan, 50 Dragon dogs, and...' Skellem continued to wave the index finger on her stumpy right hand in the air wildly and look at Dementia with pleading eyes. '... And Skellem over here,' smiled Dementia.

'You mean that I get to go on an official mission!' screamed Skellem with great excitement. 'Awesome!' She reached into her backpack and immediately started applying purple face-paint.

'The grass where you will be going Skellem,' continued Dementia, 'is _gold_ , not purple. Also, this is no longer a friendly game of hide and seek, Skellem. It's serious stuff. You need to listen to Sked. He is your leader.'

'I am at Sked's disposal!' replied Skellem solemnly. 'I will be his eyes when he sleeps, his ears when he speaks, his arms and feet when he is tired, his—'

'Ok, ok. Enough already Skellem!' shouted Dementia. 'We get the picture. Right, Hildegard, I would like you to lead a Soul wizard boy named Felterain, Majika's other Sugar fairy sister, Twinkledust, and 50 Dragon dogs to the Land of the Friendly witches. They and their Flister birds could also be most useful.'

'Friendly witches, Flister birds!' I exclaimed.

'Yes,' said Dementia. 'The Friendly witches, or Fwitches, as they are more commonly known, have been allies of ours for thousands of years. Unlike many of the evil clans of witches that exist, the Fwitches are kind-hearted, good-natured and peace-loving. They are well-protected by thousands of their loyal birds, known as Flying Blisters, aka Flisters.'

I was really pleased to not be part of the team visiting these Friendly witches. Even if they are as friendly as Dementia has suggested, just the sight of them would no doubt scare me senseless. My mother's Aunt Maureen has scraggly grey hair, a crooked nose, nibbled-cheese teeth, and black moles with tufts of hair growing from their centres. Despite being a really nice person, every time I look at her, a cold chill runs down my spine.

'Finally, Fluffel,' continued Dementia, 'I would like you to lead a team to the land of the Golfibobs. Accompanying you will be Wertheimer and his new pet Airbaggendale, Squishbucket! Provided they arrive—'

'What's an Airbaggendale?' I interrupted.

'Airbaggendales are a reasonably sizeable flying creature,' explained Dementia. 'They have a face similar to that of your Earth's proboscis monkey, and the neck of your Earth's giraffe. The rest of its body resembles... um, um,... an oversized set of bagpipes! And it does not have wings!'

'How does it fly then?' I asked.

'It sucks a huge amount of air into its enormous lungs,' continued Dementia, 'until its body inflates to around ten times its normal size. It then expels this air with tremendous force through a series of two-way valves scattered around its enormous buttocks. This air-driven force propels the creature forward. It then closes the valves and refills its body once again.

'Wow!' I exclaimed. 'Sounds amazing!'

'Yes,' continued Dementia. 'However, they are not the most comfortable creature to hitch a ride with. Their flight process is very choppy – moments of quick propulsion, followed by moments of gentle gliding. I hope Wertheimer doesn't end up with whiplash!'

I could picture Wertheimer's exposed bum (that sits aside his head, like the uglier of two Siamese twins), mooning everyone below.

'Whilst it is certainly not the most elegant creature to watch fly,' continued Dementia, 'it manages to get from point A to point B rather quickly and without any major drama; just don't expect a smooth ride. Landings can be a bit tricky, though. It has to release air out of the valves on its underbelly at exactly the right velocity. Release too much air and it takes off moments before touching down. Release too little air and it hits the ground hard... Also accompanying you, Fluffel, will be Lilypod, Wizend and 50 Dra—'

'My _parents_!' exclaimed Majika with a shocked look on her face.

'Yes!' smiled Dementia. 'They insisted on coming. It's going to be a family affair!'

'But—' protested Majika.

Dementia cut her off. 'Listen, initially they insisted on accompanying you and your sisters. I had a hard time persuading them to instead join Fluffel's team. So you can count your lucky stars!'

Majika did not say a word. She was too busy sulking.

'Anyway,' continued Dementia. 'Getting back to the Golfibobs, Fluffel...They are good friends of ours and deserve to be warned of the impending danger. Because they always assume a handstand position, your line of sight will match up perfectly with theirs. Unfortunately, the others will have to kneel down.'

'Awesome!' exclaimed Fluffel. 'It will be nice to not have to strain my neck for once!'

'You're welcome,' replied Dementia. He had not understood a word that Fluffel had uttered and did not want to go through the rigmarole of trying to understand. He took an incorrect punt that Fluffel was saying, 'Thank you'.

'No, Dementia!' shouted Fluffel. 'What I _said_ , is that it will be nice—'

'Oh, that reminds me...' interrupted Dementia and knelt down so that he was now only twice the height of Fluffel. 'Sorry to interrupt whatever it is you are saying, but I have a little surprise for you.'

'A surprise! What sort of—'

'Close your eyes and count to ten!' continued Dementia. Fluffel did as he was told. He got as far as eight (in the speed that it would take an average person to get to three) before screaming out in pain. He was sure that he had just been stung in the neck by a Stingasect.

'Ouuuch! I've just been stung in the neck!' he cried. 'Wonderful, it appears to have worked!' smiled Dementia with a huge look of satisfaction on his face.

'What are you talking about!' screamed Fluffel.

'Yep, it definitely has!' smiled Dementia. 'Those chaps down at "Translator-Chips-R-Us have done a great job. This slow speed version compensates perfectly for your fast voice!'

'I can't believe that you just did that to me!' screamed Fluffel. He was so furious that two of his tiny razor sharp teeth actually managed to push themselves past his thick black, rubbery lips. He puffed out his chest and clenched his fists. However, instead of this making him look intimidating, it only served to make him look even more cute and cuddly.

'I do apologise, Fluffel!' replied a bemused Dementia, and tried his best not to laugh. 'But, if you're going to be leading a team, your team members need to be able to understand you. And now they all can... Even when you are angry like this!'

'Yes, well, but... Fair enough!' conceded Fluffel, rather reluctantly. His teeth retracted and his chest deflated. His hazel-coloured, puppy dog eyes still looked very angry though.

'Good. Now that this is sorted out,' continued Dementia, 'getting back to the Golfibobs... They are arguably the universe's nicest, most generous creatures. I am fairly certain that they will help us out any way they can.'

'But if it comes to an outright battle with Pugnacious and his crew,' said Fluffel, 'what good are they going to be? You know, being that they are in a permanent handstand position? Unless their feet end in daggers, or have a really bad odour, or something like that!' 'You would be quite surprised by how well they can defend themselves when they need to,' replied Dementia, but offered no further elaboration. 'Right, now that this is all sorted, let us start preparing for our journeys.'

As the group was about to scatter, the loud sound of a balloon continually inflating and deflating caught everyone's attention. Through one of the low lying clouds came the 'flying bagpipes' and her 'fart-faced' passenger.

'Watch out!' screamed Wertheimer as Squishbucket monumentally stuffed up the landing and both went crashing head-first into the turf. Wertheimer now had purple grass burns on his face and his bum.

### CHAPTER 13

### DIAMONDS AREN'T ALL THEY'RE CRACKED UP TO BE!

(Step back in time a mere 400 years. Go on. Don't be shy!)

'I hope this is just a bad dream!' thought Pugnacious as he plummeted downwards at great speed towards the bubbling epicentre of the volcanically active Angry Mountain. As the radiant heat started to burn his entire body away, he realised that this was wishful thinking. The pain was excruciating, as his flesh and bone melted away. This physical pain though, paled into insignificance when compared with the shock and humiliation of having been defeated. He honestly thought that he was invincible. Yet here he was – DYING!

In the space of a few seconds, his form no longer existed. Despite this, his mind remained 100 percent active. 'So the mind lives on!' he thought, as he surveyed his new surrounds. 'Perhaps I am now what the Soul wizards refer to as a spirit of the dead – capable of watching and observing life, but not partaking in it. Oh well, on the bright side, at least it means that I can leave this fiery pit. After all, spirits can move around freely.'

He commanded his thought processes to guide him upwards but nothing happened.

'Don't panic...' he panicked. 'Perhaps this spirit-moving-around situation takes a bit of practice. But why is my eyesight so blurry? I'm seeing hundreds of miniatures of the exact same fiery image. It's as if I'm looking through a crystal with finely cut edges. Oh _crap_ , it can't be, can it?'

'It is!' said one of the 63 Soul wizards whose souls he had consumed and who now shared the massive memorial diamond with him. 'Now, if you could please keep the volume of your thoughts down. We are all trying to sleep!'

'All!' screamed Pugnacious.

'Yes, all!' harmonised the 63 Soul wizard voices at once. 'Nooooo!' cried Pugnacious.

'Listen, Mr " _It's-all-about-me_ ",' said one of the Soul wizards calmly but sternly, 'having to share our afterlife with a megalomaniac is not exactly our idea of fun either. But we have no choice. That is the way the cards have been dealt. The afterlife can be a wonderfully peaceful and serene experience – _if you accept_ _it graciously_. I was having the most amazing dream before your whinging disturbed me. _But if you_ _fight it_ , you are in for a long, lonely, frustrating time.'

'To hell with the lot of you goodie-two-shoes!' screamed Pugnacious. 'You can spend the rest of your eternities sleeping blissfully and dreaming pleasant dreams. But every time you wake up, you'll still be in the same prison. I, on the other hand, plan to use my time more constructively. You know, working on finding a way _out_. There must be a way out. Every problem has a solution.'

'Good luck, Pugnacious!' said another voice. 'Sleep tight and don't let the bad thoughts bite!'

'Just one final thing,' said Pugnacious, 'before you all drift off again: Why the hell am I in a memorial diamond? I thought only you pathetic Soul wizards became "bubble wrapped" when you died.'

'We have no idea!' said another Soul wizard. 'It's a complete mystery. Just like why each of us does not have our own memorial diamond. Now, put your thoughts to sleep, please!'

Pugnacious was not able to do so. His thoughts raced at a million miles an hour. He did try to think as softly as possible though. After all, the thoughts he was now having were not ones that he wished to share with his claustrophobic neighbours – or dare he say, 'bed-pals'.

What neither Pugnacious nor any of the Soul wizards (dead or alive) realised is that the genes that control the creation of memorial diamonds are in fact contained in the Sugar fairy gene pool, but always only get passed onto the male progeny. Even the wisest of Soul wizards and Sugar fairies incorrectly assumed that the memorial diamonds stemmed from the Soul wizard gene pool. After all, only Soul wizards spent the afterlife entrapped in these memorial diamonds. Sugar fairies turned to rainbows when they died and then slowly faded into the surrounding landscape. Life and genetic building blocks can be filled with surprises!

The other unanswered question for Pugnacious was why the extreme heat of the volcanic bed upon which his shared memorial diamond now lay, failed to melt it. If you recall, it had melted the other 63 memorial diamonds after a mere four hours. He estimated that at least ten, long, tedious hours had already passed. The answer to this mystery was simple. Instead of his memorial diamond having the normal single protective layer, it had 64 protective layers; for it contained his soul and that of the other 63 Soul wizards. It was an enormous, tough-as-buggery, 64-carat diamond.

The holographic image of Pugnacious' face was by far the largest and dominated the entire centre of the diamond. His face was riddled with anger and resentment, and his eyes moved from side to side like a madman.

The 63 Soul wizards' holographic images were considerably smaller and were relegated to the outer edges of the diamond. Their faces looked at peace, though, and their eyes appeared to be thinking joyous thoughts – only occasionally disturbed by Pugnacious' constant whinging and sobbing.

'If I can't sleep, then neither will they!' he thought resentfully. 'I will first drive them all crazy, and then I can start the brainwashing!'

For the first time in the 24 hours that had now passed, Pugnacious felt a sensation that bordered on mild happiness. For, he could still be a nasty tyrant. Not quite as satisfying as ruling the world, buy hey, beggars can't be choosers.

'Wakey, wakey! Rise and shine!' he screamed.

### CHAPTER 14

### JOURNEY TO THE TISHY GNOMES

Only once Dementia and his team were more than 100 kilometres away from Flush Fleas did it occur to the absent-minded Soul wizard that he had left nobody behind who was still capable of speaking to the Shrewd trees. Everyone who remained in Flush Fleas was mute. 'Oh well,' he thought, 'we should all only be gone for a day or two! I'm sure they will be fine.'

They had been travelling in a south-easterly direction for about five hours already. Dementia estimated that they were probably now only about 25 kilometres from their first destination, the new home of the Tishy gnomes – Slurry Island. The ten Tishy gnome men, their partners, and the children that Pugnacious had spared from death 400 years ago were rumoured to have taken exile at the foothills of Slurry Island. The remaining female Tishy gnomes who had been enslaved by Pugnacious also fled here after their master failed to return. They all lived in complete isolation from the rest of civilisation on this desolate, swampy island and trusted nobody. They had multiplied rapidly and now numbered in their thousands. Not a bad comeback considering that they lived on a diet comprised almost exclusively of Squelch mud worms.

Dementia and Fuzzard had agreed to walk rather than use teleportation magic for three reasons: Firstly, they wanted to be able to survey every last kilometre of land for any telltale signs of Pugnacious, Traizon, and the Cabats. Perhaps, they may stumble upon a bunch of Cabat feathers or the equally distinctive Quisitive bird feathers. Each of these enormous white feathers was about the size of a sword. Signs of Traizon would be a little more difficult to spot. After all, how do you find something if you don't know what you are looking for? It was highly improbable that he would be silly enough to take the form of a Flexan bird again. As the saying goes, 'Once burnt, twice shy.'

Secondly, Old Faithful would not have been able to teleport such an enormous party anyway. Dementia and Fuzzard did not want to be separated from the Dragon dogs at any point. They were their major form of protection. Whilst Dementia was an outstanding magician, his wand magic would be no match for that of a Pugnacious-Traizon alliance.

Thirdly, they wanted to track the changes in the heart-rate of Willowood's sacred gold medallion as they honed in on Tishy gnome territory. At this stage, it kept increasing and decreasing. This suggested that their target was constantly moving around. Were Traizon and Pugnacious perhaps circling the skies, looking for them?

It did not take long before one of the scouting Dragon dogs stumbled upon a scattering of Cabat feathers and small mounds of their acidy smelling droppings. In and amongst all of this was a solitary, enormous Quisitive feather, and a pile of poo four times the size of your average cow paddy.

'So it is true!' said Dementia. 'Pugnacious now takes the form of a Quisitive bird.' As he tried to step over the pile of poo, he accidentally lost his footing and landed headfirst in it. ' _You... You..._ son of a Cabat-feathered, Tishy gnome-faced, Riboltian coward!' he screamed at the poo, which now had a perfect cast of his face indented into its gluggy surface.

Fuzzard thoroughly enjoyed the entertainment. Old Faithful also sniggered to herself. That was until Dementia grabbed hold of her and used her shiny Shrewd wood stem like a windscreen wiper to clear his face. Old Faithful now shared the same predicament as her master and was not quite so amused. On the contrary, she was rather peeved. 'How d _isrespectful_!' she thought. 'Why couldn't he have used his _robe_ to clean up instead?'

Not surprisingly, when Dementia pointed her tip towards his face and recited the 'Sparkle' spell, she took the opportunity to cleanse herself by splattering him. All that now sparkled was Old Faithful. 'What goes around, comes around!' she thought satisfactorily.

'What is that all about, you temperamental old lady!' screamed Dementia with blue-murder in his eyes. 'Oh yes, of course. Um, um, would a simple, "I'm really sorry for misusing you" suffice?'

Judging by the fact that Dementia's face continued to look like a massive chocolate-brownie for the rest of the day, the answer was obviously an emphatic and resounding, 'No!'

By the time they approached the treacherous River Mildred (that separates the Tishy gnomes' Slurry Island from the mainland), Dementia had finished cussing and cursing, and his face paint had cured like one of those expensive mudpack treatments.

The River Mildred is responsible for hundreds of drownings annually. For despite it only being about four metres wide, it is exceedingly deep and its undercurrent is extremely powerful.

They were now within earshot of Tishy gnome territory. Fortunately, the thick Scottle rushes that lined the riverbanks provided excellent cover. Given Dementia's knowledge of the river, there was no way he was going to allow anyone to risk trying to swim across it. Instead, he, Willowood, Violeena and Fuzzard hung onto the Dragon dogs' enormous tails and allowed these incredibly powerful animals to hoist them across.

The Tishy gnome sentries, who kept guard 24-7, spotted this unusual sight and sounded the alarm. Tishy gnomes of all ages and sexes could suddenly be seen cutting their fingers to release their highly poisonous blood. They then came charging en masse towards Dementia and his companions. Their high-pitched screams were most frightening. Fuzzard's loyal Dragon dogs formed a protective circle around the allies and created an impenetrable wall of ferocious fire.

'Stop, please! We come in peace!' shouted Dementia, from behind the flames. 'It is the evil Pugnacious that we seek.'

The mere mention of this name evoked immediate fear in the Tishy gnomes. They stopped screaming and shouting, and listened intently.

'We believe that he and his evil Cabats are alive again,' continued Dementia. 'We are trying to track them down so that we can destroy them. We were hoping that you may have some clue as to their whereabouts.'

The leader of the Tishy gnomes, Tishytoosh, stepped forward and revealed three bunches of the distinctive Cabat feathers. The rest of the Tishy gnomes gasped.

'These were found by one of the children the other day whilst they were playing close to the river,' said Tishytoosh. 'I have kept their discovery secret up until now for obvious reasons.' He then pulled out two enormous white Quisitive bird feathers. 'They also found a few Quisitive bird feathers nearby.'

'Interesting!' thought Dementia. 'Pugnacious is obviously spying on his old tribe; carrying out covert surveillance operations. Is he looking to sign them up as new recruits, or just curious as to what has become of the remaining members?... Hmm.'

Tishytoosh swore that he had no idea where Pugnacious and the Cabats might be residing. Was he telling the truth, though? Dementia knew that these Tishy gnomes all hated Pugnacious with a passion, but this in itself could not guarantee that they were not siding with him. Creatures often sided with their enemy simply to avoid the serious repercussions that would follow if they refused to comply. Was the fact that the Tishy gnomes still had their voices perhaps a sign that Pugnacious intended to recruit them? They would be easier to command on a battlefield if they still had their voices. Furthermore, their screeching voices could be most intimidating.

Dementia and his companions set off none the wiser as to Pugnacious or Traizon's current whereabouts. Willowood's gold medallion only had the faintest of pulses. This suggested that they were not even close to the mark. They needed some form of divine intervention to guide them at this point. They headed for the old territory of the Tishy gnomes. It was not likely, though, that Pugnacious would have the audacity to take refuge in such an obvious place. Or was it? In order to get there, they would first need to traverse the rocky base of Angry Mountain.

As they approached its base, evidence of a recent eruption was everywhere. Large clumps of molten lava were strewn for as far as the eye could see. Some of the lava had not fully hardened yet and was the consistency of well-set jelly. There was still a lot of volcanic ash spewing out of the top of the mountain, and very small streams of hot lava could be seen dripping down the sides.

Suddenly, a Dragon dog spotted two sparkling objects in the distance and went flying off. It returned moments later with the two halves of the enormous memorial diamond.

Both Dementia and Fuzzard were stunned by what was before their eyes.

'How can a memorial diamond be this big? And how can it be split?' thought Dementia aloud. 'And which Soul wizards' soul might it have housed?'

Fuzzard scratched his head and shrugged his shoulders. He was as stumped by this mysterious find as Dementia. It did not occur to either of them for even a split second that it may have housed Pugnacious.

And why should it? After all, Pugnacious was a Sugar fairy-Tishy gnome mix, not a Soul wizard-Tishy-gnome mix. Therefore, why would he have been trapped in a memorial diamond? At this stage, neither had a clue that the memorial diamond gene came from the Sugar fairy side.

### CHAPTER 15

### JOURNEY TO THE TARANTIN TROLLS

Whilst Dementia and Fuzzard tried to make sense of their unusual discovery, Majika's team (which included me) made our way towards the last known location of the Tarantin trolls. I say, _last known location_ , because this species of troll are nomadic and never stay in one set location for more than a few weeks. They believe that by continually moving, it makes them less susceptible to a surprise attack. After all, it is much easier to plan an attack against an enemy who constantly remain in the same spot. Talk about paranoia!

Majika hovered millimetres above my head (with the grace and poise of a honeysuckle, I might add) as she excitedly told me more about this fascinating tribe.

'As long as you never provoke the Tarantin trolls,' she advised, 'you will have loyal friends and allies for life, willing to do almost anything for you. But if you provoke them even slightly, even by mistake, their psychotic tempers flare up and the consequences are often disastrous. So you need to watch your every single utterance in their presence. The concentration required can be quite exhausting!'

Zoola nodded his head in agreement. 'Yes. They can turn from being your closest ally to your fiercest foe in the blink of an eye.'

I must admit, this aspect of their personality sounded just like my uncle George. If you even looked at him wrong, he would say, 'That's it! You're out of my will!' He blissfully overlooked the fact that he was bankrupt, lived out of the back of his old, battered, stationary Volkswagen, and had nothing of value to offer. Of course, nobody dared point this out to him.

It took us almost an entire day of tiresome walking before we finally arrived at the last known location of the Tarantin trolls. Not a single troll was in sight. They had all moved on. Strangely though, there were thick strands of what appeared to be copper wire scattered everywhere.

It honestly looked as if technicians' from one of the main Earth telephone companies had recently installed phone lines in the area, but had failed to clean up their mess before leaving.

'Do you guys have telephone lines?' I asked. ' _Telewhat_?' exclaimed Majika.

I picked up a few strands of the copper wire. 'Never mind.' I continued. 'I was just wondering, what's with the copper wire everywhere?'

'That is not wire!' laughed Zoola. 'It's their hair. Tarantin trolls are renowned for pulling out large clumps of their own wiry hair every time they lose their tempers.'

'Judging by the amount of discarded hair dominating the landscape,' I laughed, 'their temper tantrums must occur extremely frequently.'

'They do!' confirmed Majika.

'At least it leaves us a trail to follow!' smiled Zoola.

After another two hours of tedious walking (and in Flopsy's case, hopping), we suddenly spotted the most friendly looking female Tarantin troll named Paprika, and her younger brother, Wasabi. They both had big blue eyes, welcoming smiles, and copper hairdos that looked the same swirly shape as McDonald's soft-serve ice cream cones. They were both very familiar with Sugar fairies, Soul wizards and Wobbits, and came running towards us as if we were long lost friends.

Both had the warmest of smiles on their faces. They looked ever so calm and friendly. What were Majika and Zoola on about? These two angelic faces couldn't harm a fly. Butter wouldn't melt in their mouths... surely!

Paprika was over the moon to see us because she was hoping that either Majika or Zoola's wand magic could help her tribe get their voices back. Little did she know that neither had a clue as to how to achieve this?

In her haste, Paprika accidentally tripped over a rock and came crashing to the ground painfully. Her exquisite, gentle face, suddenly transformed into that of a hideous monster. Her once peaceful blue eyes now burned with raw fury and her perfect swirl of stiff copper hair now stood erect on her head like a dog with its hackles up. Her face had turned blood-red and enormous muscles and veins jutted out in all directions from her slender neck, like thick pieces of rope. Her gums retracted completely, making her beautiful white teeth suddenly look twice their size and very menacing. She grabbed a thick clump of copper hair and pulled it out. She then stomped her feet like a sumo wrestler and shook her fists like a possessed shaman. She picked up a stick and started beating the rock senselessly. Her 'troll in training' brother mimicked her behaviour perfectly.

The only thing missing from this full-blown temper tantrum was the high-pitched ranting and raving that normally accompanied Tarantin troll outbursts. This was a clear indication that the Tarantin trolls had also been afflicted by this mute condition.

Only once Paprika's stick had been reduced to a mushy pulp and the rock had cracked in half, did the thrashing stop. Wasabi calmed down the moment she did. The two of them then continued to run towards us as if nothing had happened. Their beauty and innocence had returned completely.

As I stepped out from behind Zoola, Paprika suddenly spotted me and halted for a moment. She then cautiously approached me. Majika whispered for me to kneel down so that my face was the same height as Paprika's. Paprika obviously had no issues with body space because she then put her face right up against mine so that our foreheads touched. Her breath smelt like fresh strawberries. Mine certainly didn't; so I kept my mouth shut and breathed through my nose. She then stared into my pupils and gave me no choice but to stare back into hers. She smiled at me warmly for a few moments and then scribbled a note onto a piece of paper. I could not read it, but Majika could.

'Your heart is pure. Welcome!' read Majika.

Paprika and Wasabi were very disappointed to discover that most of the Soul wizards and Sugar fairies were also mute, and that neither Majika nor Zoola could offer any solution to their not-being-able-to-speak situation. Despite their obvious personal disappointment, they were happy to lead the way to their current squatter's camp, which lay in the picturesque valley down below. However, before doing so, they first gave a delighted Flopsy a few minutes of tummy tickles. They then set off at pace with Flopsy happily hopping after them.

The jovial Wobbit was delighted to have kids to play with. Unfortunately, half way down, he accidentally tripped on a protruding tree root and went tumbling head-over-heels like a giant snowball. Paprika and Wasabi were flattened by the out-of-control Wobbit.

As we approached, a large group of male Tarantin trolls caught sight of me. Their leader, King Trollermite, started frantically scribbling a lengthily note. He handed it to one of the others, and they in turn, handed the note to Zoola to read out. As Zoola read aloud, the group of trolls started performing a menacing war dance which resembled the New Zealand Maoris' Hakka. Their fists smashed into their open palms and their legs stomped from side to side.

Don't be fooled by our small size

To do so, would be most unwise

For in our souls lies burning rage

Waiting patiently to be uncaged

We believe in peace, but this will change

Unless this new creature blesses our name

'Bless their name Alex!' whispered Majika.

'I, Alex of Earth, bless your name, Tarantin trolls!' I felt like Sir Arthur, knighting one of _my_ brave warriors. They then came up to us, one by one, and rubbed their foreheads against ours. Their foreheads felt as rough as sand paper. Despite being a little on the sore side, I was hopeful that the friction may even remove the green dot from my forehead. It was totally wishful thinking of course.

We took refuge for the night with these fascinating creatures. Two-way communication was limited to reading their lips, body language, and illegible scrawls on paper. It must be said that our attempts at lip reading were a complete disaster. Although the trolls have big, juicy lips, they move their lips quicker than those lightning-fast, dollar-note-counting-machines. Before any misunderstandings occurred, it was agreed that this method of communication would be abandoned.

Our attempts at reading their body language were even worse. Their use of mime mimicked someone with a low pain threshold being eaten alive by killer ants with braces. Any sane drama teacher would have criticised them for being excessively overdramatic. It is therefore very possible that Hairy would have understood what they were trying to say.

Even reading their written scrawls was like trying to decipher an encrypted code of letters and symbols, written by someone with severe hypothermia and a very blunt pencil. Fortunately, both Majika and Zoola had learnt this complicated written language. The Tarantin trolls, however, apparently continually change the meanings of letters and symbols, so as to keep their writings as private as possible.

In the end, though, despite a few misunderstandings that almost led to outright war, the Tarantin trolls agreed to help us 100 percent in our quest to rid this sector of Pugnacious, Traizon, and the dreadful Cabats. They would simply await our call to arms. This would either be delivered to them by a Dragon dog, or take the form of a coordinates-guided glitter message. More about this later.

Having reached this agreement, Majika suggested that we all have an early night because we had a long way to travel tomorrow. In truth, she simply wanted us to all avoid any further attempts at conversation with the mute Tarantin trolls. It was simply too dangerous!

### CHAPTER 16

### JOURNEY TO THE GOLFIBOBS

Fluffel's team, meantime, had only just made their way to Golfibob territory. The Golfibobs were intrigued by the small furry soccer ball, the creature with head and bum side by side, and the enormous set of flying bagpipes. Fluffel, Wertheimer and Squishbucket, were likewise intrigued by the only known creature in the universe to maintain a constant handstand position. Lilypod and Wizend, on the other hand, were not even remotely intriguing to the Golfibobs because Soul wizards and Sugar fairies visited Golfibob territory frequently. It was one of the Flushfleans' favourite holiday destinations because of its beautiful scenery, excellent food, and most hospitable hosts.

Nevertheless, the Golfibob king, Luticious Flyberger, was delighted see representatives from such a close ally. It left him feeling reassured that the entire visiting party were peace-loving and posed no threat.

Because the Golfibobs had also been left mute by this awful spell, they decided to show their new guests that they were welcome by putting on a welcoming show. First, they did a spectacular break-dancing routine, which included amazing head-spins and hand-bounces. Their feet never once touched the ground. They then did the most incredible acrobatics display. Their long strings of backwards flick-flacks were quite stunning, and included triple back somersaults with three full twists in tucked, pike, and straight positions.

Having broken the ice (so to speak) the Golfibobs listened intently as Fluffel explained the current crisis. The new, modified translator chip worked a treat. Fluffel now sounded like he was talking at a fairly normal speed. King Luticious used a white chalk-like stick wedged tightly between his dextrous toes to scribble reply messages onto a large black wall.

He confirmed that the Golfibobs would fight alongside the allies. He ordered his male citizens to start collecting thousands of coconut-sized Zuzel nuts and to start stripping the Elastikini trees of their incredibly flexible and springy bark. He ordered his female citizens to start extracting the highly flammable Ignitio oil from the millions of tiny Ignitio nuts, and to start grinding down thousands of Boom-Boom plants for their highly explosive powder.

Although totally inedible and highly poisonous, the Ignitio nuts and Boom-Boom plants had been collected and stored in massive silos for just such an occasion. The Ignitio oil was extracted using a primitive stone press (similar to the more traditional olive presses), and the Boom-Boom powder was extracted by grinding down the stems using mortars and pestles. All of these activities were performed whilst in handstand position.

All of the Zuzel nut shells were split in half using sharp machetes and their nuts removed. The bowl-shaped halves were filled with a 50/50 mix of Ignitio oil and Boom-Boom powder, and then carefully resealed with a powerful, superglue-like bonding agent.

Balancing on only his right hand, King Luticious accurately lobbed one of the completed concoctions about ten metres with his left hand, into the path of a fairly sizeable Flemard tree. As it landed at the base of the tree, an enormous explosion rang out. When the smoke settled, the entire blackened tree now rested a further 20 metres away.

Whilst they certainly packed a powerful punch, Fluffel wondered how useful they would be for long-range combat – unless there was time to build a few of those powerful catapults that they had used to great effect against Traizon in the recent battle that had taken place in the Land of Hope (then referred to as the Land of the Lonely).

Unable to suppress this concern, Fluffel decided to raise the issue. 'No disrespect,' he said, 'but how do you plan on launching these impressive bombs more than, say, 15 or 20 metres? After all, the enemy may decide to only engage us in long-distance combat!' King Luticious smiled and gestured for three of his citizens to perform a demonstration. Two Golfibobs moved into positions (in handstand stance) directly in line with one another, about two metres apart. A third Golfibob then looped an enormous elastic band, which had obviously been fashioned from the Elastikini bark, tautly around both of their ankles. The rubber band had a large rubber cap in the middle, which was clearly designed to snugly hold the Zuzel nut bomb in place. Using his toes with the same dexterity as a grand piano master, the third Golfibob placed the Zuzel nut bomb into the rubber holding-cap and then handstand-walked backwards, dragging the flexible elastic band further and further back with him. It was not long before the rubber band had stretched an impressive seven metres. He then let go, and the Zuzel nut catapulted forward at enormous speed. It travelled more than 200 metres through the air and hit its intended target with pinpoint accuracy.

Fluffel and his companions were totally amazed. Having a strong construction background, Wertheimer naturally enquired as to why they didn't simply use mechanical catapults. Luticious explained that by using themselves in these formations, it saved on having to lug around large, bulky machines. It also made moving positions or making a hasty retreat much easier. It made perfect sense.

Before leaving for the long trip back to Flush Fleas, Wertheimer asked if he could use the Golfibobs toilets. The delicious Relly berry stew (a Golfibob speciality) had unfortunately upset his tummy.

He unintentionally followed this request with a humongous fart. The intensity of the fart caused the fleshy bum cheeks alongside his head to wobble like jelly.

'Oops, sorry!' he blushed and made a rapid dash for the dunny. Because of their constant handstand position, the Golfibobs toilet bowls are over a metre off the ground. Whilst this would make using their toilets very challenging for us humans, for Wertheimer, it was just brilliant; like using a bathroom basin. I will leave the mechanics of this to your imagination.

### CHAPTER 17

### JOURNEY TO THE DOOLAN DRAGONS

Frother and his team arrived at Mount Doolany's Open Mouths (the series of Hangar-like caves that the Doolan dragons call home) in record time. They looked quite a sight, with Hairy's 30 limbs gripped tightly around Frother's massive nose, Eldorian's arms tightly clenched around Frother's neck, and Wandina lazing on his enormous tail as if it were the world's most comfortable chaise lounge. Wandina had really wanted to fly herself here, but Frother had insisted that she climb on board because there was no way known that she would have been able to keep up with his blistering pace. Of course, she had initially argued the point. That was until he challenged her to a short race, and she fell miles behind within the space of less than a minute.

Although the 50 Dragon dogs were considerably faster than Wandina, even they fell way behind. Frother, therefore, had no choice but to only travel at 80 percent of top speed capacity – a mere 200 kilometres per hour.

Upon arriving, they were greeted by an exceedingly agitated clan of starving, flameless, barely audible, Doolan dragons. Their foul moods filled the air with palatable tension. Hot steam poured out of their nostrils and made the surrounding air very humid.

The spell had caused their throats to become so swollen and tender that every time they now inhaled or exhaled deeply, the pain was excruciating - as if thousands of tiny shards of Zophobian crystal were prickling the back of their throats. This meant that producing even a single flame was now almost impossible. Miraculously though, they could still speak. However, doing so was extremely painful. Their croaky utterances were barely audible and limited to short, concise comments like, 'starving' or 'sore throat'.

Without flames, they were far less effective hunters.

The evil Riboltians, who had become Their staple diet, were now on a much more even footing and had started fighting back. Aware that the Doolan dragons' flame blowing abilities were completely compromised, they no longer stood still like compliant marshmallows awaiting their fate. They would now swing their enormous Golden tree branches (Stooks) furiously as the Doolan dragons descended on them. Two Doolan dragons had already been knocked unconscious and then savagely bludgeoned to death.

Although the Doolan dragons could still use their enormous tails and wings as lethal weapons, and had already sent several Riboltian's flying to their deaths like exploding tenpin bowling skittles, they were missing their primary weapon. It was like going into battle armed with only a bayonet because your rifle's firing pin is jammed.

If you recall, the Doolan dragons had recently made a solemn promise to never feast on Sugar fairies ever again. King Flambay now started to question the wisdom of this decision. Even without their flames, these Sugar fairies would be an easy target. They could be swooped up and carried away without breaking a sweat.

Flambay was faced with a moral dilemma. Either break the promise and allow one's starving Doolan dragon citizens to start hunting Sugar fairies again, or honour the promise and watch one's citizens slowly starve to death. You see, unlike Frother, who lived on fruits, berries, nuts and roots, the rest of the Doolan dragons lived on a pure meat diet. For whatever reason (possibly even a lingering side-effect of Traizon's 'empty stomach' curse that swept through Mount Doolany well after Frother had already taken exile), consumption of anything other than meat, made them violently ill.

Furthermore, apart from the Riboltians and Sugar fairies, all other sources of meat that they knew of were either too difficult to catch, highly poisonous, had impenetrable defence mechanisms, or were so vile-tasting that it caused them to vomit for days.

Despite severe huger pains, Flambay was still steadfastly in favour of honouring the Doolan dragons promise to never hunt Sugar fairies ever again. He rigorously rejected all objections to the contrary. On the one side stood those who agreed with their king and would rather starve to death than ever dishonour their agreement with the Flushfleans. On the other side stood those who agreed with the second in command, Boiler, and adhered to the old adage, 'Survival of the fittest; kill or be killed'. With each passing day, Boiler's viewpoint became ever more popular and his support base started to multiply.

Unbeknownst to the others, Boiler was in cahoots with Pugnacious. Only a day after the awful spell had been cast, Boiler was intercepted by Pugnacious whilst out flying alone. He was offered an antidote to the spell and assistance in overthrowing King Flambay, provided he promised to spend all of his current energies convincing the other Doolan dragons to turn on the Sugar fairies. The thought of being able to take over the leadership of the Doolan dragons was the deal-clincher for him.

So whilst the other Doolan dragons' exceedingly sore throats limited their speech considerably, Boiler was able to speak freely and at length. However, in order to keep up the charade, Boiler clutched at his throat and grimaced as he spoke. The other Doolan dragons were most impressed by his inner strength. They had no idea that it was all in fact all just an act. Frother and his gang happened to arrive just as Boiler commenced another one of these impassioned tirades. Boiler was so caught up in his own self-importance that he failed to even notice their arrival.

'Although my throat is killing me,' he lied, 'I am fighting through the pain and speaking up – because _somebody_ has to! Without our flames, we are useless against the Riboltians. Therefore, unless we attack the Sugar fairies soon, we will all die of starvation. It will be the end of the Doolan dragons. Fifty thousand years of proud history thrown down the gurgler! Do you think the pathetic Sugar fairies and Soul wizards would be prepared to starve themselves to death for us? _No way_!'

Many Doolan dragons nodded their heads in agreement and cheered as best they could.

'Yes we would!' protested Wandina bravely.

A startled Boiler turned around and glared fiercely at Wandina. 'I suggest that you shut that little trap of yours, Sugar fairy!' he screamed. 'Or you will be the first to be eaten!'

Wandina tried to respond, but Eldorian placed a firm hand over her mouth. Whilst his action probably saved her life, he felt like a coward for not standing up for her and for the proud name of the Flushfleans.

The starving Doolan dragons all eyed Wandina as if she were the most delicious piece of meat they had ever seen. Their mouths literally salivated. She could clearly see this and shook with fear. For once, she was as quiet as a church mouse. Frother wrapped a protective wing around both her and Eldorian.

Hairy remained perched on Frother's massive nose, totally oblivious to the escalating tensions. His attention was focused squarely on a new species of juicy fly that was buzzing around. He had no idea that it was the highly poisonous Fatalis fly. Fortunately, his rapid burst of webs all missed their target and the fly made a hasty retreat.

Frother then incinerated the stray webbing that now blocked his nostrils. The other Doolan dragons all watched on jealously at this small burst of fiery-orange flames.

'I a-a-am r-r-really s-s-sorry to s-s-see you all su-su-suffering like this,' said Frother. 'I h-h-have b-b-been s-s-sent...'

He went on to explain that he had been sent by Dementia to advise that there was strong evidence to suggest that their current illness was the result of a curse rather than a virus and that this curse could only be broken once its perpetrators, Pugnacious and Traizon, and their army of Cabats had been destroyed.

Flambay and the other Doolan dragons listened to Frother's every word intently. Despite Boiler's best attempts to discredit what Frother was saying, King Flambay knew Frother to be honest, decent, and trustworthy. To Boiler's utter disgust, Flambay drew an elaborate series of pictures on one of the cave walls that clearly pledged his and his clan's allegiance to the allies and that provided assurance that no Sugar fairies would be harmed.

Frother managed to alleviate the mounting internal tensions in relation to their rumbling tummies by kindly offering to set off straight away, along with most of the Dragon dogs, on a Riboltian hunting expedition. They promised to return with 'truckloads' of fresh Riboltian meat. If they hurried, they could make the flight to Riboltia in less than three hours and be back by dinner time. Frother's flames were still ferocious and the Dragon dogs' flames were just as lethal, only on a much smaller scale. The Riboltians would not stand a chance. After all, it is not that easy to swing a Stook with any real conviction when your arse is on fire. King Flambay also made Boiler give his solemn word that no sudden surprise attack would be launched on the Sugar fairies. With great reluctance, Boiler did so.

As Frother and his crew set off, the Doolan dragons down below danced with anticipatory joy. It was quite a sight to watch them boogie. They looked like they were doing a mix between the twist and the fandango. You would not have wanted to share a dance stage with any of them. If all went according to plan, there would be dinner tonight.

'Don't be _fooled_ by Frother's lies!' shouted Boiler. 'He and the Dragon dogs will return with _nothing_! Mark my words!'

Despite being tired, Frother and the Dragon dogs set off at great pace. Wandina and Eldorian insisted on coming along for the ride. There was no way Wandina was going to risk being left alone with these hungry beasts who saw her as their next potential meal. She did not trust their promises one iota.

Hairy, now clad in his Lentina scale armour and wielding an eating fork as if it were Zeus' trident, began psyching up himself and his companions. 'Let'th whip thothe Riboltianth fat, lazy, haiwy, arthes! Let'th turn their dumb-arthe headth into pietheth of coal!'

Frother could not help but be amused by Hairy's audacity to accuse any other creature of being lazy.

'T-T-This,' laughed Frother, 'c-coming fr-fr-from a Gl-Gl-Gluton sp-sp-spider who only man-man-managed to s-s-spin t-t-two dr-dr-dresses in f-f-five days!'

'Firthtly, it wath four dreththes!' shouted Hairy. 'Thecondly—' 'From a Glutton spider,' interrupted Wandina, 'who lazed on a rock all day, every day whilst all others helped rebuild the Land of Hope!'

'I had the galaxy'th thorest thtomach for the entire week, Wandina!' screamed Hairy. 'It wath like my inthides were being cut to piethes with a tharp, therrated-edged knife.'

'If your stomach was as sore as you claim,' smiled Wandina patronisingly, 'how is it that you managed to polish off a few skewers of insects everyday? Creatures tend not to eat when their stomachs are so sore.'

'Well... umm... however... what you are failing to underthtand ith... umm... umm...'

### CHAPTER 18

### JOURNEY TO THE BURLIAN IRONWORKERS

It was already 7pm by the time Sked's team reached the exquisite Burlia Valley, nestled between the two enormous peaks of Mount Polaris. This was home to the Burlian ironworkers – formerly known as the Burlian dragon slayers. The new name reflected the fact that they have given up dragon slaying completely, following their successful alliance with these magnificent beasts, which played a critical role in overcoming and destroying the evil Traizon. Instead of hunting Doolan dragons, they now mined the two peaks of Mount Polaris for its highly valuable and sought-after iron ore called 'magneto'. Whilst they sell some of the raw magneto, they use most of it themselves to create spectacular commissioned pieces. They were currently hard at work forging the enormous pieces of head armour requested by King Flambay for his Doolan dragon warriors. King Mullimus had received a whopping order for 80 of these enormous metal helmets that would cover the Doolan dragons' entire colossal heads, all the way down to their necks. Flambay placed the urgent order in a desperate attempt to help protect his warriors from the viscous head blows that they were sustaining at the hands of the Stook-wielding Riboltians.

Up until recently, a few of the Doolan dragons had been living with the Burlian ironworkers, helping fire the kilns. However, progress on the head armour had slowed down significantly since these Doolan dragons had lost their fire-blowing abilities. King Mullimus was delighted to see Sked once again. He and his tribe had also all lost their voices. Nevertheless, he used the red hot tips of iron bars to brand words into a few enormous Rubberley trees. The Rubberley trees would cover over these scars with fresh secretions of rubber within a matter of days. As the sun set, and the sky turned pitch-black, Mullimus resorted to simply waving the glowing red tips through the air like a thick-edged luminous texter.

As Sked explained the current situation, he received King Mullimus and his citizens' full attention. They pledged their allegiance. They would re-tension the stings on their dormant bows and start creating thousands of new arrows. They would also have to start exercising their Modesta unicorns right away. These beautiful, single-horned flying horses had become very unfit since their masters had ceased hunting Doolan dragons. Mullimus just hoped that they would have sufficient time to recondition them. He affirmed that they would simply await the call to arms.

### CHAPTER 19

### JOURNEY TO THE LAND OF THE FWITCHES

As Hildegard and her team approached the Land of the Fwitches, the skies suddenly turned from a lime-green to a psychedelic-purple, and the thick, wild grasses suddenly became as short and well manicured as a bowling green – only pink in colour. Without warning, Hildegard's party were surrounded by at least 2000 Flister birds. Even the Dragon dogs were taken by complete surprise.

Despite being fairly attractive-looking birds, the Flisters bodies and wings housed thousands of lethal, subcutaneous blisters, which surfaced the moment they sensed danger. Their open-winged, puffed-out-chest stance suggested that they were poised to strike. In response, the 50 Dragon dogs nostrils started to release steam.

'Flisters, it's ok! Back down!' smiled the charismatic, eccentric leader of the Fwitches, Witchway. 'These creatures are all good citizens!'

Witchway had none your stereotypical witchy physical features – like those that my Aunt Maureen unfortunately possessed. No siree! This witch was a smoking-hot 'babe'. She had magnificent long, flowing fire-orange hair, crystal-blue eyes, luscious red lips and the cheekbones of a makeup model. She wore a full-length, green and purple striped Drudger silk cloak, and matching pointed hat. Underneath this, she wore nothing more than a slinky black satin, spaghetti-strap, sleeveless slip dress. She wore black fishnet stockings, and chunky black, metal-tipped boots that looked like they were straight out of a Doc Martens catalogue.

The Fwitches had not been affected by the 'Mute' spell because they had foreseen its arrival just in time and used their own magic to counteract it. Yes, Fwitches are psychic fortune tellers.

'Welcome, welcome!' she smiled. Her voice was husky and confident. No trace of a cackle whatsoever. 'My name is Witchway. I am the leader of us Friendly witches. I was expecting the three of you and the 50 Dragon dogs.' She was armed with what looked like a spray-gun. Believe it or not, it was for spraying the grass pink. Once a month, the Fwitches mowed the lawns of their entire territory, and then sprayed the turf pink. How funky is that!

'Nice to meet you!' smiled Hildegard. 'I was unaware that you were expecting us. Dementia never—'

'Dementia never mentioned it to me either, _Hildegard_.' said Witchway.

'Then... then how do you know my _name_?' exclaimed Hildegard in a shocked tone. 'After all, we've never met before!'

'We Fwitches simply know these sorts of things. We have an eye into the past and present, and glimpses into the future.'

'If that is the case, then you obviously also know who is standing next to me,' challenged Hildegard. She was still not completely convinced.

'Twinkledust and Felterain,' chirped Witchway. 'And in the air are Airfull, Shaggly, Energil, Ploomber, Silven...'

A minute later, Witchway had correctly named all 50 of the Dragon dogs as well. All three companions were totally amazed.

Witchway's crystal ball had already informed her of the impending doom and the major battle that lay ahead. She could not see the outcome of the battle as yet, though. Hildegard therefore had no need to fill Witchway in on recent events. Instead, she and the rest of her team listened intently as Witchway filled in many of the missing gaps. She also gave them updates on how the other teams of companions were faring.

She started by telling the story of how Pugnacious, his Cabats, and now Traizon, had been reincarnated. She had seen the events unfold in such exquisite detail that she could literally tell it through the eyes of Pugnacious. It was like she was channelling a spirit of the dead.

### CHAPTER 20

### THE RESURRECTIONS

'Right, where was I?' asked Witchway. She had taken a quick break from the story of Pugnacious to cook everyone dinner.

'You were up to the part where Pugnacious decided to start making the afterlife hell for the 63 Soul wizards sharing his memorial diamond!' said Twinkledust.

'Yes,' agreed Felterain. 'Pugnacious had just screamed, "Wakey! Wakey! Rise and shine!"'

'Yes, that's right,' continued Witchway. 'The 63 Soul wizards protested about being woken in this way, but were powerless to do anything other than express their disapproval.

'"Whatever!" laughed Pugnacious scornfully. "So, now that we're all awake, whose up for a game of 'I Spy'? How about I begin then... I spy out of my memorial diamond's distorted eye, something beginning with the letter 'F'. Anyone _?_ "

'"Could it be fire!" responded one of the Soul wizards sarcastically.

'" _Well done_!" replied Pugnacious patronisingly. "Now, it's your turn!"

'"But... But... There is nothing else!" said the frustrated Soul wizard.

'" _Exactly_!" screamed Pugnacious. "That is why we have to work out a way to escape this hellhole. You can only dream so many dreams, kind sirs. And then what? Are you going to stare at the flames all day?"

'"Whilst it would have admittedly been much nicer to have received my own, exclusive memorial diamond," sighed one of the Soul wizards, "and been mounted in one of my family members' golden rings... and carried around everywhere on an index finger... you know, continually changing views and all of that... It is not for _us_ to question our fate!"

'"What is this ridiculous word _fate_ of which you speak? I think it means the exact same thing as _lazy, loser, excuse-maker_. I won't do anything because it's in the hands of _fate_. I had no control because it was _fate_. Absolute hogwash! If we put our minds together, we can kick this _fate_ -mongrel right in its fat, ugly, backside!"

'"So, what are you proposing?" asked one of the more weak-willed Soul wizards.

'"It's quite simple!" smiled Pugnacious. "We are in the mouth of a volcano. Therefore, we need to get it to erupt! And I am confident that this can be achieved if we all express our anger and frustration at being trapped down here at exactly the same time! Anger and frustration are very powerful forces!"

'"So is acceptance!" shouted one of the more strong-willed Soul wizards. "Can't you all see that he is manipulating us – feasting on our weaknesses? If we manage to escape, so will he. I, for one, would rather stare at flames all day than be complicit in this evil monster's escape!"

'Only about half of the Soul wizards echoed their sentiment with this point of view. The rest remained dead silent. Pugnacious saw this as being a massive victory.

'"Bravo! Bravo!" he smiled. "What a terrific speech by a _spineless_ , yellow-bellied ninny! Err, when I say spineless, I don't mean physically. I mean, metaphorically speaking. I know that no Soul wizards have spines... Now, who would like to look at flames all day and who would like to escape? Can I please get a show of voices? However, before you answer, just remember this: If you do decide to do nothing, I will make every moment of your afterlife a living hell! There will be no time for dreaming!"

'Only about ten Soul wizards expressed their desire to escape. Not bad though, after only one session of brainwashing. Over the next few months, Pugnacious made good on his promise and screamed loudly and constantly. It was near impossible for any of the 63 Soul wizards to slip into their dream-worlds and rest peacefully. But still, the vast majority remained strong and resolute.

'Months of screaming drifted into years; years into decades; and decades in centuries. After three frustrating centuries had passed, the now completely psychotic Pugnacious decided to try a different approach. Annoying them into submission was clearly not working. He needed to cloud their minds with who was in fact the villain and who was in fact the hero. He commenced telling them elaborate lies about how Dementia and Fuzzard were lieutenants of the Dark Lord.

'"Fuzzard and his Dragon dogs watched on happily as I consumed your souls," lied Pugnacious. "He made no attempt to help you. That was because he and his Dragon dogs were on my side. Then the mongrel betrayed me as well!"

'Year by year, and decade by decade, continual comments of this sort began to slowly filter through. Many of the Soul wizards started questioning whether or not this was possible. Had they really been hoodwinked all these years? Parts of the lies started to make sense. Why hadn't Fuzzard helped them? They were totally unaware, of course, that Fuzzard had only arrived at the scene after Pugnacious had already consumed their souls. They were weak and vulnerable, and grabbed onto his every word.

'"Fuzzard, and his bosom-buddy, Dementia, probably now rule the entire region!" continued Pugnacious. "Are you going to sit on your butts and let this continue, or, are you going to finally make a stand?"

'After almost 400 years of hell and torment, Pugnacious finally heard the unanimous cry of all 63 voices in unison, "It's time to make our stand!"

'"Excellent!" said Pugnacious. Now all he needed to do was psych them up sufficiently so as to cause the necessary eruption!

'"I want you to all think about the 400 years of hell that we have been subjected to down here. Think of the lies and deceit. Think of the smug look on Dementia and Fuzzard's faces. Think of..."

'As Pugnacious rambled on, fountains of lava started to shoot into the air and down the sides of Angry Mountain. And eventually, there was the most enormous explosion. The 63-carat memorial diamond shot through the air and came to rest over 500 metres from the base of Angry Mountain.

'The view through the memorial diamond was now even more distorted because it now also had hundreds of hairline cracks. However, none of the cracks were large enough for the trapped souls to escape through. Pugnacious let out one of the most painful screams imaginable. It would have caused triple-glazed glass to shatter. But still, the memorial diamond remained intact.

'"Well," said one of the Soul wizards, "At least the view out here is much better, notwithstanding the hairline cracks, and it's not quite as stuffy!"

'"SHUT UP! You imbecile!" screamed an irate Pugnacious. "I need to think clearly!"

'Despite thinking day and night, no solution came to mind. Then, a few days later, purely by chance, a curious, gigantic Quisitive bird named Pry was attracted by the memorial diamond's sparkling surface. Pry picked it up and juggled it around. The 64 tiny holographic faces that flickered in and out of view, from deep within, fascinated him – especially the largest one that dominated the middle. In an attempt to get to these internal contents, Pry dropped the memorial diamond from a height of over 600 metres onto a solid rock bed down below.

'As the memorial diamond hit the ground, one of the hair line cracks split significantly. Pugnacious suddenly felt his soul, along with those of the 63 wizards, being sucked out of the diamond's centre. Their souls ascended as Pry descended and they flew straight into Pry's open mouth.

'"You are now under the control of me and my 63 brothers!" said Pugnacious. "Your inferior brain can rest forever! We'll be running the operation from here on in!"

'" _What...Who... How_!" muttered the startled Pry and looked around frantically for the source of the comments.

'"We are in your body and brain, stupid!" shouted Pugnacious. "We now control you!"

'"Nobody but _me_ controls _me_!" shouted Pry and shook his enormous head violently from side to side.

'"Is that so!" laughed Pugnacious. "Then you will not have to beg me and my brothers to stop you from crashing head first into that jagged cliff over there."

'Suddenly, Pry was racing towards the jagged cliff. He was powerless to slow down or change directions. He was about to become Pry paste.

'"Whatever you are, please stop!" screamed Pry, as he came frighteningly close to having a head-on collision with the cliff. "I beg you!"

'Lesson number one was complete. It was time for Pugnacious and his tainted Soul wizard brothers to head off for his old cave and start building a new army of Cabats. It was great to be able to fly. Every time Pry complained, Pugnacious caused a painful electric shock to pass through his brain. It did not take long before Pry was little more than a compliant puppet, with his independent existence a distant memory.

'Pugnacious was delighted to find that his cave was exactly as he had remembered it: dark, damp and desolate – a perfect environment for rearing young Cabats. He eagerly wedged out a massive, slightly loose boulder from one of the cave's slippery walls. The boulder was very well concealed behind a thick layer of lichen and moss. It revealed a small secret tunnel. Inside this tunnel were literally thousands of "six-winged paralysis bat" and "poison-fanged cat" micro-gene splices.

'It was time to start creating the new army. It would take less than 24 hours for the Cabats to grow from babies to adults. I know, quite amazing. This would give Pugnacious time to visit the pathetic Riboltians and assume control over them. He would need their brute strength shortly.

'The Riboltians proved to be putty in Pugnacious' hands – or talons, to be more precise. They were so shell-shocked by the repeated attacks on them from the Doolan dragons that they were willing to pledge loyalty and allegiance to anyone who could offer them hope. Pugnacious offered them an enormous amount of hope. He also offered them revenge. They promised to be at the ready when he returned for them.

'When he arrived back at the Cat Bat cave a day later, he could hear the wild flapping of thousands of wings. The Cabats were patiently waiting for their master's instructions.

'"Find me the evil Soul wizard who goes by the name of Traizon", he shouted. "Fly only by cover of nightfall."

'The thousands of Cabats set out in all directions. Because their entire bodies were pitch black, all that could be seen in the dark of night were their yellow reflective eyes.

'For the past 400 years, Pugnacious had also been working on the most evil and cunning of spells in his mind – the 'Mute' spell. But in order to pull it off, he knew that he would also need to harness the power of his brilliant old apprentice, Traizon. It would require their combined efforts.

'Pugnacious had absolutely no idea that Traizon was about to be killed by the allies and reduced to little more than a memorial diamond on the cold floor of an orphanage in the Land of the Lonely (now Land of Hope). Fortuitously for him, three Cabats reached the Land of the Lonely only about five minutes after the battle between Traizon and the allies had erupted. They wisely took cover and watched the mayhem unfold from a safe distance. The pitch dark skies were illuminated by Traizon's glowing soul, the thousands of fire balls shooting out in all directions, and the Doolan dragons' fierce flames.

'They watched the demise of Traizon as Willowood's accurate strike dislodged the evil tyrant's memorial diamond from its glowing Soul and Sked's powerful forearm then sent it hurtling through the top storey window of the orphanage.

'The allies were so caught up in a mixture of celebration and sadness that they failed to notice the three Cabats sail through the hole in the window (that had been caused by the memorial diamond) and retrieve Traizon's memorial diamond. The sharp, jagged shards around the hole caused several bunches of their grape-like feathers to loosen and fall to the floor.

'Pugnacious almost jumped out of his Quisitive bird skin when one of the Cabats returned with Traizon's memorial diamond. This was even better than having the flesh version. He would bake Traizon's memorial diamond in the heat of Angry Mountain's volcanic epicentre and then capture this prize soul as it ascended from its molten diamond. He had done this before and now considered himself to be an expert in Soul wizard 'soul extraction'.

'"Here's to us!" he toasted a few hours later and gulped down the vaporous soul of Traizon.

'"Where am I?" asked Traizon.

'"Welcome to my humble abode, my absconding apprentice!" smiled Pugnacious. "What've you been up to for the last 400 years, and who destroyed you?"

### CHAPTER 21

### ATTACK ON THE SHREWDIES

Witchway suddenly broke into a cold sweat and started shaking violently. Twinkledust and Felterain rushed to her side. They both thought she was having some sort of brain seizure. 'It's Ok-k-kay!' trembled Witchway. 'This always happens when I'm having an awful premonition... Oh dear... I think the Shrewd trees are being attacked!'

Still shaking, Witchway reached into her trendy-looking handbag and removed an opaque crystal ball and a solid-gold tobacco pipe. Without placing anything into the mouth of the pipe or lighting it, she began puffing on it. Once her cheeks were fully expanded, she exhaled a continuous cloud of golden vapour. The vapour somehow managed to make its way into the centre of the crystal ball. She then whispered the words, 'Shrewd trees of Flush Fleas'. Suddenly, through the haze of golden smoke, appeared a live, active, real-time vision of the Shrewd trees and their Mystical forest surrounds.

The scene was devastating. Several majestic Shrewd trees had been felled to the ground by teams of grunting Riboltians, armed with a variety of scary-looking cutting tools. A small group of devastated Soul wizards and Sugar fairies watched on helplessly as Riboltian guards forcefully restrained them. Without voice, they could not summon any magic to assist themselves or the Shrewdies against these gigantic, aggressive brutes. A few Soul wizards had obviously decided to escape by abandoning their Bend rubber forms. Their forms lay limp on the ground. Still, their freed souls were powerless to do anything.

In front of Sir Branchalot and Lady Woodsworth, the two strongest of the Shrewd trees, stood the new fossilised remains of at least 20 Riboltians. They were at various stages of stone transformation. The closest ones were completely stone. The ones towards the back ranged from being stone all the way to their heads, to being stone only up to their knees. These semi-transformed creatures were the real unfortunate ones. They were alive and in extreme agony, but too heavy to move. They would have been much better off dead and out of their misery. The scene suggested that even Sir Branchalot and Lady Woodsworth were starting to lose their magical defensive powers.

Flying a safe distance above the Shrewd trees and project-managing the Riboltians' tree-felling operation below was the Quisitive bird form of Pugnacious (which of course, also housed Traizon and the 63 Soul wizards). They were being well guarded against the Shrewd trees' ferocious counter-attack by a ten-metre-thick wall of Cabats.

Masses of enormous Shrewd tree roots continued to rise out of the soil everywhere and attack their aggressors with the ferocity of a million provoked snakes. Their needle-like tips sliced deep into unsuspecting Riboltians and Cabats. Once within, a series of barbs shot out sideways, making the tips impossible to extract. Like powerful syringes, the tips would first suck out all of their blood, and then injected them with a substance not dissimilar to quick-set cement.

Pugnacious was stunned by how incredibly high up some of these roots could reach. Hundreds of unsuspecting Cabats, who were at least 70 metres above ground level, were harpooned by cobra-like strikes. Moments later, their cement-filled forms fell to the ground like dislodged stone gargoyles. Many Riboltians below failed to move out of the way in time and had their skulls crushed beyond repair. The Riboltians who survived being struck by falling Cabats, still had to contend with the lethal ground-trailing roots that sought them out. Despite shrieking like banshees and retracting their heads into their hollow chests, their machete-wielding arms spun like lethal rotor-blades and sliced through many of the weaker Shrewd tree roots as if they were soft spaghetti.

Those Shrewdies that received severe root damage lost their footing and fell to the floor. Now totally vulnerable, they were pounced upon by a specialist team of Riboltians, armed with powerful band-saws. As they sliced through these defeated trees trunks, thousands of years of stored conversations and knowledge spewed out like unsettled ghosts.

'Apply the paste to the severed ends! You idiots!' screamed Pugnacious. 'Information that powers the magic is escaping. And watch where you smear it, _you_... _you_ imbecile.'

The Riboltian being scolded by Pugnacious cried helplessly, because the warning to him had come a second too late. The soles of his feet were now stuck to the trunk with a more powerful bonding agent than superglue or liquid-nails. The trapped idiot was now completely in the way. He was compromising the efficiency of the tree-felling operation.

'Hack him away!' screamed Pugnacious.

The Riboltian cried with unimaginable terror and then pain as his feet were callously amputated.

As the oldest and strongest of the Shrewd trees continued to fight valiantly, teams of Riboltians could be seen lugging away enormous sections of defeated Shrewd tree trunk and branches. Each severed point had been correctly painted with 'healing plant' glue, so as to keep the magic from escaping.

'Keep up the hard work!' encouraged Pugnacious. 'Think of the power you will all possess when you each have your own magical wands!'

Witchway began hurriedly removing an enormous piece of thick sailor's rope from her trendy handbag. Hildegard could not believe her eyes as metre after metre fell to the floor. 'How does it all fit into such a tiny bag!' she thought, but realised that now was not a good time to ask. I imagine that it would have been like watching a magician extract metre after metre of colourful silk handkerchiefs (tied together) from the palms of their hands – only much more spectacular.

By the time Witchway had finished, over 100 metres lay loosely coiled on the ground before her feet. She then began pushing one end of the rope into the centre of the crystal ball. It penetrated straight through the crystal ball's opaque, glassy exterior, as if it were slicing through water. She kept feeding more and more of the rope into the centre. It seemed to disappear into nowhere as it entered the centre. When she got to about five metres from the end, she asked for 90 volunteers to assume positions behind her, approximately one metre apart, along the full length of the rope. Hildegard, Felterain and Twinkledust were happy to oblige. They were joined by at least 40 Fwitches and an equal number of Dragon dogs.

'Heave!' shouted Witchway and the tug-of-war officially commenced.

'Why are we pulling this rope back out of your crystal ball?' grunted Hildegard. 'And why is it such hard work?'

'Because we are pulling the entire Mystical forest scene through to Fwitchland.' groaned Witchway. 'It's not the lightest of scenes with all of those enormous Shrewdies and heavy Riboltians.'

'Are you serious?' exclaimed Hildegard.

'Yes!' groaned Witchway. 'The Flisters and Dragon dogs will then help us destroy Pugnacious and his revolting Cabats and Riboltians, once they arrive.'

'And Traizon and the 63 Wizards, of course!' added Twinkledust.

'Well, I am not quite sure about Traizon...' replied a somewhat perplexed Witchway. 'I cannot sense his presence at all.'

Traizon's strategy of keeping deadly quiet and concentrating heavily on creating as much psychic interference as possible, was working brilliantly. It stopped Witchway and the other Fwitches from sensing his presence alongside Pugnacious; he was off their "psychic radar".

'I can only assume, therefore,' continued the contemplative Witchway, 'that he is now taking his own form and is somewhere else, far, far away... Anyway, right now, we need to concentrate on pulling the Shrewdies through... Heave!'

Although fairly slim and petite-looking, the Fwitches were in fact very strong. The muscles in their arms and legs rippled as they pulled. The power of Hildegard's industrial-strength coiled spine also came to the fore. The Dragon dogs used their teeth for leverage and flew backwards with as much power as they could muster.

It took over 15 minutes of backbreaking pulling to finally drag the scene of the Mystical forest through the crystal ball and into Fwitchland. Unfortunately, by this time, Pugnacious and his gang of repulsive Riboltians and Cabats were well and truly gone, along with their spoils. They ruthlessly left their semi-stone companions behind. Some of the Shrewd trees that had not been felled to their bases had nevertheless been savagely carved for specific branches. Their gaping cuts had not been painted over and verbalised sentences escaped from these wounds like flowing blood. It sounded like hundreds of dead spirits all engaged in their own private conversations. As these trees became weaker and weaker, the sentences started to be replaced by single words. Soon, even the single words became slurred and barely audible. Their last gasps were heart-wrenching to all present.

Several devastated Sugar fairies and Soul wizards who had been watching on helplessly now also found themselves in Fwitchland. We all tried our best to console them.

However, not all was gloom and doom. Many Shrewd trees had not been harmed at all. Sir Branchalot and Lady Woodsworth did not have a single scratch on their thick bark. Yet the efforts to protect themselves and the others had clearly taken its toll on them. They were both stooped forward like an old married couple who were close to giving up the ghost. The thick roots that anchored them were starting to lift out of the ground. Touchingly, the exposed roots of both trees had reached out for one another and were now intertwined; the sight was reminiscent of 'Romeo and Juliet'.

None of the semi-stone Riboltians could be saved. Even the Riboltian that had only been transformed to stone to up to his knees begged for a quick and painless death. Gangrene had already set in as a result the diminished blood flow. Several Fwitches blessed the Riboltians' souls and a handful of wizards stroked their foreheads.

'May peace enter your souls!' said Witchway sadly and slipped a deadly Flister blister under each of their tongues. The deadly blisters had been carefully harvested from the skin of her beloved Flisters. 'Bite down gently', she smiled compassionately. 'Your pain is nearly over!' Fwitches believed that even those who had been evil needed to exit this world with kindness being shown. It set the right tone for their next lives. Yes, Fwitches believe that we all live a series of lives.

Within moments of popping the deadly blisters, these unfortunate Riboltians were put out of their misery. The surrounding Flisters squawked loudly. They always did so when a creature died as a result of their poisonous blisters. It was a purely instinctual reaction.

Whilst Hildegard, Felterain, Witchway the other Friendly witches spoke loudly to the surviving Shrewd trees in an attempt to help them regain their strength, Twinkledust got to work on creating six identical glitter messages. They would inform the other allies about the attack on the Shrewdies by Pugnacious and his crew. One would also inform Mayor Glovetia and his fellow Flushfleans that the Shrewdies were now in safe hands. No mention of Traizon was made in any of the messages. His treachery had worked.

Once the glitter messages had been prepared, she sent them on their way. They would appear as nothing more than a distorted star shape as they travelled at great speed through the air. Glitter would fly off all the time and then regather.

Only once these messages found the individual that they were programmed to find, would they would they disperse fully and reveal their hidden message. The mechanics behind how the glitter messages manage to fly fully intact for hundreds of kilometres and find their exact target is a secret that the Sugar fairies guard very closely.

The dancing star messages destined for Dementia, Frother, Sked, Majika, Fluffel, and Mayor Glovetia would all read as follows:

As a backup, in case these messages failed to reach their destinations safely, handwritten messages were also given to six Dragon dogs for manual delivery. Because they were handwritten, they allowed for more detail. Furthermore, just in case any harm came to any of the Dragon dogs and the messages were intercepted, they were written using an ancient Flushflean script that only Sugar fairies and Soul Wizards understood. So, it would look like gibberish to Pugnacious... But not to Traizon! The author of the messages was Felterain. Translated into English, each read as follows:

### CHAPTER 22

### THE GLITTER MESSAGES AND DRAGON DOG MESSENGERS

The glitter messages moved much quicker than the Dragon dogs could fly. The first reached Mayor Glovetia in less than half an hour. He and his Flushflean citizens were extremely relieved to hear that the Shrewd trees were ok and in safe hands. Up until this point, they had all stared out in catatonic disbelief at the massive stretch of barren, orange-clayey turf that once housed the Mystical forest. Not a twig remained; not even a solitary root or leaf. They had been in a total state of shock and many had already started the mourning process.

Glovetia was delighted that the Shrewdies were in Fwitchland. After all, the Fwitches were fantastic, trustworthy allies, and very few creatures would be foolish enough to enter Fwitchland with ill intentions. Although the Fwitches were friendly and welcoming, they were known to be ferocious fighters when it came to defending themselves and their territory from unwelcome intruders.

The glitter message intended for Majika found its way safely to the Tarantin trolls' current locality. Its glistening star form hung patiently in the air above Majika's head as she slept. A few curious Tarantin trolls who were sharing the same enormous tent as her, and who had already awoken, were fascinated by this magical-looking star. However, being so short, they could not reach it. Attempts to ground it with a long stick proved futile. The glitter would simply disperse into a random shape and then slowly return to its star shape. One troll tried standing on another's shoulders and reaching up, but, to both their annoyance, the star was still just out of reach. A third tried to climb onto the shoulders of the second (so as to make a three-stack), but the increased load was simply too heavy for the anchor troll to carry. The top two went crashing to the ground painfully. Refusing to abandon their quest, they tried this manoeuvre three more times but failed on each occasion. They punched and kicked the air and threw massive (silent) temper tantrums in response to each failed attempt. It was like watching 'The School of Angry Mime'. It could have been a well-staged circus act.

Somehow, Majika managed to sleep through the commotion going on around her. She was obviously very tired, or a deep sleeper, or perhaps both. By now, the trolls had wasted a huge amount of energy and some of their bodies were bruised from head to toe. However, Tarantin trolls never give up once they set their mind on achieving something, especially when gripped by curiosity. They recruited an extra two trolls to the cause and formed themselves into a far more stable pyramid formation (three at the bottom, two in the middle, and one on top). The troll at the top triumphantly snatched every last drop of glitter in his enormous baseball-mitt hands. Yes, despite being the size of midgets, these trolls have huge hands. (My apologies for not mentioning this earlier.)

As soon as the excited troll opened his mitt, the glitter message escaped like a trapped bird sensing freedom and flew to the ceiling directly above Majika's head once again. All the others slapped his forehead angrily, as if he were the world's biggest idiot. Majika was awoken by jabs to the ribs from several podgy fingers. These curious and frustrated creatures needed to known what this floating star thingamabob was, _right now_ , and were not prepared to wait a moment longer.

'Ah, a glitter message!' yawned Majika as she looked up at the ceiling and rubbed her eyes. As the trolls waited impatiently, she stretched her arms, then her legs, and then her wings. 'I will need you all to leave the tent please, so that I can read my message in privacy.' Begrudgingly, the trolls exited the room. Even myself and Zoola were awoken from our sleep and hurriedly shoved out of the tent by Majika. Only once the tent was completely cleared, did she make a few seconds of direct eye contact with the floating star. It opened up and individual letters started to form. The letters then worked their way into the correct order, to reveal the message that her older sister Twinkledust had composed.

Tears filled her crystal blue eyes as she thought about these proud, sacred, ancient Shrewd trees being attacked and pillaged by walking heathens (the Riboltians), flying abominations (the Cabats), and the ugly face of the dark side (Pugnacious). The whole thing was sacrilege and made her feel sick to the very core. Even in battle, surely sacred sites should be respected.

She and her team would need to leave immediately for Fwitchland. After all, she had no idea whether or not the Fwitches were also mute. Assuming they were, a few extra voices (hers, Zoola's and mine) would come in most handy in helping any injured Shrewdies recover. Furthermore, it was more than plausible that Pugnacious would try to strike again soon, whilst they were still weak and vulnerable. She had no doubt that Cabat scouts were currently meticulously surveying the skies, seeking out their new location. And yet the glitter message had made no mention of Traizon. She wondered whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. Where was he? And what tricks did he still have up his sleeve?

She informed the Tarantin trolls of the current plight. Without fear for their own personal safety, every single male adult, applied their war-paint and grabbed hold of their favourite club. With any luck (they all thought), they would soon get to use them. There was no way that they were going to stand by whilst allies of theirs were slaughtered. Besides, this not-being-able-to-speak nonsense had made them all very grumpy and they desperately needed to release some pent up aggression.

Our journey towards Fwitchland was delayed for a few minutes because Flopsy had gone missing. Majika had to call his name at least 20 times before he gradually and reluctantly emerged from the rock behind which he was hiding.

'What happened, Flopsy?' cried Majika as she looked at her completely shorn, shivering, Wobbit. He looked half his normal size without his thick fleece coating. The only hair left on his body was the thick tufts that covered his delicate ankles. He now looked like he was completely naked, save for the four 'socks'. Majika had seen him with small sections of his fleece removed, but never completely bald like this.

The devastated and extremely self-conscious Flopsy pointed towards King Trollermite's tent, and then burst into tears. Whilst those around Flopsy dealt with being drenched by his tears, Majika immediately ran to the tent and peeked in. Her eyes were greeted by a huge pile of Wobbit hair on the floor. Three of King Trollermite's wives were creating beautiful headpieces out of the fur.

'How could you do this to my Flopsy?' cried Majika.

'He sold his fleece to us in return for tummy tickles,' scribbled King Trollermite. 'It was his suggestion! He kept insisting that we continue and continue by pointing frantically at his belly!'

'Is this true, Flopsy?' shouted Majika. 'Did you offer your fleece in return for tummy tickles... Flopsy! Flopsy!'

Flopsy could not make eye contact with Majika. He simply stared sheepishly at his toes. Majika now knew without question that Flopsy had caused his own predicament.

'Oh well,' said Majika unsympathetically. 'You'll just have to live with your new look until your fur grows back!'

The shivering Flopsy burst into tears again and pointed furiously at the pile of plush Modesta unicorn hair blankets that the Tarantin trolls sold on consignment to supplement their incomes.

'Ok, ok, Flopsy!' shouted Majika. 'Um, excuse me, how much is that blue one over there?'

The Tarantin troll was about to reply, when Flopsy angrily shook his head from side to side and stomped his feet. Having gained Majika's attention, he pointed enthusiastically at the snow-white one.

'But _white_ will show the dirt Flopsy... Ok, ok... White it will be! Please just stop the incessant crying!'

Meantime, the glitter messages destined for Sked and Fluffel also reached their targets. However, the ones intended for Dementia and Frother failed to arrive. The one intended for Dementia was unfortunately obliterated beyond repair by a freak mini-tornado, and the one intended for Frother was sent on a wild goose chase. It arrived at the Open Mouths, only to find that most of his thermal heat had already diffused and was heading in a southerly direction, toward Riboltia. So, whilst Sked and his companions (and a large squadron of Burlian ironworkers riding on the backs of Modesta unicorns) made their way to Fwitchland, along with Fluffel and his companions (and a huge contingency of Golfibobs), Dementia and his companions continued to search for clues as to the whereabouts of Pugnacious, Traizon, and the Cabats. Whether or not they would get the urgent message in time, was now totally in the hands of the messenger Dragon dog, Inferno.

As Inferno passed over the new territory of the Tishy gnomes, a group of about 30 well-concealed Cabats – who Pugnacious had left to spy on the Tishy gnomes – suddenly attacked him. It was like a pack of hyenas attacking an unsuspecting antelope. As the sharp tips of their wings sliced through his fur and encountered the thick scales underneath, the friction caused a number of sparks. These sparks set Inferno's fur alight and he instantly became a flying fireball. However, once the fur was burnt away, the flames disappeared, to reveal his spectacular glistening-purple scaled body.

Inferno struck back, incinerating ten Cabats with his first exhale of flame. However, he could not cover all flanks at once and the other 20 Cabats continued to slash away at his body. A few of his scales were cracked and a few were dislodged completely. One of the Cabats' wingtips managed to make the slightest nick in the leathery skin below this dislodged scale.

As the powerful poison began to take effect, Inferno became delirious. He started to see everything with distorted double vision. In a last valiant effort, he did a full 360-degree flaming spin-around. All 20 of the remaining Cabats were incinerated.

The Tishy gnomes below watched Inferno and the twenty Cabats plummet downwards and land in the River Mildred. Using long sticks with hooks on the end, they pulled out the paralysed, but alive, Inferno. Hanging from his lock-jawed mouth was the soggy message. It took a huge amount of effort to pry the message free. Although the ink had run quite badly, it was still legible to those who could read ancient Flushflean script.

King Tishytoosh was now faced with a dilemma. Should he send a search party to track down Dementia and hand him the message, or should he keep his secret promise to side with Pugnacious and hand the message to him? Or should he just burn the message and pretend to have never received it?

As his mind flashed back to the brutal, disrespectful way that Pugnacious had killed all of his family and friends 400 years ago, the decision became easy.

'Everyone who's lost the taste for Squelch mud worms, pack your bags!' he announced.

'But where are you going?' exclaimed his most loyal military advisor, Tishblarn.

'To our old home!' he smiled. 'Where we rightfully belong!' 'But you promised Pugnacious that you would stay here and await his command.'

'Yes, well, about that,' smiled Tishytoosh, 'We've changed teams!' 'Finally!' smiled Tishblarn. 'I'm sure every last one of us would rather die than help the creature who has done our species so much harm!'

'Here, here!' chanted the masses.

### CHAPTER 23

### THINGS ARE HOTTING UP

When Frother and his team arrived in Riboltia, they were greeted by a ghost town. Not a single Riboltian could be found, inside or outside. This was despite the Dragon dogs searching every single room of each enormous house and scouring the immediate perimeter.

Frother now faced an eminent catastrophe. If he returned to the Doolan dragons with a farfetched story about the Riboltians having disappeared completely, he would lose credibility. Furthermore, the starvation issue would not have been solved and many would no doubt start attacking the Sugar fairies again – with or without King Flambay's consent. He therefore had to find out where the Riboltians had disappeared to and then hunt a few of them down. How late could he afford to return to Mount Doolany before the Doolan dragons lost patience?

At least the Dragon dogs had picked up the scent of the marching Riboltians and could lead the way. The path led north, towards Flush Fleas! This was a disaster. Here he was worrying about the Doolan dragons attacking the Sugar fairies, when it now seemed likely that it would be the Riboltians who got in first. He could only hope that they would be able to cut off the marauding Riboltians before they reached their target. He had no idea at this point that the Riboltian attack on Flush Fleas had already taken place, and that its victims were the Shrewdies. Despite himself and the Dragon dogs being exhausted, they set off for Flush Fleas in haste.

As Pugnacious and his merry crew were nearing the outskirts of Flush Fleas, and making the start of their journey back to Riboltia (having just pillaged the Mystical forest), they were ambushed by Frother and the 50 Dragon dogs. Pugnacious was shocked to see that such a large group of Dragon dogs had survived his decimation of the Swamp tree woodland. From behind the safety of a thick wall of Cabats, he ordered the front squadron of Cabats to attack. The Dragon dogs fended them off with ferocious flames whilst Frother swooped down to roast a few Riboltians. However, his attention was suddenly distracted by the sight of at least 40 Doolan dragons, led by Boiler, heading towards the centre of Flush Fleas. They had obviously run out of patience waiting for Frother to return and had decided to take matters into their own hands.

Frother made a decision to bypass the current confrontation and rather try save the defenceless Sugar fairies. Pugnacious smiled as Frother and the Dragon dogs fled the scene.

'What a bunch of cowards!' he shouted. 'They're obviously scared of us.' The thick-as-bricks Riboltians grunted triumphantly and the nasty Cabats wailed chillingly. It suited Pugnacious to avoid a confrontation right now because he wanted to first get the Shrewd wood back to Riboltia safely, so that he could get to work carving thousands of wands and teaching his below-average-intelligence Riboltian students basic wand magic.

Frother was devastated that his kind had broken their vow to never hunt Sugar fairies again. He truly hoped that this attack was against King Flambay's wishes and that Boiler's rogue gang were acting independently.

'P-P-Please s-s-stop th-th-this un-un-warranted a-a-attack!' pleaded Frother, as he watched his fellow Doolan dragons viciously smash defenceless Soul wizards out of the way with their enormous tails and powerful wings, and fly off with panic stricken Sugar fairies tightly in their grasps. 'D-D-Don't m-m-make me u-u-use m-my f-f-flames aga-against y-y-you... D-D-Don't m-m-make m-me o-o-order the Dr-dr-dragon d-d-dogs t-t-to do like-like-likewise!'

The Doolan dragons all ignored Frother's pleas and headed back to Mount Doolany – to share their spoils.

'They're ignoring you, Frother!' cried Wandina and angrily pounded his neck with her tiny fists. 'You must attack now – before it's too late! Order the Dragon dogs to attack as well. Those are my family and friends they are flying off with. Please Frother! Please!' 'Cum on Fwother! Do thomething!' shouted Hairy. 'Are you a big, powerful dwagon, or a tiny, thcared lizard!'

Despite Wandina's desperate cries and Hairy's unjust taunts, in the end, Frother did not have the heart to destroy his own kind and, therefore, did nothing. These were not fair circumstances. Their minds were clouded by hunger. So, instead, he followed them back to the Doolan dragons' lair. He hoped that diplomacy may still prevail. However, if they tried to take Wandina as well, he would defend her with his life.

Suddenly, from behind, Frother received a massive jolt courtesy of Boiler's powerful tail. Frother was sent spiralling out of control. His passengers held on for dear life.

'All talk but no action!' laughed Boiler scornfully. 'Later _LOSER_!'

By the time Frother managed to regain his bearings, Boiler and the rest of his nasty crew were well and truly gone.

'Why ith my world thtill thpinning, Fwother,' cried a bewildered Hairy, 'when I can clearly thee that you have thtopped thpinning. Am I going mad? Ith my brain fried? Pleathe don't put me in one of thothe thpider lunatic aththylums! I have heard that the food ith thimply tewwible!'

### CHAPTER 24

### BACK IN RIBOLTIA

The Riboltians returned home triumphantly. They had secured enough magical Shrewd wood to create wands for every single one of them. They were well aware that this would not have been possible without the genius and leadership of their great saviour. 'Pugnacious! Pugnacious!' they chanted loudly.

'They should be chanting Pugnacious and Traizon,' shouted Traizon. 'Tell them Pugnacious! I deserve as much credit as you!'

'You ungrateful little _swine_!' replied Pugnacious. 'I freed you from your memorial diamond and brought you back from the dead. I am the hero, not you!'

'If it were not for my spell delivery, genius,' screamed Traizon, 'the allies would still have their voices, the Shrewd trees would have been too strong to pillage, and the Doolan dragons would still have their flames.'

As the power struggle between the two megalomaniacs ensued, the other 63 tainted Soul wizards who shared their Quisitive bird frame kept very quiet. After a few minutes of heated argument, the two adversaries reluctantly agreed to share the accolades and all the spoils of future victories. Pugnacious would remain the voice of the two, but they would share equally in all decision-making. An evil scientist and an evil magician would make for a formidable partnership, provided they could learn to co-exist and reach consensus on important decisions. The 63 tainted Soul wizards would be little more than spectators from this point onwards... or so they thought.

'Hail Pugnacious and Traizon!' chanted the Riboltians. Traizon's ego soaked up the adoration and now shone so brightly, that it appeared like a glowing beaker on Witchway and the other Fwitches' psychic radars. Witchway could now inform the allies that the two villains were indeed, one unified force.

The Riboltian foot soldiers were absolutely exhausted from having carried these huge logs such a long way over some of the most unforgiving terrain. They collapsed delirious, like dehydrated athletes who had just completed a full marathon. Fifteen had died during the journey back. Nine were fatally squashed under their heavy loads after several accidental tripping incidents, and five died of pure exhaustion.

Pugnacious had pushed them to the absolute brink. He had been keen to return to Riboltia as soon as possible. He was very conscious that the allies were probably grouping and planning an attack. He needed as much time as possible to carve the thousands of new wands and to teach his simpleton colleagues the basic magic required if he was to stand any chance of being successful in the evil quest that he had been planning for the last 400 years, whilst frustratingly trapped in the memorial diamond. But first he needed to revitalise the Shrewd wood trunks and branches that he now possessed and also brainwash them against the Soul wizards. This was critical because they would only allow themselves to be used effectively if they believed that the cause was right and just.

Pugnacious was only too aware of the incident that had occurred when he was a kid and had used his wand to create unnecessary mischief. The wand had responded by exploding into flames and severely burning him in the process.

'You don't really believe that the Soul wizards and Sugar fairies have suddenly all gone mute, do you? Surely not! They choose not to speak right now because they know that this will cause you all to die out. You, the trees that have been so loyal to them for so many centuries!'

For the next twelve hours straight, Pugnacious spoke persuasively to the captured pieces of Shrewd wood about Soul wizard and Sugar fairy treachery and betrayal. He had been reciting this speech in his mind for so long that he actually almost believed the paranoid nonsense that was spewing out of his mouth.

'We are not the enemy. The wizards and fairies of Flush Fleas and their evil neighbours are! They want every last one of you to die off...'

The logs and branches were exhausted and emotionally vulnerable. The last 24 hours had been extremely traumatic. They were therefore perfect candidates for an intense bout of brainwashing. Every single word was absorbed like quenching drops of water on parched lips.

'They have turned to the dark side. They have found trees that now allow them to create evil wands. This is why they have left you to die. We must fight this evil. This is why me and my colleagues have emancipated you. I shall not let your brothers and sisters die out!... But I need your help! Long live the Shrewd trees!'

So convincing was Pugnacious that every last piece of Shrewd wood present literally boiled with anger and overflowed with patriotism. One of the oldest logs in attendance, Trunkhard, was so emotionally charged that pieces of his bark exploded off his broad woody chest like overzealous popcorn kernels.

'I'll teach those wizards and fairies a lesson that they will never forget!' thought Trunkhard furiously. 'This is how they reward us for thousands of years of loyalty!'

From dusk till dawn, Pugnacious had teams of Riboltians loudly recite lengthy scripts that strongly condemned the Flushfleans and their allies. He had prepared these scripts years ago and now sat back and listened to his handiwork with self-indulgent pride. The words of deceit were like a pleasant lullaby and soon he was fast asleep.

### CHAPTER 25

### DIPLOMACY

Frother and his Dragon dogs arrived at the Open Mouths only minutes after Boiler and his crew touched down with their delicious cargo – the 47 terrified Sugar fairies. The starving Doolan dragons were delighted by the meal that now awaited them. Many had not eaten a morsel in seven days. Their mouths watered with anticipation.

'Boiler! Boiler! Boiler!' they chanted painfully.

The terrified Sugar fairies had already been tightly bound to Stone trees with Burly vines. They watched on helplessly with tears in their eyes. They realised that they would soon be eaten, either raw or cooked. They thought about their loved ones and how devastated and worried they must all be. They did not even have voices to beg for mercy or plead their cases.

Frother was shocked to see Boiler sitting in King Flambay's ornate throne. 'W-W-Where's K-King Flam-Flam—'

'Come on! Spit it out!' mocked Boiler. 'We don't have all day. We have Sugar fairies to prepare for our feast!'

'Yahoo! Yahoo! Yahoo!' painfully croaked the other Doolan dragons.

'W-W-Where's Flam-bay!' shouted Frother. ' A-A-And why a-a-are y-you in h-h-his thr-thr—'

'It is no longer _his_ throne!' shouted Boiler. 'He is no longer the king. I am now king. Flambay was weak. He was a traitor to his people. He favoured honouring a ridiculous verbal agreement over the wellbeing of his citizens. He would have happily seen us starve to death!'

'It's called _honouring ones word_!' screamed Eldorian bravely. 'You obviously don't know what it means to honour ones word.'

Wandina stared at Eldorian proudly.

'If I were you, young _rubber wizard_ ,' shouted Boiler, 'I would zip my lips before _you_ become a pile of melted goo and your little Sugar fairy girlfriend becomes part of the dinner menu!'

'If you lay a hand on her,' shouted Eldorian, 'I'll, I'll, I'll... rip your head off!'

The rest of the Doolan dragons laughed scornfully at Eldorian. Boiler stepped forward and put his enormous head right up against Eldorian's. 'Go for it then!' he challenged. Whilst Eldorian stared catatonically at Boiler's huge nostrils, either of which would have easily housed his entire head, Hairy took up the challenge. He tightly gripped ten of his limbs around each of Boilers lemon-yellow ears and used the remaining ten limbs that were resting against Boilers thick neck to push himself backwards.

'Oh dear!' groaned Hairy and looked at Frother sheepishly, 'I don't think thith thtrategy ith going tho well. After all, if I _had_ managed to pull hith head off, he wouldn't thtill be _glaring_ at me like thith. And I haven't heard a plonk thound either. Thurely I would have heard a _plonk_ thound by now!'

'Are you for real, overweight spider, or are you just trying to mock me?' shouted Boiler.

'Oh dear!' continued Hairy. 'And he jutht thpoke to me, Fwother. That can't be a good thign either. How long doeth it take to thtop thpeaking once your head hath been wipped off?'

Boiler suddenly jolted his enormous head backwards with tremendous force and Hairy was sent catapulting through the air. In disoriented desperation, Hairy shot out a number of webs indiscriminately and several strands fortuitously hit Boiler in the back of the head. The spider-god was obviously looking after our little friend. 'Indiana Hairy' came swinging through the air, and landed on the back of Boiler's neck. Boiler stretched his front right limb upwards and plucked Hairy from his neck with one of his enormous paws.

'P-P-Put h-h-him d-d-down r-right n-n-now!' shouted Frother. His nostrils started to steam as he spoke. 'O-O-Or I'll b-b-b-burn y-y-you t-to a frizz-frizz-frizzle and o-o-order t-the Dra-Dragon d-d-dogs to de-de-destroy y-y-your other v-v-villain-ous! c-c-colleagues'

'G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-Go ahead F-F-F-F-F-F-F-F-F-F-Frother!' challenged Boiler mockingly, deliberately mimicking Frother's stutter. 'But remember this, if I die, so will your hairy little orange pal over here, along with all 47 Sugar fairies.'

Boiler tightened his grip on Hairy. He also ordered his rogue companions to each grab one of the 47 tied-up Sugar fairies and place a razor-sharp claw across their throats.

The claustrophobic, melodramatic Hairy started to panic and grossly over-exaggerated the extent of his distress. 'Help Fwother!' he gasp-screamed, 'I cannot bweathe... and my ribth have all been cwacked... and my inthideth are about to exthplode! It'th pwobably too late for me now... I love you bwother! Be thtrong for me, be thtrong... And never forget me!'

Sensing that Frother was about to attack, Boiler nervously gave a second warning. 'I swear Frother, one false move and I'll crush him. And I'll give my colleagues the go-ahead to slit the Sugar—'

Boiler got no further with this sentence as over 40 smouldering arrowheads sliced through his soft pink belly and killed him instantly. Hairy fell to the ground, dazed but ok.

The other 47 Doolan dragons released their grips on their captives and jumped around blindly as they tried futilely to remove the arrows now protruding from their eye sockets. This made them easy targets and they were polished off quickly by the 50 fire-blowing Dragon dogs.

'Looks like we arrived just in the nick of time!' smiled Sked from high in the air. His huge weight and massive size was distributed evenly across three Modesta unicorns. They were flying side by side (as if glued together) and his legs were straddled over the end two's ribcages. On his left flank were at least 100 Modesta unicorns and their powerful, bow-wielding, Burlian ironworker archers (including King Mullimus). Further back, Honeypop and Spledan were sharing passage on a single Modesta unicorn.

'Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!' exclaimed Wandina. 'How did you know to come?'

'Look out in that direction,' smiled Honeypop. She pointed towards Flush Fleas. Floating in the air were literally hundreds of the exact same Sugar fairy message:

The Sugar fairies who had survived the earlier Doolan dragon onslaught and avoided capture, had in desperation tirelessly composed all of these floating glitter messages. They knew that without the ability to verbally instruct their wands, they could not guide their glitter messages at all. So the messages would be at the mercy of the elements and could end up anywhere. Because it would be such a hit-and-miss process, they realised that the more messages they released, the greater the likelihood that at least a few would find their allies. It also meant a greater likelihood that their enemies would also receive a few of these messages. In the scheme of things, though, this really didn't matter. They had used almost an entire year's supply of magic glitter in the process. But in the end, their persistence had paid off.

Whilst en route to Fwitchland, Majika and Fluffel's parties had also spotted these cries for help. Both had changed their courses and began heading for Mount Doolany when greeting parties, led by Twinkledust and Felterain, intercepted them: Majika's party were spotted by a group of Flisters about 14 kilometres north of Fwitchland, while Fluffel's party were spotted by a group of Dragon dogs about 20 kilometres west of Fwitchland.

After hugging Majika tightly, Twinkledust explained the situation.

'You don't have to worry about the captured Sugar fairies. Sked and a group of Burlian ironworkers have already successfully secured their release.'

'How do you know this?' asked Majika.

'Witchway saw the images of this occurring in her crystal ball!' replied Twinkledust. 'A number of rogue Doolan dragons died, but Sked and his party are all fine. They should hopefully make their way to Fwitchland soon – along with Frother's team and the remaining Doolan dragons.'

'That's great news,' smiled Majika. 'And what about Dementia and Fluffel's teams? Are they also ok and on their way?'

'According to Witchway, both are fine,' replied Twinkledust. 'Fluffel and a large group of Golfibobs are on their way. Unfortunately though, Dementia's group failed to get either of the messages, and are therefore, still searching for Pugnacious and Traizon. You see, the glitter message destined for Dementia, got destroyed by a freak mini-tornado, and Inferno, the Dragon dog carrying the handwritten message, was ambushed by a large group of Cabats, and remains paralysed, but in the safe hands of the Tishy gnomes. And—'

'Safe hands... you must be joking!' Majika's eyes widened. 'They are known to kill anyone and anything that enters their territory! They are probably dissecting poor Inferno as we speak!'

'Apparently not. According to Witchway, it appears that they may now be our allies. You must remember: they hate Pugnacious just as much as we do. In fact, they are currently heading towards their old territory to hand deliver the message to Dementia and discuss a mutually beneficial alliance.'

### CHAPTER 26

### NOW THAT THE RESCUE'S COMPLETE, LET'S ATTACK!

As the ever-so-grateful 47 Sugar fairies began their flight back to Flush Fleas, Frother released King Flambay and his loyal council from their awful cages. King Flambay was saddened to hear that so many Doolan dragons had died. Nevertheless, he and his citizens realised that Boiler and his dissidents were bad news and had posed a real threat to the stability and ethics of the clan. King Flambay and his citizens were still faced with the exact same problem, though. With the Sugar fairies off-limits, and the Riboltians now too dangerous to hunt, they had no other source of nutrition.

'We have some good news for you, Your Majesty!' announced Sked. 'The Burlian ironworkers have completed the head armour that you ordered.'

King Mullimus gestured to a squadron of his archers and they descended from the sky. Strapped to the Modesta unicorns were the enormous metal helmets.

'They were going to present them to you in Fwitchland, but now seems just as good a time.'

'Excellent and thank you!' scribbled King Flambay with a white stone onto one of the black cave walls. 'Finally, we can mount an attack on the Riboltians without being knocked unconscious! I will order my elite squadron to attack right now!'

The rest of his citizens cheered painfully as the elite squadron tried on their new head armour. Each had been made-to-order and fitted like a glove. They looked extremely formidable.

King Mullimus also picked up a white stone and scribbled his response. 'You are welcome. Would you like us to assist your elite squadron in their mission?' They all look very undernourished and tired, and the head armour adds quite a lot of extra weight.'

'Thank you for your kind offer,' scribble-replied the head of this elite squadron, 'but we will be fine. Now that we have this protective headgear, we'll smash them to pieces.'

Before the Doolan dragons set off, Sked brought everyone up to date with recent events, including the callous attack on the Shrewdies by Pugnacious and his evil cohorts, and the urgent request for all allies to gather in Fwitchland.

'We shall join you in Fwitchland!' scribbled Flambay. 'We may be physically weak, but we still have our pride!' He then looked upwards towards his elite squadron and wrote in large letters, 'Return to Fwitchland with heaps of Riboltian meat! Our bellies are gurgling!'

With that, the squadron flew off at great pace.

### CHAPTER 27

### MAGIC 101

Pugnacious awoke from an excellent night's sleep. Whereas he usually awoke in a cold sweat, he surfaced relaxed and at peace with the world – a world that he was about to punish. For the first time in over 400 years, he had not dreamt about being trapped in that bloody diamond and failing a million escape attempts.

As a result of the hundreds of years that his soul spent trapped in this compressed space, he now suffered from extreme claustrophobia. No creature was allowed to come within two metres of him. If they accidentally did, they would get a severe beating. Instead of the usual nightmare, he dreamed that he was the ruler of the galaxy and that all the other creatures were his loyal servants. If things went according to plan, this would soon be a reality. He was already thinking about how he would destroy Traizon. Like everyone in Pugnacious' world, this evil Soul wizard had a 'used by' date.

He meticulously inspected all the pieces of Shrewd wood and determined which pieces were ready for carving and which pieces still needed more time to cure. As a little boy in Flush Fleas, he had illegally spied on the older Soul wizards as they undertook the sacred ritual of carving new wands. He remembered every single step as if it were yesterday.

The process followed strict rules and protocols and was steeped in tradition. Each piece of wood to be carved had to first be blessed. The completed carvings had to then be dipped in sacred 'Holy Molly' oil and laid out to dry. Once the wands had all cured, he proceeded to sing the 'Song of Thanks'.

We thank you Shrewdies for your wood

Your rules and requirements are understood

We understand that if we twist your aims

Our precious wands will go up in flames

As he sang like an out-of-tune engine, his Riboltian companions continued to read their thousand-page scripts aloud. By late afternoon, a large pile of new wands had been created. Now it was time to introduce these capable wands to their nincompoop owners. This was not going to be easy.

'Let the lessons begin!' he thought to himself begrudgingly.

He planned to teach them three simple 'attack' spells today. He felt that this would be the absolute outer limit of their minuscule brain capacity. He did not want any incidents. He personally, was capable of learning and memorising over 100 complex spells everyday.

For himself, he produced the largest and most powerful wand _ever_ created. Because the Quisitive bird form was so enormous and strong, Pugnacious could afford to carry a much larger wand than the twigs used by Soul wizards and Sugar fairies. The wand was carved exclusively from Trunkhard's ancient, magic-rich wood. It was a metre long and as thick as a telephone pole. And yes, when it comes to a wand's magical power, size does matter. The wood's size and age, and the competency of the recipient are the three most important factors.

Pugnacious made sure to only use the innermost rings of Trunkhard's trunk. It was hard work getting to this wood, but it would be well worth it. He knew that the inner rings were the oldest and most powerful. Trunkhard was delighted that such a large chunk of his wood was going to be united with Pugnacious.

He would have been very disappointed and insulted, if any of his wood had been handed to one of these Riboltian imbeciles. It would have been a complete waste of potential. These morons read like two-year-olds. They kept pronouncing words incorrectly and getting completely stuck on larger words. They would frustratingly pronounce the larger words syllable by syllable. Furthermore, their concentration span was appalling. They continually repeated the same sentences and would accidentally skip entire paragraphs.

Pugnacious tested out his new wand which he nicknamed 'Trunkhardian', and was excitedly-frightened by its immense power. When he ordered it to strike a nearby mountain with a power-wave, he hoped that the power-wave may cause a few trees on the mountain to lose their leaves or, at best, a tree or two to become uprooted. He certainly never expected it to cause every single tree to become dislodged and go flying through the air like enormous arrows, or for the entire tip of the mountain to be erased forever.

The Riboltians watched on with fear and respect. The individual fireballs that he produced were larger than hot air balloons, and the deluges of water that fell from the sky were more fierce and spectacular than Niagara Falls. Like powerful jet-hoses, the cascading water rapidly carved a canyon into the ground below.

The first spell that Pugnacious taught these budding magicians was the 'fireball shooting' spell. It was a very simple, two-word command ('Shoot Fireball'), followed immediately by a quick downward strike with the wand-bearing hand. Yet five Riboltian's still managed to burn themselves in the process. One Riboltian scolded his face severely after deciding to scratch his nose with the tip of his wand at the very moment that the fireball shot out. He now resembled a crème brûlée that has just been torched.

Despite these minor incidents, they were all very pleased with this new weapon. However, many questioned why their fireballs were only the size of soccer balls.

'Because your brains are the size of a Gnawler ant's head!' replied Pugnacious. 'And my brain is the size of a whole colony of Gnawler ants! So, you don't have the brain capacity required to create anything bigger. Quite frankly, it's a small miracle that you lot are able to produce anything! At best, I expected to see fireballs the size of Murkleberry pips.'

This made perfect sense to only half of them. Therefore a collective 'Huh' and a collective 'Aha' could be heard.

The second spell that he taught these idiots was the 'liquid-nitrogen shooting' spell. Although all present managed to successfully produce the spell, one smart-arse decided to use the newly taught fireball shooting spell to thaw out a friend who he had unintentionally frozen. By the time he had finished, his friend was reduced to a charred frizzle.

Another halfwit completely botched the spell, but in doing so somehow managed to get five of the Riboltians in front of him to disappear completely. Pugnacious was delighted by this accidental stroke of genius and asked the halfwit in question to show him exactly what he had done to produce this result. To Pugnacious' extreme frustration, the halfwit had no idea what he had done the first time round and failed to duplicate the achievement, despite several highly enthusiastic efforts. His hapless victims were now lost in some vortex in space and would never return.

The third spell involved the art of 'acid-shooting'. By the time these dimwits had mastered this, eight were permanently blinded, a dozen had lost fingers and toes, and one Riboltian was now little more than a sizzling puddle.

Pugnacious singled out the most talented of these Neanderthal lookalikes to be his elite force. The rest of the riffraff could drag behind, scrape their knuckles on the floor, and pretend to be useful.

Meanwhile, Traizon's soul sat back on the air-filled cushion of the Quisitive bird's left lung and enjoyed the festivities. He was conserving all of his energy. After all, he would need to be at his strongest when the time came to overthrow the pathetic scientist-cum-quasi-magician, who kept insulting his ego.

### CHAPTER 28

### SURPRISE ATTACK!

The armour-clad Doolan dragons arrived in Riboltia three hours later. The journey had been long and tiring. The added weight of the bulky helmets had not helped matters. Still, they were totally pumped. Now that they had protective headgear, the Riboltians' once painful 'Stook' blows, would feel as painless as being hit with a feather-filled cushion. It wouldn't take long for the Riboltians to begin panicking and making themselves even easier targets. The Doolan dragons would then use their powerful claws to remove the fatty flesh from their vanquished prey's heavy bones so that they could carry back as much meat as possible.

As the Doolan dragons swooped down on their prey, they were surprised to notice that the Riboltians were no longer armed with huge 'Stooks'. Instead, they were holding measly little twigs. This was going to be easy pickings. Perhaps the tides were finally turning.

How wrong they were! As they closed in for the kill, the Riboltians all started waving their wands and screaming out commands. The Doolan dragons toward the back of the pack watched on with horror as the front three rows of their companions were easily destroyed. Some plummeted to the ground like fiery meteors, others came crashing down like frozen pieces of meat, and others sizzled in the air before crashing to the ground like massive bags of bones.

The remaining Doolan dragons, eleven in total, made a shameful, hasty retreat towards Fwitchland. There would be no dinner tonight... Or would there be?

### CHAPTER 29

### MY CLONE IS HOME ALONE

Whilst an incredible sense of fear and foreboding rippled through this sector of the galaxy, my clone enjoyed a carefree, relaxed existence in Tidley Creek. He enjoyed the walk to school each day with Hanna Smith and drifted off into my dream world during class hours. He enjoyed his serve of my mum's award-winning banana bread after school each day and meeting Jonny and Justin down by the creek for a bout of stone-bouncing and general tomfoolery. He received constant abuse and torment at the hands of my _terrorist_ younger sisters and dished out his own forms of revenge in return.

His most taxing activity was occasionally helping my dad shear and brand sheep. He did both jobs with the efficiency of an expert. In the Swoon Hill district junior footy league, he took an impressive ten marks and bagged six goals. He was voted best-on-ground.

He fitted in exactly like me and nobody was any the wiser – except for my two-year-old sheepdog, Jessie. This perceptive and loyal canine was given to me as an eight-week-old puppy and the two of us had always been almost inseparable. She loved the real me beyond distraction and somehow sensed that my clone was not me. It is widely believed that dogs can see people's auras. Was it possible that the clone's aura was a different glow or colour to mine and that Jessie was picking up on this? This would be a great question to throw at Dementia. After all, he is a leading authority on auras _and_ clones.

Jessie barked loudly and bared her teeth every time my clone came within 50 metres of her. She would not even allow him to play her favourite game of 'fetch'. On the one occasion that he tried to pat her, she nipped his hand and drew blood. At least my clone bled. Imagine if my clone's skin had been synthetic like Dementia's!

My parents were deeply perturbed by Jessie's sudden and completely out-of-character aggressiveness towards me.

'Did you do something to upset Jessie?' asked my dad. 'No! Of course not!' replied my clone.

Jessie was therefore taken to our local vet, Roger Williams, for further observation. He performed a thorough examination and could come up with no apparent explanation for her sudden aggressiveness towards me, and only me. It was a complete mystery. The young boy who held the key to this conundrum was currently on his way to the Land of the Friendly Witches.

### CHAPTER 30

### THE GATHERING IN FWITCHLAND

The scene in Fwitchland was incredible. It was like a 'Bizarre Creatures Convention', being held in a weird location.

Furthermore, most of the attendees were mute. Nevertheless, the atmosphere was charged with goodwill and encouragement. After all, those present shared a common goal and would soon fight arm in arm against a deadly enemy. Facial expressions and body language can often say a lot more than words.

In and amongst the thousands of 100-foot-tall Shrewd trees stood large groups of Fwitches, Tarantin trolls, Burlian ironworkers, Sugar fairies, Soul wizards and Golfibobs. In the air hovered Doolan dragons, Dragon dogs, Flisters, Modesta unicorns, and a solitary Airbaggendale.

The extroverted Airbaggendale, Squishbucket, busily introduced herself and discussed strategy. Whilst all the other flying creatures could easily hover in the same spot, Squishbucket could not and kept having to propel herself one way and then the other; like she was pacing in midair.

Despite King Trollermite insisting that all the Tarantin troll females and children stay home, Paprika and her younger brother, Wasabi, had managed to sneak off unnoticed and had found their way here. With no time at the moment to escort them home safely, it was decided that they would be allowed to stay, but would have to take safe cover the moment hostilities broke out. For the time being though, Paprika and Wasabi entertained themselves by playing chase and tag with the more 'streamline' Flopsy.

The only parties missing at this point were the group of hunting Doolan dragons, Dementia's team, and the Tishy gnomes. It would be interesting to see whether or not the Tishy gnomes would indeed fight alongside the allies. Witchway's current premonitions strongly suggested they that would. But, as they say, seeing is believing!

As the allies got to know one another, Dementia's team continued their search for Pugnacious, Traizon and the Cabats. About two kilometres before reaching the old Tishy gnome territory, a group of Dragon dogs suddenly caught scent of the strong acidic smell of Cabat droppings. They followed the scent and it led to Pugnacious' secret cave. Dementia and his companions approached with extreme caution. The floor was heavily pasted with acidy smelling Cabat droppings, sprinkled with the grape-like bunches of black Cabat feathers, the occasional enormous white Quisitive bird feather and clumps of curly brown fur. The walls were damp and slimy.

'What a revolting place to live in!' thought Dementia. Although both Dementia and Fuzzard knew the origins of the droppings and the feathers, they could not pinpoint the curly brown hair. It looked familiar but neither could place it as belonging to Riboltians. They were unaware that Pugnacious had recently hosted a dinner party here for a few Riboltian military officials.

Pugnacious, Traizon, and the massive army of Cabats had abandoned this cave and were now living with the Riboltians. I do apologise for hardly ever mentioning the 63 Soul wizards, who also shared the Quisitive bird frame with the Pugnacious and Traizon. It's just that, quite frankly, at this point in time, they were totally insignificant; they had no say in any operational decisions and were simply, compliant puppets... But this would soon change!

As Dementia and the others exited the cave, they were literally surrounded by thousands of migrating Tishy gnomes. Once again, the Dragon dogs formed a protective shield and looked poised to strike.

'We mean you no harm, Dementia!' shouted Tishytoosh. 'On the contrary, we have decided to join your side in the fight against Pugnacious and his army. As an act of good faith, please accept this message that we took from one of your Dragon dogs' mouths. I assume it's for you!'

Before reading the message, Dementia enquired as to how the Dragon dog had come to be in Slurry Island and how they had managed to get their hands on the message.

Fuzzard looked on grim-faced as Tishytoosh described the brutal attack on Inferno.

'Is he ok, though?' exclaimed Dementia.

'As you can see, he is fine!' smiled Tishytoosh and pointed skywards. Inferno came sailing into view, at great speed. 'He was just doing some surveillance for us. _Very_ useful pets, I must say!'

Whilst Fuzzard enjoyed an emotional reunion with his glistening-purple scaled friend, Dementia read the message. He was saddened by the news of the Shrewd trees. Nevertheless, there was no time for moping about. He did not want to be late for the 'main event'.

'Anyone keen to have their fortune told?' asked Dementia. 'I would love to!' exclaimed Violeena. 'But by whom?'

'The Fwitches!' replied Dementia. 'For Fwitchland is where we are heading!'

### CHAPTER 31

### CHANGE OF MENU

The hunting party of Doolan dragons, who had just received an absolute walloping at the hands of the Riboltian amateur magicians, landed in Fwitchland totally humiliated and broken-spirited.

They scribbled messages and drew pictures depicting the entire horrid co scene.

'It is as I thought!' sighed Witchway. 'The logs and branches of Shrewd wood that were stolen from the Mystical forest have been turned into wands for the Riboltians to use. Based on the defence mechanisms that they used against you Doolan dragons, I can only assume that Pugnacious has taught them very basic wand magic. Let me just consult my crystal ball to be sure.'

'But why would our beloved pieces of stolen Shrewd wood take orders from the evil Riboltians?' thought Sir Branchalot sadly, and then shared this thought with Lady Woodsworth telepathically.

'It sounds to me like they've been brainwashed!' responded Lady Woodsworth.

King Flambay was devastated by this latest failure to secure food. He was at a complete loss as to what to do next.

'It's a shame that we're not on Earth!' I said flippantly. 'We could just order a few hundred Meat Lover's pizzas from Pizza Hut. Five different types of meat... Really delicious!'

'T-T-Tell us m-m-more!' stuttered Frother. The other Doolan dragons listened intently.

'There's salami, and bacon, and pepperoni, and ham, and beef...

And if we order more than five pizzas, they include a loaf of garlic bread and a diet Pepsi free of charge.'

King Flambay scribbled a hieroglyphic-looking message into the sand with the tip of his tail and Frother acted as translator.

'W-Where do w-w-we f-find the-these f-f-five m-meat ani-mals?' said Frother. 'I h-h-have n-never h-h-heard of th-th-them, b-but they d-d-do s-s-s-s-sound g-g-good!"

'Pizza Hut!' I replied but received blank gazes. 'Um.... On the corner of Clarendon and York Streets in South Melbourne, Australia, Earth. For a large order, delivery is usually free of charge – though I am not sure if they will come all the way to Fwitchland.' 'That's ok,' smiled Witchway. 'If they won't come here, we'll bring them to us!'

I could not believe what I was hearing. "Wh...Wha... What do you mean?' I stuttered nervously. I wished I had remembered my Uncle Frank's favourite saying at this point in time. He is one of the top lawyers in Sydney and has a fancy title – Queens Council or something like that. He always says, 'Never ask a question, if you don't want the answer!'

'We'll pull them through my crystal ball!' smiled Witchway. 'Like we did with the Shrewd trees.'

This was definitely not the answer that I was hoping to hear. 'But... But—' I muttered.

'Don't worry, Alex!' smiled Witchway. 'I'm an expert at doing this.' Before I could regather my thoughts, Witchway had commenced the process. She dug deep into her trendy-looking handbag and retrieved the crystal ball, the gold pipe, and the 100 metres of thick sailor's rope. Once the centre of the crystal ball was sufficiently clouded with golden vapours, she asked me to look deep inside and concentrate as hard as I could on these 'five meat' animals. The image of the enormous 'Pizza Hut' store in South Melbourne – that I had visited on my one and only visit to the Big Smoke – came to mind. My mouth salivated as the image of a steaming hot Meat Lover's pizza entered my consciousness. Everything that I imagined appeared vividly in the crystal ball; it was quite surreal.

Witchway then began feeding the rope into the centre of the image. Once ready, she called on the brute strength and power of several Doolan dragons and a number of Burlian ironworkers to start pulling the rope back out. They made easy work of this. The entire pizza shop, along with all of its staff, customers, internal fittings, and steaming hot pizzas arrived in Fwitchland less than ten minutes later. Its colourfully painted exterior and glowing neon sign, looked very out-of-place amongst the thousands of ancient Shrewd trees.

A million problems and dilemmas sprung to mind. So, despite the delicious aroma, my hunger disappeared completely and was replaced by dizziness and nausea. The moment any customers or staff members left the security of the shop, they would be greeted by a completely new world. It would be too much for their sheltered Earth brains to comprehend. I would have to enter the store and explain the situation to everyone inside. I hoped that this would at least help soften the blow. I entered the store and, fortunately, there were only five customers and two staff. The clock on the wall showed 11pm. That explained why there were so few customers and only a couple of skeleton staff present.

'Hi... My name is Alex McKenzie,' I loudly announced. I am not sure if it was the tone of my voice that caught everyone's attention, or the fact that I was wearing a white philosophers robe and had a large green dot on my forehead – Probably all of the above. 'Like you, I am also from Earth!'

Things went dramatically downhill from this point onwards. A large teenager, who was built like Popeye on steroids – and also resembled him (except for the peroxided blond mop of uncombed hair that sat on his head like a badly fitted toupee) – jumped over the counter and grabbed me by the scruff of my neck.

'We don't allow druggies in our stores!' he shouted and aggressively frog-marched me out of the store. As he stepped outside though, the confidence drained from his face and was replaced by unspeakable terror. His legs buckled as an enormous Doolan dragon moved towards him. He passed out moments before he was able to scream. He awoke several times only to faint again. When he finally gained some semblance of composure, I tried as best as I could to explain these unbelievable circumstances to him. I assured him that neither he, nor his work crew, nor any of the customers were in danger – provided they cooperated. His belief in what I was saying became severely jolted when a Soul wizard casually stepped forward with a syringe-looking object drawn, and stabbed him in the neck.

'Don't worry, Jonny!' I said. 'This Soul wizard has kindly provided you with a translator chip. You will now be able to understand what they are saying and, conversely, them you.'

'Please tell me that this is just some bad dream!' whispered Jonny meekly and squeezed my hand so hard that the tips of my fingers turned white.

'It'th not a dweam Earthling Jonny!' smiled Hairy. 'After all, if it wath a dweam, then why would it feel tho real to me, thilly-billy! Unlethth of courthe, I'm dweaming ath well... Oh dear, now I'm tewwibly confuthed! Thankth a lot for confuthing me, Earthling Jonny!'

'I-I-Ignore h-h-him.' smiled Frother warmly. 'He t-t-tends t-to con-con-confuse h-h-himself q-q-quite a lot!'

Jonny was caught between fear and fascination. He was engaged in a discussion with a lisping spider the size and shape of a Halloween pumpkin, and a stuttering dragon that towered almost three storeys high.

Still in a state of disbelief, he re-entered the store and trembling like a leaf, he made an announcement.

'Dear customers, I have an announcement to make. This Pizza Hut store in no longer on Earth. It's now—'

'What do you mean, no longer on Earth!' screamed a podgy, middle-aged accountant named Monty. He was wearing a faded-grey pinstripe suit and a matching grey tie, both of which looked miserable and uncomfortable; the perfect attire, really, for keeping an angry man angry. Although Monty tended to hate everyone, teenagers who made ridiculous comments and his nagging wife were his two pet hates. Because he never dared shout at his wife, all of his anger and frustration was reserved for teenagers who spoke crap. Already, his face was blood red, and if he had consulted the pulse rate monitor attached to his wristwatch, he would have realised that he was now, at least technically speaking, clinically dead. Having just finished seeing 'The Phantom of the Opera' with his ten-year-old daughter, Evelyn, he was now presented with a great opportunity to test out his own lungs. He regretted his parents forcing him to become an accountant, when he had the voice of Pavarotti.

'I _mean_ ,' continued Jonny, with a nervous warble in his voice, 'it's now in a different _dimension_... With giant lisping spiders and stuttering dragons and colourfully dressed witches and a gothic fairy

... And, and these bodybuilder-looking guys wearing golden chest plates, and unicorns... And these midgets with the largest hands that I have ever seen... They injected this translator chip into my throat. Now I can understand them and they can understand me.'

'Who is the _Manager_ of this store?' screamed opera-Monty in a deep baritone voice, his jowls shaking with anger. He pounded his fists down on the plastic table at which they were seated, so hard that the pizza box and its remaining two slices trampolined into the air and landed on his lap.

'I am!' said a tall, thin boy with a gelled black Mohawk and more facial pierce-marks than a piece of Swiss cheese. Although his name tag said 'Manager', his real name was Flint off. It was just as well that Flintoff's contract with Pizza Hut did not allow him to wear his facial decorations during work hours. When fully garnished, he looked like a metal detector's lovechild. And that would have simply sent Monty even more over the edge.

'Great!' screamed Monty and paused for effect. 'The Neanderthal who is high on marijuana, LSD, or some new designer drug reports to a Mohawked punk with more holes than a tea-strainer! It's like a bloody freak show in here!'

'I am not on drugs!' shouted Jonny. 'If you don't believe me, either step outside or take a look through one of the windows!'

'My apologies, sir! I will sort this out,' replied Flint off in a very professional, measured voice. 'Jonny, you, me, outside, _now_!'

'Happily!' replied Jonny. 'But don't say I didn't warn you!' Flint off scolded Jonny all the way to the shop's exit. 'What's all this nonsense about witches and fairies and dragons?'

'You'll see!' smiled Jonny and readied his mobile phone camcorder. Flintoff's facial expression would be priceless. He could not wait to post it on Youtube. Of course, anyone watching the footage would think the other creatures were just an elaborate scam; but that just added to the beauty of it.

Flintoff's jaw dropped as the collage of colourful characters stared at him. Jonny kept filming as Flint off retreated like a spooked monkey and hurdled the serving counter. He grabbed pots and pans and whatever else he could find that may serve as a weapon. Jonny went chasing after him. He needed to calm Flint off down.

Monty observed all of these shenanigans with a look of incredulity. 'Have I accidentally mistaken Melbourne Zoo for a Pizza Hut?' he screamed. 'Are the two of you about to start flinging poo at us?'

'You need to calm down, Flint off!' whispered Jonny. 'You are the Store Manager. It's your responsibility to take control of this delicate situation!'

'At $8.50 per hour,' whimpered Flint off, 'everyone can get _nicked_... I resign.'

'Come on, Flint off!' whispered Jonny. 'Pull yourself together. You love this job. Besides, who else will employ you – no disrespect.'

'Ok, ok!' said Flint off and calmly walked around the counter. 'Not taking the short cut this time!' smiled Monty sarcastically. With a pan in hand, just in case, Flint off prepared to address everyone. However, as he stared around the shop, he caught sight of one of the Doolan dragons faces pushed flush against one of the side windows.

'Help me, mummy!' he screamed hysterically and vaulted the counter once again. He assumed the foetal position and wept like a baby.

'Right! That's it! I've had enough of this drivel!' shouted Monty. He grabbed Evelyn's hand tightly and proceeded to leave the store. 'Head office will be hearing about this tomorrow! Mark my words! Heads will roll! I... I... I...'

The vision of the bizarre group gathered outside the entrance of the Pizza Hut was far too much for Monty's conservative mind to contend with. It was only the vibrations of his daughter's continual shaking that kept him from fainting.

'Hi, I'm Witchway! Welcome to Fwitchland! And your name is?'

'Aaaaaaahhhhh!' he screamed. 'It's truuuuuuuuuuee!'

It's quite amazing what we can do when our adrenaline is pumping. Monty managed to hurdle the pizza hut counter with his daughter cradled in his arms, and assume a crouch position behind one of the enormous ovens in the space of three seconds flat. Even elite soldiers couldn't repeat this in normal training drills. They could only achieve this when being used for target practice.

'It's true! It's true! It's true! It's true...' he repeated like a badly scratched DVD and tightly hugged his hysterical daughter. 'We are in a completely different place, planet, dimension...'

'Cool, man!' smiled a middle-aged hippie named Roland. He looked like he had been dragged by his long blond ponytail right out of the 1970's. His rainbow-coloured, ring-dyed hemp shirt had an enormous peace symbol on it, and his head band had a picture of Jimi Hendrix. He had his beloved Fender guitar at his side. 'I thought the young dudes were only kidding. Let's check it out, girls!'

Beside Roland were his two, very attractive, gothic-looking teenage daughters. Both were wearing black, "The Cure" T-shirts, tartan miniskirts, and black, metal-tipped military issue army boots. Neither appeared to have seen natural daylight in years. The three of them had just returned from a Marilyn Manson concert.

'Look at the cool gothic fairy, man!' exclaimed Roland as he smiled at Majika warmly and formed his fingers into the V-shaped peace symbol. 'She's dressed just like you guys, man!'

Majika waved back welcomingly at Roland. 'Nice hair!' she thought. 'It would look great on Zoola!'

Storm and Savannah peeked through the opening and caught sight of Majika.

'Oh my God!' squealed Storm with delight and flicked her pitch-black, red-streaked hair away from her eyes. 'She is stunning! And I just _love_ her makeup.'

'Agreed!' squealed Savannah. 'It's to-die-for! And check out the beautiful black wings! Can we take her home with us, _please_ Daddy darling!' Savannah's hair was also pitch- black, but with dark-blue streaks.

'If she wants to, my sweetheart, no problemo! As the French say, Mi Casa, Su Casa – or something like that.'

'It's the Spanish who say that, Daddy!' laughed Storm.

Majika was as fascinated by Storm and Savannah as they were by her. Here were two creatures who appeared to share her enthusiasm for the colour black. She just _adored_ their black leather boots. She wondered if they came in her shoe size, and if so, where she may acquire a pair.

'And check out the humongous green dragon dude!' continued Roland. 'I love the blue Mohawk, man! In the words of Hendrix, RA-DI-CAL!'

'Alex!' said Witchway. 'Can you please get the rest of your fellow Earthlings to line up for their "translator chip" injections? All I can hear coming from the long-haired Earthling are hideous grunts and groans. And, to be honest, he looks really interesting. I would love to know what he is saying.'

'Listen everyone!' I announced. 'We have nothing to fear. These creatures are all good citizens. They just need us to cook Meat Lover's pizzas for the starving Doolan Dragons. So let's get started. Let's make the best Meat Lover's pizzas _ever_! Let's do Pizza Hut and Earth proud!'

'Groovy to the max, man!' said Roland. 'I've always wanted to work for Pizza Hut! But the big man with the Pizza Hut master plan has rejected me every time. The conspiracy to keep the hippy downtrodden has finally been cracked. The even bigger man in the sky has obviously heard my call!'

'But before we start,' I continued, 'you need to all be fitted with translator chips! So that—'

'Translator chips! Groovy man!' smiled Roland. 'I always wanted one of those! "Beam me up Scotty" and all of that!'

'What is a translator chip, Daddy?' asked Savannah.

'I can't remember exactly sweetheart, but I know it's something really cool. It's put me in the mood for watching a few episodes of _Star Trek_. I'll have to clear the dust from my collection when we get home!'

'It allows us to understand what the creatures outside are saying and for them to understand what we are saying,' I explained.

'I already do man!' replied Roland. 'We all speak the universal language of love!'

'I hear what you are saying Roland,' I continued. 'And peace to you, brother. But we need to understand them more specifically if we are you going to take down the pizza orders correctly!'

'I'm hearing you, ginger-ninja dude!' smiled Roland. 'Me and my black dahlias are at your disposal.'

'Great!' I replied. 'Now if you could please step outside. The Soul wizard over there, with the long hair and beard, will inject the translator microchip into your vocal region.'

'No _problemo_!' replied Roland. 'The Australian government has already micro-chipped all of us without us even knowing anyway. At least these dudes are honest and declare their hand straight away.'

Whilst Roland and his daughters calmly walked outside and happily surrendered their necks, Monty, Evelyn, and Flint off were a different kettle of fish. Monty tucked his neck and several chins deeply into his flabby chest like a startled tortoise and ordered the skinny Evelyn to do likewise. Flint off was simply too distressed to move. He was curled up in the foetal position and aimlessly rocking forward and backwards like a wonky pendulum.

'There is no way that I am going to allow those aliens to inject me or my daughter!' shouted Monty. 'Ok! Ok!' he cried a second later, as two Tarantin trolls entered the store and dragged him and his clinging parcel along the floor like garden rakes. 'I've changed my mind.'

Another two Tarantin trolls removed Flint off in a fashion not dissimilar to furniture removalists who have just stubbed their toes and are seeking revenge.

'You guys need to stop worrying!' I said reassuringly to Monty, Evelyn and Flint off. 'As I have already mentioned, nobody wants to hurt you. The Doolan dragons over there just want to try Pizza Hut's famous Meat Lover's pizzas!'

'I don't blame them, man!' smiled Roland. 'They are radical to the max, man! And I mean supernova good!'

'Is this one's translator chip working yet?' asked Witchway and pointed to Roland. 'I still cannot understand a single word coming out of his mouth!'

'It's working loud and clear, smoking-hot, groovy-witch mama, with the husky voice and the cool-as-cool threads!' replied Roland. 'Your waves of love are rocking my boat!'

'It's definitely not working!' exclaimed Witchway. 'Simentia, give him another translator chip!'

'Groovy man!' smiled Roland. 'Two for the price of one!'

'No, stop!' I laughed. 'It is working. Roland just has a unique way of expressing himself. He is basically saying that the Meat Lover's pizzas are delicious and that he likes your colourful outfit.'

Monty's daughter, Evelyn, who has a major phobia when it comes to spiders (and anything else creepy-crawly), nearly jumped out of her skin when she spotted Hairy crawling along the glass panel of the sliding door. She started screaming hysterically, 'Monster spider! Monster spider!' Her screams of fear competed with Hairy's cries of desperation, as the sliding door started to retract into the wall. 'Aaaaaah!' he yelled as he scuttled along as quickly as he could. 'Thith thing ith trying to thwollow me up!' He jumped off the glass panel just in the nick of time and landed on the adjoining brick wall. The texture of the bricks was nowhere near as satisfying as the smooth glass. At least it never moved though.

Having all received their translator chips and been formally introduced, I commenced my job as the new Store Manager. Almost everyone small enough to fit in the shop, volunteered to help. In the end, I chose: Majika, Zoola, and Flopsy; Paprika and Wasabi; Fluffel and Hildegard; Monty and Evelyn; Roland, Storm, and Savannah; and Jonny and Flint off.

'But what about me?' cried Hairy bitterly. 'It'th blatant dithcrimination!'

'No Hairy!' shouted Hildegard. 'Alex knows that you to are bone-lazy and simply want the opportunity to eat the ingredients!' 'How cwuel of you to thuggetht that Hildegard! How vewwy, vewwy cwuel!' Whilst muttering this with a look of sincerity, he was thinking the whole time, 'Five different typeth of meat. Mmmm, Mmmm, Mmmmm!'

'It's got nothing to do with you being lazy Hairy, honestly!' I lied. 'It's just that... Well... Well... Evelyn's scared of spiders!'

'Even lovable me!' sobbed Hairy. His flamingo-pink lips wobbled traumatically.

Evelyn began to giggle. 'I guess not. You're actually quite cute.' 'Tho are you!' smiled Hairy and fluttered his long, curly eyelashes repeatedly at her.

'Fine, Hairy! You win!' I conceded. 'But everyone needs to pull their weight – including you!'

'I won't let you down, pwomise!' exclaimed Hairy.

I stupidly gave him the benefit of the doubt. Jonny allocated a specific task to each person and creature, and provided a quick crash-course in making pizza bases, putting on the ingredients, and cooking them.

'Right,' I called out, 'let's start with 100, family-size Meat Lover's pizzas. Extra meat!'

Despite the Doolan dragons being allergic to every food type other than meat (and very fussy meat eaters, mind you) King Flambay and his three closest advisors had bravely agreed to sample _all_ the ingredients over 30 minutes ago. They were delighted to inform their brethren that these ingredients had not affected them adversely in the slightest. (Other than a noticeable increase in the intensity of their farts; they were now giving the Dragon dogs a good run for their money.) This was fantastic news. Earth food obviously agreed with them!

'I reckon that we only have enough ingredients for a few thousand pizzas!' advised Jonny grimly. 'And by the looks of those dragons, that might only fell a few of them! And also, we are only running on our backup generator. We unfortunately left the electricity grid back home. Probably only got a few hours of cooking time left before the generator packs in.'

'Oh well!' I replied 'We'll tackle these problems as they occur!' Performing a repetitive activity seemed to help keep everyone's minds focused on something other than the current predicament. Monty sang opera, to great acclaim, as we worked away. I soon realised why Roland's applications to become a Pizza Hut employee kept getting rejected. The guy simply marched to the beat of a different drummer.

'Roland!' I shouted. 'Pizzas are meant to be round, not quarter-moon and star-shaped. Besides, your creativity is slowing down the operation!'

'But look how groovy they look, man!' he cried. 'Surely that counts for something! And why is everyone always in such a rush? Relax for a moment. Smell the roses. Breathe the air... Don't let the corporations turn you to the dark side, ginger-ninja dude!'

Less than five minutes after we had started working, Mr Complaints Department (aka Hairy) began whinging about how tough and unpleasant the working conditions inside the shop were.

'It'th tewwibly hot and thtuffy in here,' he cried. 'And rolling thith thtuff you call dough, ith backbreaking work. When do we get our firtht "tea-break"? I'm _exhauthted_!'

Whilst it was indeed very hard work and the kitchen environment was exceedingly hot and humid, nobody other than Hairy complained. And his grumblings were constant. Consequently, he did a lot more talking than doing. And when actually working, he moaned and groaned like a woman giving birth to quintuplets without the assistance of painkillers. Whenever he noticed that nobody was looking, he would take a breather. He was also reprimanded several times for continually eating the ingredients. He had taken an instant liking to the tiny pieces of shredded bacon. When I shouted at him for being so piggish (excuse the pun), he shouted back twice as loud, 'If it'th bothering you, Alexth, you can deduct the price of the bacon from my paycheque!'

'You are not being paid for this work!' I shouted. 'It's called voluntary work!'

'What?' he screamed. 'You mean that I have been bweaking my back for nothing. 'That'th it! I quit!' He grabbed a bucket of shredded bacon and stormed out of the shop.

'Where are you going with that bucket of bacon?' I shouted. 'I'm taking it as my theverance pay!'

With Hairy out of the way, morale lifted considerably and productivity doubled. The whole thing was a great team bonding exercise. As we worked, we were each able to introduce ourselves, give a short spiel about our lives and how we had ended up here. Naturally, it was much more difficult for those who were mute to express themselves. Majika also took the opportunity to update everyone on the dangers that lay ahead at the hands of the Pugnacious-Traizon duo, their deadly Cabats, and their wand-brandishing Riboltians.

For me, it was nice to have other Earthlings present. It made me feel a little more grounded. I know this sounds strange, but it genuinely had that effect on me. To hear about how my beloved Carlton Football Club were going in their pre-season practice games, and how the Australian cricket team were doing in the one-day series against the Poms, was just brilliant.

The only major incident occurred when Paprika accidentally burnt her enormous right hand in one of the boiling hot pizza ovens. Let's just say that this particular oven had to be decommissioned because it now resembled a train wreck. The intensity of her "dummy-spit" made the incident where she stubbed her foot on a rock, look very mild by comparison. Despite this minor setback, the remaining five ovens worked overtime.

We all had a good laugh when Flopsy failed to contain his Wobbitly instincts to burrow, and dug deep into one of the massive, metre-high, industrial-size drums of flour. He emerged looking like an enormous powder puff. The entire kitchen area became cloudy as he rigorously shook his body to remove the flour. It was like watching a polar bear belly-dancing. He took our laughing as a cue that we enjoyed what he had just done – and so, with a huge smile on his face, he repeated the routine; diving back into the drum, head-first!

Fifteen minutes later, the first batch of 100, family-size, steaming-hot, Meat Lovers pizzas, popped out of the oven and were hand-delivered to their starving customers.

King Flambay and his three most senior advisors were the lucky recipients of the first batch. They split the stash, 25 pizzas a piece. They all swallowed them down like a monkey consuming a handful of peanuts.

Flambay did not even have to write a message for us to know that the pizzas were a hit. The extreme satisfaction was written all over his face. He repeatedly licked his carrot-orange lips and nodded appreciatively.

'You may wish to try eating them without their cardboard boxes next time!' laughed Jonny.

'Excellent work Jonny!' I smiled. 'Keep them coming!'

The Doolan dragons ate in order of seniority. Every single one of them was pleased with this new substitute. However, midway through proceedings, the generator finally packed-in as Jonny had warned.

'No problem!' said Sked shyly. 'Frother and I have a solution... where are the kitchen ovens located?'

'Flush against the back wall of this building,' I replied. 'But neither of you will fit in!' I assumed that they wanted to see if they could fix the ovens. 'Besides, they aren't broken. It's just that we've run out of a thing called electricity.'

Moments later, I heard a loud smash. Sked had punched an enormous hole into the back wall. 'Is that big enough for your head, Frother!' asked Sked.

'P-P-P-Perfect!' smiled Frother and pushed his head through the hole.

Frother retrieved a few volcanic rocks from the back of his nostrils (yes, he picked his nose) and threw them into the oven. He then blew ferocious flames over them until they were superheated. Our operation had just turned from electric cooked pizzas to fire cooked pizzas. By the time that every last Doolan dragon's belly was reasonably full, more than 5000 Meat Lover's pizzas had been served and it was 3am.

Despite having several concerns about the day ahead, I slept like a baby. My concerns included how much longer we could manage to feed the Doolan dragons their Meat Lover's pizza's. The enormous cold store fridges were starting to run low on critical ingredients. Besides, without power, the meat would soon become spoiled anyway.

I was also concerned for the health of the remaining Shrewd trees. All of us, who could still speak, would need to spend the entire day chatting to these ancient monoliths. We desperately needed their magical strength if we were to stand any chance against the Pugnacious-Traizon duo, their squadrons of Cabats, and their ground force of _wannabe_ magician, Riboltians.

### CHAPTER 32

### THE MISSING PIZZA HUT STORE

Meanwhile, back on Earth, the sudden disappearance of the Pizza Hut store from Clarendon street in South Melbourne, had attracted a huge amount of media attention. It was already 1am by the time the news story broke and went live. Bleary-eyed reporters and camera crews flocked the scene like hungry ants closing in on a discarded lolly. Networks were disappointed that the story was breaking out of prime time. Ratings would have rocketed. For it was the best type of story imaginable – a completely inexplicable mystery. It would still be fantastic morning news, though. After all, it was not everyday that a well-known, iconic building disappears completely: Every last brick, every last floor tile, every last speck of paint, every last pizza box. Even the concrete base and foundations were gone. In its place lay the barren earth that it had once stood on.

There was a great deal of speculation and conjecture as to whether or not the skeleton staff and customers who were present when the shop disappeared, were accounted for. All missing people's reports for the night were being followed up on urgently, and door knocks were being carried out at the houses of all those who were believed to have been present at the time.

The General Manager of Pizza Hut Australia tried momentarily to turn this grim situation into an opportunity to promote the Pizza Hut brand. 'Well, Stephanie!' he smiled at the reporter with a cheesy salesman grin, 'I guess someone out there loves our pizzas so much that they've decided to take the entire store!'

This comment went down like a lead balloon. 'On a more serious note though,' he coughed nervously and then continued, 'We are as mystified as all of you as to what has happened to this building. But we are more concerned for the safety of the two staff members and any customers who may have been present at the time that the building disappeared. We hope and pray that everyone is home, safe and fast asleep. The police are currently doing door knocks at the houses of our two staff members who we believe would have been present. I apologise in advance for waking you guys up at this ungodly hour of the morning – but we need to know that you are safe, and we need to know what happened. We unfortunately have no way of knowing how many customers would have been present at the time or who they are. If you have a loved one who you know had gone to that Pizza Hut and did not return, please contact Crime Stoppers on...'

A lucky TV reporter managed to follow this message from the GM of Pizza Hut with an emotional, heart-wrenching interview with a really distressed lady in her mid-40s. Her husband and their two daughters had not returned from this particular Pizza Hut store. She was wearing a tie-dyed dress with no bra underneath. She had no shoes on and her armpits were unshaved. Around her head was a chain of daisies.

'I know they were in this missing Pizza Hut store because my husband phoned me at about 11pm from this store. They had been to the Marilyn Manson concert earlier in the night and had decided to stop in at this Pizza Hut store on the way home. I have not heard from them since... I miss my Rolly-Polly and my Black Dahlias.'

She burst into tears. Perfect television!

'Yet there is not even the slightest damage to either of the two computer stores that the Pizza Hut shop had been so tightly sandwiched between!' exclaimed another reporter. 'How is this possible?'

A leading engineer told this TV reporter that it was not physically possible to achieve this without causing some form of collateral damage to the buildings either side. Yet the proof that this had in fact been achieved was irrefutable. The engineer wanted to walk all over the vacant plot to make sure that it wasn't simply some sort of elaborate smoke and mirror illusion created by a famous magician of David Copperfield's ilk; you know, some sort of publicity stunt. He was not allowed to, though. The vacant plot had been cordoned off by police. It was now an official crime scene. A team of forensic experts were on their way.

The curious engineer disobeyed orders and did a quick dash across the vacant turf; he had his hands extended outwards like a grasshoppers feelers. The last thing he wanted was to smash nose-first into a cleverly concealed brick wall. 'How can this be? How can this be?' he shouted as a policeman started chasing after him.

An expert in paranormal phenomena was also awoken and rushed to the scene for an impromptu interview. 'Please don't tell me that I'm on Candid Camera or something like that,' he shouted accusingly. 'I am sick to death of sceptics trying to set me up! I really don't have time for this. The whole thing looks way too clinical to be real. In my opinion, the whole thing is an elaborate hoax. Well done, whoever's responsible... Well bloody done!'

Only two witnesses could be found who claimed to be in the vicinity when the building went missing. Both were interviewed. The first witness was a grubby, unbathed hobo who had been leaning against the shopfront of the Pizza Hut store at the time of its sudden disappearance. Before going live with his account, he was stripped of the brown paper bag that contained a cheap bottle of sherry and given more suitable clothing. The poor cameraman's assistant was stripped down to his underwear and left shivering. The hobo needed to look as believable as possible. The TV channel knew that despite their hobo's improved appearance, the validity of his account would still be questioned if he slurred his words as he spoke. To this end, they gave him the sniffing salts and strong black coffee treatment. There was simply no time to allow him to sober up properly or to give him some quick elocution lessons. This was live, breaking news.

'I was leaning against the front wall,' semi-slurred the hobo, 'when it suddenly disappeared and I went crashing backwards...

It's a miracle that my sherry bottle didn't smash! Can I have it back now... please! And my clothing –it's my favourite Collingwood jumper! It's got Nathan Buckley's signature on it! I had to save up _five_ dole cheques in order to pay for it!' The editors were unable remove this last comment in time.

The second eyewitness was a complete nutcase and even less reliable. He claimed to be the leader of an apocalyptic cult that nobody had heard of. 'It is written in the prophesies that the "Great One" will start to remove this evil world brick by brick and create a new one... The prophecy has now started. I saw it with my own two eyes... The truth is out there.'

The switchboard ran wild with other nutcases wanting to join his cult, as well as insomniacs wanting to burn a few hours of sleeplessness by speaking with him. Anything was better than watching re-runs of Donahue and Jerry Springer.

The Prime Minister of Australia was awoken by the head of ASIO, Australia's _not-so-secret_ , Secret Service. He was briefed in detail on this baffling matter. Moments later, key personnel from within the Federal and State police forces were being awoken. A few well-known forensic psychics and even a handful of highly respected private investigators also received early wake up calls.

### CHAPTER 33

### DEMENTIA'S ARRIVAL

As the first light of morning rose, Dementia and his team came into view. They were followed closely by about 800 marble-headed, boil-bodied Tishy gnomes. The Tarantin trolls immediately armed themselves and prepared for war.

The two tribes had hated one another for thousands of years. None could recall the exact cause of this hatred, but was certain that the other was to blame. Instead of looking concerned, the trolls looked overjoyed. It was like they were about to attend an exciting rock concert. They would get to release some pent-up anger sooner than initially anticipated.

Their fun was put on hold just in the nick of time by Dementia. 'Put down your weapons, Tarantin trolls, please!' implored the blue-skinned party pooper. 'The Tishy gnomes have come in peace. They are now our allies. We all share a common enemy. Let us all work together! We will need to if we are to stand any chance against Pugnacious and Traizon, and their evil cohorts.'

Although still somewhat suspicious, Trollermite ordered his citizens to drop their weapons and disengage. It was an opportune time to bury the hatchet and move forward. Tishytoosh and Trollermite rubbed foreheads. The feud was finally over. All the others from both sides did likewise.

Whilst the leaders exchanged information and nutted out plans of attack and defence, all the rest of us who could speak, dedicated our time to strengthening the Shrewdies.

'You Shrewdies look like real cool doodies, man!' smiled Roland and strummed his guitar. 'So, I think it's time you were introduced to _the_ man, Jimi Hendrix! You guys wouldn't happen to have an amplifier handy, would you? Relax, man... I'm only yanking your chain!'

I explained Aussie Rules football to the Shrewdies and expressed my concerns about what my clone may be up to. I also told them about my sheepdog Jessie. I hoped my clone was playing fetch with her after school each day.

In the background, I could hear Roland belting out Hendrix tunes. His daughters were singing one of my favourite Depeche Mode songs, 'Walking in my shoes'.

Monty was reciting well-known kids' stories to his daughter Evelyn and the younger Shrewd trees – the youngest tree being less than 10,000 years old. They loved his rendition of 'Beauty and the Beast'.

Jonny and Flint off spoke meaningless drivel; it was good to see that Flint off had recovered from his catatonic state. They discussed their favourite movies and action heroes. They discussed the fantastic surf conditions in Torquay and the radical new skateboards released by the 'Devil Head' brand.

Majika spoke fashion! She just loved the red and blue highlights in Storm and Savannah's hair. And their shoes were a _must-have_! She would definitely need to discuss how she might acquire a pair later. Majika also spoke of the love that she had for her companions and her fears for their safety.

Sked took the opportunity to apologise profusely for the evil behaviour of his Riboltian species. Hildegard and Fluffel described how awful their lives had been when they lived in Riboltia, and how Sked had saved them. The shy, ever-so-humble, gentle giant blushed. They also described the battle against Traizon and their wonderful new lives in the Land of Hope. They described its development in intricate detail.

Frother and Hairy described their life histories and how they had come to know one another. They also described how they came to know Majika and Dementia. Hairy assured the Shrewdies that he would not let any of them get hurt again – even if he had to fight the enemy with his bare spider knuckles!

The Tarantin trolls entertained the Shrewdies with mimed stories of ancient battles that they had won against all odds. Despite the Shrewd trees being fascinated by the antics and extraordinary facial expressions, it offered them no nutritional value.

The Fwitches went around from tree to tree telling them their fortunes. Unfortunately, I cannot tell you what continually came up in these prophecies. If I did so, it would ruin the climax to the amazing events that were about to transpire. My sincere apologies to those who are dying to know!

The Golfibobs added to the overall ambiance with another amazing display of acrobatics and break-dancing. They also spun stacks of plates on the pancake-flat soles of their feet. Their level of skill was really something to behold.

Wertheimer gave the Shrewdies a blow-by-blow account on the progress of the various construction projects still taking place in the Land of Hope. Construction on the School of Hope was well underway. The foundations had been poured and a few layers of bricks had already been laid.

Having completed his discussions with the other leaders, Dementia approached Sir Branchalot and Lady Woodsworth and gave them a detailed briefing. He explained the history of Traizon, Pugnacious, the Cabats and the Riboltians in minute detail. He was certain that Pugnacious and Traizon were behind the spell that made so many creatures, including the Shrewdies, weak and vulnerable, and that had made the Doolan dragons turn on the Sugar fairies. He shared his updated knowledge (thanks to Witchway) that Pugnacious and Traizon were now one unified force, and that it was they who had armed the Riboltians with genuine wizard wands and taught them basic magic.

Pugnacious would no doubt have brainwashed these wands into believing that the Flushflean wizards and fairies had turned against them. He believed that the Pugnacious-Traizon duo and their evil army would attack shortly. After all, they had now managed to soften the alliance – or so they thought.

Dementia also updated them on the master plan and requested their assistance. Both confirmed their allegiance by raising a single root high into the air.

'Save your energy, my brave friends,' he sighed. 'Every last ounce may soon be needed!'

### CHAPTER 34

### ROUND UP THE TROOPS AND STARE DOWN THE ENEMY

Pugnacious and his evil side kick, Traizon, were absolutely furious when they arrived at Slurry Island to pick up their Tishy gnome allies, only to find a sarcastic note which read:

We have already left for the battle... See you there.

Slight change of plan, though: We are no longer on your side!

'I will destroy every last one of them and _pulverise_ their bones!' he screamed. The Riboltians grunted their approval and the Cabats wailed. One Riboltian accidentally swung his wand-bearing arm a little too vigorously as he grunted and ended up catapulting himself over 200 metres into the River Mildred.

'Let this be a lesson to all of you numskulls about the dangers of waving your wands whilst cheering!' smiled Pugnacious coldly. He watched with relish as the Riboltian helplessly thrashed around in the water and finally sank.

Just then, a party of scouting Cabats came into view. Based on their level of excitement, it was obvious to Pugnacious and Traizon that they had important news to tell. Pugnacious had taught them to use their wings in simple Morse-code-like sequences to spell out key words. The message that they spelt out read as follows:

AlliesLandFwitches

'Let's move it!' shouted Pugnacious. 'We have some butt to kick!' Despite the warning of only a few moments ago, another bright-spark Riboltian waved his wand whilst cheering and was sent flying upwards over 100 metres like a launching rocket. He then came crashing down head-first into the turf. Where his head started and his bum ended was now impossible to distinguish. He resembled a crumpled accordion.

With the thought of fresh blood in their minds, the Riboltians covered the rocky terrain with tremendous speed and very few rest breaks. Death and destruction was their primary motivating force. Were it not for the fact that they became the universe's biggest cowards whenever they sensed that they no longer held the upper hand, they would have made perfect soldiers or paid mercenaries. For the sight of another creature dying thrilled them to bits.

It took them less than ten hours to reach the outskirts of Fwitchland. The allies had been forewarned of their arrival hours in advance. Scouting Flisters and Dragon dogs had picked up their scent when they were still over 30 kilometres away. Also, Willowood's gold medallion had started pulsating quicker and quicker, as they drew nearer and nearer.

The battlelines had been drawn. Standing only 300 metres apart were the decent allies at the top of the hill, and the evil cohorts at the bottom. The only other thing separating these adversaries were the hundreds of enormous granite mega-boulders at the top of the hill that exquisitely marked out Fwitchland territory. However, these boulders had huge gaps between them and therefore failed to act as a protective wall. Spaced evenly between the gaps in these boulders, the allies stared out with trepidation, at a muddy sea of Riboltians and a black cloud of Cabats. The ground shook and the air vibrated as the 5000 ten-foot-tall Riboltians began pounding their enormous feet repeatedly and the 10,000 deadly Cabats began flapping all six of their razor-sharp wings frantically. The overall effect was really intimidating.

Further up in the air was the outline of the enormous Quisitive bird form that housed Pugnacious, Traizon and the 63 tainted Soul wizards. One could only see its outline because its every square inch was protected by Cabats. It looked like it was wearing winter pyjamas made exclusively of Cabat feathers. The enormous Shrewd wood wand (log), which Pugnacious had named Trunkhardian, was totally obscured from view. Still, many of the older Shrewd trees could feel its presence in the air, along with its intense anger. Sir Branchalot and Lady Woodsworth immediately commenced trying to communicate with it telepathically, but its negative karma was creating far too much static interference.

When Dementia put on his special glasses that he used for examining auras, all that he saw was black. Even the Shrewd wood wands were emitting a black aura. This was most disturbing. For a black aura around both animate and inanimate objects meant that they were gripped and controlled by the purest of evil! Equally disturbing were the 64 Soul wizard souls and some other, different-looking soul, that glowed through the Quisitive bird's form. Remember, Soul wizards can see others souls with the clarity of x-ray vision. So the screen of Cabats in front hid nothing.

Fuzzard and the other Soul wizards present also noticed this and were as bewildered as Dementia. Even if they correctly assumed that the one soul Wizard soul belonged to Traizon and the other strange-looking soul belonged to Pugnacious, there were still 63 other Soul wizard souls that they could not account for. Yet, the number 63 sounded very familiar to Fuzzard. But he could not figure out why. Noticing Dementia and Fuzzard's looks of confusion, Witchway quickly filled in the missing gap.

'Of course!' thought Fuzzard sadly. 'I should have known that it was the 63 Soul wizards who were abducted by Pugnacious all those years ago. I can only imagine the damage that this _monster_ must have done to their poor souls over such a long period of time!'

Facing this formidable foe would be the blend of allies. The rollcall list read as follows:

2000 adrenaline-pumped Tarantin trolls; 800 poison-blooded Tishy gnomes; 1000 upside down Golfibobs and their explosive Zuzel nut brews; 120 flameless Doolan dragons; 400 Burlian ironworkers (bows drawn and at the ready) and their accompanying Modesta unicorns; 1000 Fwitches and their 2000 poisonous-blister covered Flisters; 313 flame blowing Dragon dogs; 2200 fairly depleted Shrewd trees; and a few dozen mute Sugar fairies and Soul wizards, who had been standing in the Mystical forest when its scene was pulled through to Fwitchland.

Key players for the allies would be:

A handful of humans – including a teenage farm-boy from Tidley Creek (myself, Alex McKenzie), an angry opera-singing accountant (Monty), a happy hippie from Frankston (Roland), and the Pizza Hut boys (Jonny and Flint off); a neurotic, whinging Glutton spider (Hairy); a decent Riboltian (Sked); a flame blowing Doolan dragon (Frother); a brave Coolabooh (Fluffel) and an equally courageous Lentina (Hildegard); a gothic sugar fairy (Majika), her two older sisters (Twinkledust and Honeypop), and their self-obsessed friend (Wandina); a few teenage Soul wizards including Zoola and Eldorian; an ageing soul wizard (Dementia), his internal spiritual guide (Spellard), and his eccentric friend (Fuzzard); an Elkwoodian King and Queen (Willowood and Violeena); the walking fart-face (Wertheimer) and his flying bagpipe pet (Squishbucket); and last but not least, the stone-winged Carbanara (Skellem).

Correction! Please delete Skellem from this list because she has gone missing! Dementia quickly asked around but nobody could remember having seen her in the last 24 hours. Dementia had become very fond of her recently and was gravely concerned for her safety. This was no time for her to be playing hide and seek.

Correction again! Skellem has just turned up again. Accompanying her are 400 other stone-winged Carbanaras. But which side are they heading towards? They had come from the east. Would they walk up the steep hill (north) towards the awaiting army of good, or down the hill (south) towards the awaiting army of evil?

### CHAPTER 35

### DAMN YOU!

'Yes!' smiled Dementia, as he watched Skellem and her companions start the steep, but smooth ascent. Skellem had managed to persuade a large number of her tribe that the Soul wizards are good citizens and well-intentioned.

They were greeted by the allies with huge applause. There was no time for formal introductions though because, without warning, the furious Pugnacious suddenly shouted, 'ATTACK!'

Like a well-orchestrated symphony, the marauding mass of evil moved forward. The Riboltian ground forces down below received aerial support from the Cabats up above. The Riboltian regiments were arranged as follows: fire shooters in the front, liquid-nitrogen shooters in the middle, and acid shooters at the back. And at the very back were those Riboltians who were simply too dumb to be trusted with a wand. They were armed with powerful iron sledgehammers instead. Pugnacious had even taken the precaution of writing descriptions on their hands and arms of who the enemy were; just in case they became confused. He even drew detailed pictures and diagrams for those who could not read.

With the exception of the front row of fire shooters, all others bearing wands pointed them skywards at 45-degree angles. This was to prevent the back rows from accidentally incinerating, freezing, or acidizing the row directly in front of them.

Pugnacious realised that he had to make this rule very clear, because, in the very first war-game rehearsal, almost an entire 500-strong regiment was wiped out by 'friendly fire'. The entire front row of fire shooters was frozen stiff by the row of liquid-nitrogen shooters directly behind. They were, in turn, acidized by the row of acid shooters directly behind them. Confused by this apparent mutiny, the sledgehammer bearers crushed the skulls of the remaining acid shooters and then turned on one another.

Pugnacious could therefore no longer assume that common sense would prevail. With 30 rows of fire shooters followed by 30 rows of liquid nitrogen shooters, followed by 30 rows of acid shooters, followed by ten rows of sledgehammer wielders, he could not afford to leave anything to chance. He realised that the average Riboltian was like a programmable robot; they were only as good as the instructions provided to them.

Moments before giving the 'attack' order, Pugnacious had instructed Trunkhardian (his wand) to cast a 'Bravery' spell over all the Riboltians. It would make them fearless for as long as the spell lasted. Normally, one could only hope for this sort of complex spell to last a few minutes for such an enormous group. However, with the immense power of Trunkhardian, this spell might well last ten times as long. The spell was essential, because the last thing Pugnacious wanted was for his entire ground-force to be reduced to a bunch of frightened cry babies – who retracted their heads and spun around aimlessly like donkeys chasing their tails, whilst shrieking like banshees and requesting their mummies to take them home. The words, "I want my mummy!" are hardly intimidating, even when said in the deepest of grunts.

### CHAPTER 36

### ANYTHING YOU CAN DO, WE CAN DO BETTER

'Attack!' countered Dementia.

King Flambay gave the visual command and all 120 Doolan dragons used the brute force of their enormous tails to dislodge the giant granite mega-boulders and set them rolling down the hill at great pace. Dementia and Zoola used their wand magic to dislodge all the remaining ones.

The boulders went spiralling downwards with enormous speed. It was disorganised chaos down below as the Riboltians pushed and tripped one another in desperate attempts to save themselves and avoid being flattened. It was like a pack of stampeding Wildebeests. Hundreds of Riboltians were reduced to a chunky paste.

Pugnacious could have easily used Trunkhardian to blow every one of these mega-rocks to dust well before they hit their target – but he deliberately chose not to. He wanted to see how well his Riboltians troops were capable of regrouping unassisted. He was delighted to see that not a single one of them lost their nerve and decided to go AWOL. The 'Bravery' spell was obviously working. He also did not want the allies to realise just how powerful his magic was as yet. He was saving it for the big trap that he had meticulously planned.

The destruction caused by the mega-boulders was a fantastic start for the allies. It gave the Tarantin trolls and Tishy gnomes an excellent opportunity to charge forward whilst the thousands of remaining Riboltians let the dust settle and regrouped. The Tarantin trolls were delighted that the battle had officially started. King Trollermite slammed down his club and his troops ran forward fearlessly, screaming silently. Their peaceful faces now looked monstrously distorted and scary. The tips and upper stems of their clubs were encrusted with jagged shards of Zophobian crystal.

Likewise, King Tishytoosh gestured his command and his blood-drenched Tishy gnomes also set off at pace. They had all sliced tiny little nicks all over their bodies with razor blades so as to release small trickles of their deadly blue blood. They intended to kill their Riboltian foes by simply rubbing up against them – almost like 'The Hug of Death'. They did not have to worry about blood loss because their bodies regenerate blood at the exact same pace as they lose it. So a Tishy gnome is incapable of bleeding to death. Their blood is lethal enough to kill other creatures instantaneously by nothing more than the slightest contact. And it does not even have to be contact with skin; contact with the Riboltians curly body hair would be just as lethal. This is because Tishy blood is infected with hideous microscopic parasites that insidiously invade every nook and cranny of their new host.

As the Tarantin trolls and Tishy gnomes advanced, they were provided with excellent aerial support by the Flisters and Burlian ironworkers (aboard their Modesta unicorns), and equally useful ground support by the exploding Zuzel-nut-flinging Golfibobs. Many Riboltians were blown to smithereens as they enthusiastically reached out their hands, like complete morons, to catch the Zuzel nuts.

'What are they thinking?' laughed King Luticious mutely. 'It's not like we would be hurling gifts at them!'

I was as stunned as King Luticious by their stupidity. I swear, it was like they were expecting to find "Kinder Surprises" inside. How incredibly dumb! I watched with disbelief as a dim-witted Riboltian managed to miraculously catch a Zuzel nut without it discharging, only to then blow himself to pieces by trying to crack it open.

Following the command of Witchway, the Flisters swooped down and shot their poisonous blisters at the Riboltians like rapid machine-gun fire. Those Flisters that had expelled their blisters now looked half their original size. The Riboltians who took direct hits began convulsing violently and frothing from the mouth. It really was an awful way to die. The only limitation with the Flisters as fighting machines, though, was once every last blister had been expended, they were about as useful for the rest of the battle as a headless chook. It was like having a powerful machine-gun in your arsenal but no magazines left to feed it. It took an entire week for the new blisters to develop. They were therefore highly vulnerable as they retreated and many were frizzled by flames and sizzled by streams of acid. This saddened Witchway and the other Fwitches immensely. However, Witchway knew that she needed to follow her premonition and therefore did not involve herself or the other Fwitches as yet.

The Burlian ironworkers (hovering over 100 metres above ground level, on the backs of their Modesta unicorns) tried as best they could to assist the retreating Flisters. Following King Mullimus' visual commands, they drew the first of many metal-tipped arrows from their quivers. Each arrowhead had been pre-soaked in highly flammable Wham-Wham tree oil. They rubbed crochet-needle looking Flintstones against the razor sharp arrowhead tips and the arrowheads ignited. They now rested the backs of the arrows against their bowstrings and awaited the command.

Mullimus gestured for them to raise their elbows and tension their bowstrings to full draw. Once this was done, he gave the signal for them to release. The psychedelic-purple skies were illuminated as wave after wave of fiery, metal tipped arrows whistled through the air and rained down on the Riboltians like a deadly storm. Almost every single arrow hit its intended target. The putrid smell of burning Riboltian hair and flesh filled the air.

In response, the Riboltian fireball shooters directed thousands of fireballs at the Burlian ironworkers and their steeds. Sadly, most of the Modesta unicorns were still very unfit and many therefore failed to duck and weave with their usual grace and ease. A large number took direct hits and caught ablaze. They could be seen falling to their deaths, along with their passengers. King Mullimus was devastated, but remained resolute.

Riding on the back of Squishbucket, Wertheimer bravely came to the Burlian ironworkers (and their steed's) aid by dropping large nets, filled to the brim with exploding Zuzel nuts, onto the mass of Riboltian fireball shooters down below. The huge explosions destroyed hundreds of them and diverted their attention towards fart-face and his flying bagpipes. Although Squishbucket somehow managed to jerkily dodge and weave her way through the barrage of fireballs, liquid nitrogen vapours, and acid streams, a few wayward droplets of splatter acid, unfortunately connected with her underbelly and created a few tiny holes in her thin rubbery skin.

A loud 'FZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ' sound continued for a few minutes as Squishbucket slowly deflated and shot the two of them around in a helter skelter fashion. They hooped and looped through the air uncontrollably and went miles off course. Fortunately, their landing was softened by the squelchy mud of Lake Sludgeward. Nevertheless, their battle was over because it would take at least an hour for them to make the trek back to their allies' territory.

### CHAPTER 37

### SUCKED IN AND SPAT OUT!

Led by King Flambay and Hotdog, the Doolan dragons and Dragon dogs attacked the Cabats. The Riboltian liquid-nitrogen shooters focused their attention exclusively on protecting the Cabats from these attacks. Sadly, several Dragon dogs took direct hits and shattered into a million pieces as they hit the ground like fragile glass packages. Tears sizzled from Hotdog's eyes as he witnessed his best friend, Clawver, also suffer this awful fate. Many Doolan dragons also took direct hits. Fortunately though, they were too big to be completely drenched like their Dragon dog compatriots. In most cases, the affected areas were simply temporarily disabled. However, in some cases it caused horrific injuries to be sustained. In one instance, a female Doolan dragon's entire left wing was frozen stiff and she was forced to make a very difficult, unbalanced crash-landing. The frozen wing shattered as she slammed into the ground. She survived, but would be flightless for the rest of her life. In another instance, a male Doolan dragon took a direct hit to the head. Sadly, with his entire head now frozen stiff, he lost his ability to breathe. When he tried to clear his mouth and nostrils with an enormous claw, his entire mouth and nose shattered. He would also survive, but would be severely disfigured for life. There is no such thing as corrective plastic surgery in this dimension. Even worse, if the Doolan dragons ever regained their flame blowing abilities, he would still be incapable of blowing flames.

Despite being flameless (with the exception of Frother), the Doolan dragons that managed to survive serious injury continued onwards and used their powerful wings and tails to cut deadly paths through the thick cloud of Cabats. The Cabats desperately tried to get to the Doolan dragons' vulnerable pink tummies, but the Dragon dogs provided fantastic cover and used their flames with the skill and accuracy of well-trained snipers. The Dragon dogs roasted hundreds of Cabats with the same ease as a naughty child burning a colony of ants with a cigarette lighter. Frother's enormous flames were even more devastating. Well-cooked Cabats fell to the ground like black lumps of tar.

Pugnacious watched on happily. His master plan was coming to fruition. 'Come to daddy!' he thought joyously as the Doolan dragons and Dragon dogs closed in on him. The only thing now separating him from the mêlée was a ten-foot-thick wall of protective Cabats.

Suddenly, Pugnacious parted the Cabats protecting him (likes Moses parting the sea) and summoned the combined evil energy of himself, Traizon and the 63 tainted Soul wizards to create the most devastating power-wave ever recorded in the history of power-waves. Trunkhardian shook so violently that it caused several of the Quisitive bird's enormous, metre-long feathers to dislodge and spin to the ground like helicopter propellers. The force of the power-wave sent everything in its path cannoning through the air with the velocity of a speeding bullet. And it did not discriminate between the Cabats, Dragon dogs and Doolan dragons. All spun through the air like pieces of clothes in a high speed tumble dryer that has just been catapulted by a powerfully tensioned trebuchet.

Despite Dementia's best attempts to counteract this power-wave (even drawing on the combined magical energy of Zoola, Eldorian, Majika, Wandina and all of the Fwitches), they were no match for the Pugnacious consortium. It was like a blustery northerly wind trying to compete with a southerly, category-five cyclone. Dementia and his team watched on helplessly as the entire enormous group continued their lethal path towards a head-on-collision with the Shrewd trees. By now, most were completely disoriented and many were unconscious.

'Zoola, you try to save Flambay!' shouted Dementia frantically. 'Eldorian, you try to save Hotdog!... I'll try to save Frother!'

Dementia also shouted for Majika and Wandina, and Witchway and her Fwitches to try and save as many other Doolan dragons and Dragon dogs as they could. They happily obliged.

The three Soul wizards, two Sugar fairies, and the contingent of Fwitches used their magic to try slow down and stabilise their specific targets. The totally-out-of-control King Flambay, Hotdog and Frother were gradually slowed down and stabilised only moments before slamming into the Shrewd trees. At least 70 other Dragon dogs and about 30 other Doolan dragons were also successfully slowed down and restabilised. Despite being incredibly dizzy and disoriented, they were all, nevertheless, alive. None of the others were quite so lucky.

The forest floor shuddered and a combination of loud thuds, deafening kabooms, sickening squelches and spine-tingling cracks rang out, as the rest slammed mercilessly into the thousands of Shrewd trees. More than 9,000 Cabats splattered like Murkleberries. The thuds were made by the Dragon dogs and the kabooms by the Doolan dragons. Although they did not splatter, their bones were shattered and pulverised beyond repair, and their internal organs suffered severe trauma. Most fell limply to the ground.

Dementia and his team used their magical abilities to create as many airbags as possible so as to break their falls. They all slid down the trees like scrambled eggs on a well-buttered pan. Unfortunately, the allies simply did not have enough time to create enough airbags for all and many collided head first with the turf. In the end, though, it was irrelevant anyway, because all who fell were already dead. Yes, there was not a single survivor amongst those who collided with the trees! A few of the Doolan dragons and Dragon dogs were fatally impaled by some of the older Shrewd trees' massive side branches. It was sickening to see and the Shrewd trees in question felt simply awful.

A few of the smaller Shrewd trees were also fatally wounded. The impact of enormous Doolan dragons slamming into them had severely split their trunks and information leaked out like flowing blood. They sounded like very sad ghosts talking about events that had occurred thousands of years ago; like they were saying their last farewells to those keeping a bedside vigil. Although somewhat shaken and devastated by what had just occurred, most of the Shrewdies were physically unscathed. Fuzzard wept openly for the loss of so many of his beloved Dragon dogs. It was like watching a heartbroken father grieve the loss of his children. Without voice to command his wand, he had been forced to rely squarely on his telekinetic powers to try and slow down the impact of the collisions. Unfortunately they were simply no match for the might of the competing magic.

I had watched this atrocity occur from the safety of the Pizza Hut store. Prior to the battle commencing, Dementia had insisted that all humans take shelter in the pizza shop. He also insisted that Fluffel, Hildegard, Hairy, Paprika and Wasabi join us. He felt that it was the safest place for us to be. After all, there was very little that any of us could do to help the allies. Paprika and Wasabi were not even meant to be here in the first place.

I must say, we all got the fright of our lives when a loud explosion rang out directly above us. We were later to discover that it was the sound of an unfortunate Doolan dragon colliding with the large Pizza Hut neon sign protruding from the roof of the shop.

I felt sick to the core by the senseless atrocity that I had just witnessed. So did those around me. Pugnacious had committed genocide on not only the Doolan dragons and Dragon dogs, but also his own loyal Cabats. Apart from the callousness of this action, we could not understand his logic or reasoning in doing this. After all, the ratio of Cabat deaths to Doolan dragon and Dragon dog deaths numbered at least 50-to-1. Apart from the thick blanket of Cabats still protecting him, the rest had been wiped out. Whilst it was true that he still had most of his wand-wielding Riboltian ground troops, would this be enough? Only time would tell.

Hairy of course, overcome with emotion, set aside all reason and tried to set off after Pugnacious. Fortunately, we had locked the front door of the Pizza Hut shop to prevent the Riboltians or Cabats from breaking in.

'Let me out. Let me out!' he screamed and banged on the glass panels furiously. 'I _refuthe_ to hide like a coward! I will fight Pugnathiouth with my bare handth. I will rip out hith throat and feed it to the Flithterth. Long live the allianthe!' The tone of his voice was charged with patriotism and foolishness.

### CHAPTER 38

### THE ULTIMATUM

Whilst Hairy continued to pound the glass and talk-the-talk, the evil Pugnacious, buoyed-on by the successful execution of his master plan, pushed aside his contingent of remaining Cabats and once again revealed his Quisitive form. 'Give up now, Dementia, and the rest of your lives will be spared!'

'Never, Pugnacious!' screamed Dementia. 'We would all rather die the most awful of deaths than spend a single day as slaves to you! Besides—'

'Slaves to _us_! Slaves to _us_!' interrupted the agitated voice of Traizon. 'This is not just the Pugnacious show... Tell them Pugnacious. Tell them!'

'Yes, well...' muttered Pugnacious. 'Traizon has helped somewhat. You know, "best supporting actor" sort of thing!'

'What?' screamed Traizon. 'What happened to the "equal partners" promise?'

'We can discuss this later!' whispered Pugnacious. 'You are embarrassing me, and undermining us!'

'As I was saying,' continued Dementia, 'you may have destroyed many Doolan dragons and Dragon dogs, but you also destroyed most of your Cabats. So you still don't hold the upper hand.'

'Is that right!' laughed Pugnacious. 'Do you really think that _I_ —'

'Ehem!' interrupted Traizon.

'That _we_ , would be that stupid? Those Cabats were just a small contingent of expendable pawns – whose sole purpose was to lure your pathetic Doolan dragons and Dragon dogs close enough for _me_ —'

'Ehem!' interrupted Traizon

'I mean _us_... To destroy them... My—' 'Ehem!' interrupted Traizon

'I mean _our_ ,' continued Pugnacious, 'main Cabat forces are hiding on the left and right flanks and awaiting _my_ —'

'Ehem!' interrupted Traizon.

'O _ur_ command!' screamed Pugnacious. By this point, he was ready to throttle Traizon.

'I think you are bluffing!' replied Dementia calmly. 'The two of you couldn't even organise sand from a desert or salt from the sea. You don't even know which one of you is really in charge.'

' _I_ am!' screamed Pugnacious and Traizon at exactly the same time. 'Jinks!' shouted Pugnaciuous and Traizon at exactly the same time. 'Personal jinks!' shouted Pugnacious triumphantly.

'You got it wrong!' laughed Traizon. 'You have to go jinks, jinks, personal jinks So it doesn't count!'

'Does too!' shouted Pugnacious. 'Does not!' screamed Traizon.

Whilst the two egotistical buffoons argued, the allies gained valuable time to regroup. After five minutes of exchanging, 'Does too's and 'Does not's, the must-win-everything pair settled on an honourable stalemate and Pugnacious returned to the matter at hand. 'Umm, what were you saying, Dementia?'

'I said,' shouted Dementia, 'Neither knows who's actually in command. And, I think you are bluffing in relation to still having other Cabats in reserve.'

'Firstly, we share command!' conceded Pugnacious bitterly. And secondly, if we don't have any Cabats in reserve, then what do you call these!'

### CHAPTER 39

### IT'S NO BLUFF

In response to Pugnacious' command, two enormous black clouds suddenly arose from the east and west. Each must have contained about 10,000 Cabats. 'You may wish to reconsider _My_... _Our_... Generous offer. _I'll_... _We'll_... Give you a few seconds to decide,' smiled Pugnacious.

'We don't need time!' said Dementia proudly 'The answer is a categorical _NO_ , _NEVER_!'

'You fool!' screamed Pugnacious. He gave the command. 'Attack!'

The Burlian ironworkers and their Modesta unicorns, and the Flisters, were no match for the 20,000 Cabats that descended upon them. They had little choice but to retreat. Without aerial support, the Tarantin trolls and Tishy gnomes were forced to do likewise.

The Riboltians and Cabats advanced triumphantly. The Riboltians wand magic was devastatingly effective, as were the Cabats' repeated slashes and bites. The fleeing trolls, gnomes, ironworkers, unicorns, and Flisters were being decimated. It was difficult to watch. Fireballs slammed into their backs, wads of liquid-nitrogen cryogenically froze them, and streams of acid sizzled them. Explosions that sounded like shattering glass rang out as those in the air who had been frozen came crashing down. Many of the trolls and gnomes who had been frozen were bravely dragged away by their colleagues so that they could safely defrost. Their rescuers' fingers endured severe frostbite. However, inevitably, a number were left frozen in their tracks and were shattered into a million pieces by the sledgehammer-wielding Riboltians.

In the meantime, Hairy had managed to escape the confines of the Pizza Hut through the hole in the back wall that had only yesterday accommodated Frother's enormous head.

'Charge!' he screamed and headed straight for the centre of the ruckus. He hadn't covered more than 20 metres before an astray fireball smashed into the ground just before him. A few sparks ricocheted off the fireball and scalded Hairy's body. The poor Glutton spider has almost no pain tolerance whatsoever, and so what should have felt like a few slight burns, felt to him, like his entire body had been ripped to pieces and scalded beyond description by grenade shrapnel. He dared not look at his body for fear of fainting. He was very squeamish when it came to blood and gore. Hopefully, a few limbs were still intact. This would soon be tested as he made a hasty retreat.

He hurriedly scuttled back towards the pizza shop. Despite being convinced that he was fatally wounded and would be dead within a few minutes, he preferred the notion of dying in the hands of the allies. He would tell them his story and perhaps even be remembered as a martyr. 'Oh dear!' he cried aloud as he saw his life suddenly flash before his eyes. 'I'm not going to make it back in time!' He was most relieved to discover that it was not his _life_ that had just fashed before his eyes, but rather a nice big juicy _Wultch_ _fly_. It was a crying shame that he did not have the strength to catch it though.

'I am dying!' he melodramatically announced upon arriving back at the pizza shop. He then rolled onto his back and commenced a 'death rattle'. Whilst his body and limbs shook, he recited his lie. 'I managed to kill at leatht five Riboltianth before they thtruck their fatal blowth... Dethpite lothing almotht all of my limbth, I thtill managed to drag my dying body back here. Tell them I fought bravely. Tell them—'

'But Hairy,' laughed Hildegard. 'You are absolutely fine! Your limbs—'

Still on his back, Hairy waved Hildegard away furiously. 'Do you think it'th funny to laugh at the dying, Hildegard!' he screamed. 'How cwuel and dithwethpectful of you! How vewwy, vewwy cwuel and dithwethpectful!'

'You are fine, Hairy!' I continued. 'You still have—'

'I leave all of my worldly pothethions, ' interrupted Hairy, 'to Fwother. All of my webs and yummy inthectth. All of my magnifithent outfftth and my thares in the clothing buthineth! Pleathe tell him that I loved him to the end.'

'Hairy!' screamed Fluffel. 'Enough! You still have all 30 of your limbs and the burns to your body are very superficial.'

The look on Hairy's face as he examined every square inch of his pumpkin-shaped body and realised that he was fully intact was priceless. 'Thtill,' he continued. 'The trauma hath left me feeling vewwy weak. Ith there any of that thwedded bacon left?'

### CHAPTER 40

### THE TIDE IS TURNING! OR IS IT?

Whilst Hairy cleverly negotiated himself a half-bucket of shredded bacon, Sir Branchalot and Lady Woodsworth were engaged in a very serious telepathic discussion with the leader of the brainwashed Shrewd wood wands, Trunkhardian.

'You and your brethren are all under the mind-control of an evil spell!' pleaded Sir Branchalot.

'Your judgment has been severely clouded!' agreed Lady Woodsworth.

' _Nonsense_!' responded Trunkhard. 'It is _you_ who have been deceived. The Flushfleans have abandoned us. They have turned to the dark side! Pugnacious is our saviour!'

With most of the allies' sky resistance decimated, the new batch of 20,000 Cabats swarmed forward and entered the Mystical forest almost unchallenged. They flew just high enough to avoid being snared by the Shrewd trees' flailing root systems. Although the thousands of powerful roots surged up into the air as high as 80 metres, all the Cabats hovered well in excess of 90 metres. They had been pre-warned by Pugnacious. Whilst valiant, the Shrewdies' efforts were in vain and nothing more than a complete waste of energy. Only Sir Branchalot and Lady Woodsworth managed to summon the additional strength required to extend their roots the extra ten-plus metres. They did manage to snare quite a few unsuspecting Cabats. But in reality, this did nothing to dent the Cabats' extreme numbers.

Having realised that their aerial assault was proving futile, the Shrewdies changed tactics and concentrated their energy and efforts towards a ground attack on the advancing Riboltians. Many Riboltians screamed out in unimaginable agony as the sharp root barbs pierced through the soles of their feet and began sucking the life out of them. The Riboltian fire-shooters responded by giving the trolls and gnomes a temporary reprieve and focusing their energies on setting the Shrewdies ablaze.

The remaining Doolan dragons and Dragon dogs frantically moved from tree to tree, trying to smother the flames with their wings. Whilst the Doolan dragons' fibreglassy wings are pretty much fireproof and dealt with the flames easily, the Dragon dogs' thick fur was singed from their wings, revealing magnificent glistening-purple scales underneath. It was no problem though, the fur would grow back quickly. The Fwitches assisted by commanding their wands to work like powerful fire hydrants. They shot solid streams of water over 100 metres into the air.

With the Riboltians' attention focused elsewhere, the Tarantin trolls and Tishy gnomes went on the offensive again and engaged them in hand-to-hand combat. Many Riboltians were carved to pieces by the sharp Zophobian crystal shards attached to the trolls' clubs. The gnomes rubbed their bloodied bodies against hundreds of Riboltians. Riboltians clutched their throats as the poison blocked off their windpipes and strangled them.

The 'Bravery' spell began to wear off and many Riboltians suddenly became severely spooked by the ferocity of the troll and gnome attack. Many became the world's biggest cowards and gave up the fight. They withdrew their heads into their chests, screamed like banshees, flailed their arms wildly, and began to retreat. Screaming like banshees and flailing one's arms wildly is not advisable when in the possession of powerful wands that are highly sensitive to the slightest sound and movement. Many accidentally sent themselves flying through the air over 200 metres and died where they fell. Those who did not kill themselves were burnt beyond description by Pugnacious.

'Any others wishing to retreat?' screamed Pugnacious. The rest got the message loud and clear and continued to fight.

Seizing on the perceived weakness of the evil cohorts, Majika, Wandina, Honeypop and Twinkledust used their secret 'Magnetic-Pull' magic (that they use to guide the magnetically charged glitter dust particles) to play havoc with the inbuilt radar systems of all the Cabats. The accurate messages being received from their powerful cat eyes suddenly conflicted with the inaccurate message now being received from their severely compromised bat radar systems. Their brains struggled to deal with the two sets of conflicting data and caused them to go hurtling out of control. Many crashed into the Shrewd trees and others nosedived into the ground. Metallic-sounding thuds were heard as a few collided with the corrugated iron roofing of the pizza store.

Unfortunately though, this complex magic absolutely exhausted the three of them and eventually wore off. The Cabats regathered and then released their secret weapon: a deadly weapon that none of the allies had even remotely anticipated. You see, perfectly concealed amongst their black grape-like feathers were thousands of tiny black balloon-like sacks, each filled to the brim with devastatingly painful-biting Gnawler ants. Also concealed in thousands of identical-looking tiny black balloon-like sacks was over 20,000 litres of watered-down Brambling bunter honey.

If you recall, Gnawler ants are used frequently by Riboltians as a painful torture tool. Despite being five times smaller than a bull ant, their bite packs at least 50 times the punch. Even a single bite would leave a human child completely debilitated for a few hours.

The Riboltians enjoy nothing more than covering their victims in Brambling Bunter honey and then watching with glee as the Gnawler ants nibble away at the honey, and, in doing so, inflict excruciatingly painful numbing bites to their victims' bodies. This is exactly how the Riboltian bullies used to torture Sked – before he took permanent exile.

The millions of Gnawler ants had been kept in captivity and starved for a few days prior to this battle so as to make them as hungry and angry as possible.

First, the Cabats used their razor sharp wing tips to puncture sack after sack of the watered-down Brambling bunter honey. From below, it looked like a massive honey downpour. Not a single Sugar fairy, Soul wizard, Tishy gnome, Tarantin troll, Golfibob, stone-winged Carbanara, or Fwitch managed to avoid being drenched from head to toe in the sticky honey. Neither did those Riboltians who had managed to reach the Mystical forest. Only once this was done did the Cabats drop their sacks of ferocious Gnawler ants. The sacks burst open as they either hit their targets directly or impacted with the ground.

Frenzied Gnawler ants made a beeline for the delicious honey-soaked allies and Riboltians, and began hungrily nibbling away. It was awful to see just about every single ally being set upon and overpowered by starving Gnawler ants. The Tarantin trolls screamed blue-murder and literally rubbed their skins off against the rough bark of the Shrewd trees. It was horrendous to watch. The petite little Sugar fairies could not bear the intensity of the pain and every single one of them (with the exception of Majika, Wandina, Twinkledust, and Honeypop) passed out. In a way, this was a blessing. It saved them having to consciously endure the pain. However, it did render them helpless and completely vulnerable. If the forward-drive of the Riboltians continued at its current pace, they would be set upon in a matter of minutes.

Majika, her older sisters, and Wandina had managed to use their basic wand magic to cover their bodies in a protective bubble wrap. It made moving around quite difficult and awkward, but saved them from enduring a great deal of pain. Walking around in a style not dissimilar to waddling penguins, they used they wand magic to try and remove as many Gnawler ants as possible, from as many allies as possible. Majika and her sisters cried sadly as they spotted their parents, Lilypod and Wizend, unconscious on the floor. Wizend was hugging Lilypod tightly. They agreed that they would guard their parents with their lives.

The Golfibobs performed an elaborate series of gymnastic dives and vaults, in an attempt to shake the Gnawler ants off of their bodies. Surprisingly, it worked. The Tishy gnomes were spared too much agony because their blood killed the Gnawler ants instantly. The Soul wizards were likewise spared any agony. After all, their synthetic forms do not have pain receptors. The Fwitches used their incredible mind powers to counteract the pain. They managed to convince their pain sensors that this was nothing more than a relaxing acupuncture session. They also used their wands once again as powerful water hydrants and hosed the Gnawler ants off as many allies as possible.

Nevertheless, the momentum had definitely swung back in favour of the evil cohorts. Pugnacious laughed joyously as the stone-winged Carbanaras suffered such excruciating agony that their bodies literally overloaded with adrenaline.

'Serves them right for joining the wrong team!' he thought bitterly.

And then it happened: Just like the over-surge of adrenaline transforms Steve Austin into the Incredible Hulk, the over-surge of adrenaline caused the Carbanaras' stone wings to start glowing red-hot. However, instead of cracking from the heat, they turned the magnificent colour and consistency of free-flowing liquid mercury. The radiant heat from these transformed wings caused all the Gnawler ants within a metre radius of them to expand and explode. But when the pain subsided and their stone wings cooled, they were no longer stone. They were now a highly-flexible, non-dripping, shape-shifting, liquid-mercury. They flapped these wings and took to the sky.

For the first time in 200 years, the Carbanaras could fly again. They fearlessly smashed stunned Cabats with their wings. Amazingly though, instead of their wings knocking the Cabats for sixes, they passed right through them and coated them in a silver plating. Hundreds of Cabats crashed to the ground like silver-plated paperweights.

Spurred on by this success, the remaining Doolan dragons and Dragon dogs also attacked the Cabats. Frother's flames and those of the Dragon dogs destroyed dozens of them at a time. The other flameless Doolan dragons provided fantastic back-up support by swatting Cabats with their enormous wings and tails. Still, many Cabats managed to avoid the flames and the wing swipes and now clung to the Doolan dragons' sides, backs, necks and stomachs like deadly leeches. They violently slashed and bit at their hosts. Although most of a Doolan dragons' skin is tougher than fibreglass, their soft tummies are very vulnerable.

The allies knew this. Therefore, the Burlian ironworkers, seated on the back of their elegant Modesta unicorns (perched in the highest of the Shrewd tree branches), only shot arrows at those Cabats clinging to their Doolan dragon companions' bellies. The precision of their shooting was incredible. Not a single arrow missed its intended target. Not a single Doolan dragon's belly was accidentally pierced. I must say, the hundreds of Modesta unicorns perched on tree branches made for quite a sight; certainly more interesting than a flock of magpies or pigeons.

Dementia, Zoola and Eldorian provided further back-up support. They ordered their wands to shoot a superglue-like substance at the dangerously located Cabats. Each victim that the glue connected with became instantly stiff and rigid, and stuck motionlessly to the underbellies of the Doolan dragons. They looked like giant clamshells attached to colourful pink rocks. Despite the allies' desperate attempts, there were simply too many of these nauseating creatures. It was like trying to partake in a fencing duel armed with nothing more than a sewing needle. It was as futile as trying to eat a bowl of rice with a pair of tweezers.

The Riboltians had also regained their composure and were whipping arse once again. By now, the Shrewd trees were totally spent and no longer posed any danger. In truth, they did not even have the strength to contract their roots back into the ground. Their roots simply lay motionless above the ground. Pugnacious and Traizon were well aware of this and entertained themselves by slicing and dicing these roots with two incredibly powerful, 250-metre-long laser beams that shot from the tip of Trunkhardian. In order to distinguish the two lasers, the one Pugnacious was guiding was red and Traizon's was blue. Anything in their way was also indiscriminately sliced and diced; arms, limbs, heads, torsos – everything.

As more and more roots were sliced, Shrewd trees began to fall in their dozens. One enormous tree only just missed hitting the pizza shop. It landed a mere ten metres from the entrance. The entire shop literally bounced. We all went trampolining upwards. Both Roland's and my head left nice little divots in the wafer-thin ceiling boards.

Allies and evil cohorts alike, frantically tried to escape the falling trees. Pugnacious and Traizon were having the time of their lives. It was all just a game to them; a contest to see who could create more havoc. Everyone and everything was expendable.

They also had great fun trying to work out which roots belonged to which tree. It was like trying to disentangle a number of knotted wires. They enjoyed the challenge of seeing who could topple more trees.

Amidst this carnage, Sked was bravely protecting as many unconscious Sugar fairies as he could from the advancing Riboltians. He had no issue whatsoever fighting against his own species. After all, he hated his kind with a passion. They were evil, nasty and sadistic; everything he wasn't.

And then, he suddenly came face to face with his youngest brother, Brutal. Based on the fact that Brutal was carrying nothing more than a sledgehammer, one can only assume that he failed the minimum intelligence test that Pugnacious had used to determine which of the Riboltians would receive wands.

'Well, well, well!' smiled Brutal with murder in his eyes. 'What a pleasant surprise! I thought my traitor, wuss, brother had been killed months ago by Murda and his team.'

'You mean Murda and his cowardly team never advised that they received an absolute arse-whipping and had to run home like a bunch of frightened sissies!' smiled Sked.

'Oh well!' replied Brutal. 'I'll just have to finish you off myself then!'

Without warning, Brutal took a vicious swipe at Sked's head. Fortunately, Sked managed to move his head sideways just in time. Consequently, the blow only mildly grazed the side of his right temple. Armed with no more than what appeared to be a primitive garden spade, Sked countered with a powerful forward thrust blow to Brutal's midsection. Totally winded, Brutal fell to the ground and gasped for air.

'You don't even have the guts to finish me off!' laugh-wheezed Brutal mockingly. 'Sked by name, _Scared_ by nature!'

Although furious, Sked could not bring himself to inflict a fatal blow on his own flesh and blood. Instead, he calmly walked away. As Brutal jumped to his feet and pulled back his sledgehammer in readiness, an enormous Shrewd tree trunk came crashing down on him. He was killed instantly. It only just missed hitting Sked by millimetres.

Sked's eyes welled with tears for his fallen brother. 'Why can't we all just get along!' he screamed, and then sliced his way through another aggressively advancing Riboltian.

### CHAPTER 41

### TO SURRENDER OR NOT TO SURRENDER?

Dementia was devastated by the carnage and was on the verge of conceding defeat. Sensing victory, Pugnacious and his surrounding Cabats joined the other Cabats in the Mystical forest. Once the allies had surrendered, they would enjoy killing each and every one of them slowly and painfully. There were enough left for at least a week's entertainment.

Dementia and his allies saw the much closer proximity of the Quisitive bird as their best opportunity to try and strike one decisive, direct blow. If they could eliminate Pugnacious and Traizon, the Riboltians and Cabats would no doubt panic and possibly be a lot more vulnerable.

Dementia, Zoola, Eldorian, and Witchway all put the tips of their Shrewd wood wands together and shouted, 'Fireballous Gigantus!'

A small fireball started to fly into the sky. However, like a rolling snowball gathering snow, it became larger and larger as it flew higher and higher into the sky. By the time that it got to within 20 metres of the Quisitive bird, it was already the size of a football stadium. The radiant heat singed every last Quisitive bird feather, revealing ugly grey bum fluff.

Before it got any further, though, Pugnacious shouted 'Waterallis Momentussium'. What looked like an entire sea suddenly came crashing down on the fireball and snuffed it out. The water continued falling and absolutely drenched everyone in the Mystical forest down below.

Two-metre-high, salty waves wiped out everyone and everything in their paths. This included allies and many Riboltians. The only creatures to avoid the deluge were the Cabats, and only because they were hovering at the same height as Pugnacious.

'Surf's up!' shouted Jonny as the pizza shop also got swept away like a modern-day Noah's ark. There was certainly an interesting bunch of creatures on board.

Witchway watched sadly as many more of her beloved Flisters, whose wings were now drenched, fell from the sky like heavy stones. A few were saved by air cushions, but most perished. The only positive side to the deluge was that it also washed away all the Gnawler ants.

'Help me, Spellard, please!' thought Dementia's memorial diamond desperately. It was trying to connect with Spellard's memorial diamond. 'I don't know what to do... Should we surrender and be slaves, or continue our resistance and be decimated? I must make a decision now, for we clearly cannot win!'

'Don't give up, my friend!' responded Spellard's memorial diamond. 'Remember, we still have the strongest weapon of all!'

'What weapon?' asked Dementia's memorial diamond.

### CHAPTER 42

### THE ELKWOODIAN CROWNS... I MEAN, CROWN

As if they had been listening to this conversation, the crowns on the heads of Willowood and Violeena suddenly started vibrating violently.

'It is time!' exclaimed Willowood, and looked at Violeena. He then looked at Dementia for reassurance.

'Yes, it is!' said Dementia. 'Time to reveal the strongest weapon of all!'

Violeena removed her crown and handed it to Willowood. The Elkwoodian king also removed his own crown. As he placed Violeena's crown aside his, the two crowns melted into one another and spelt out the answer to the riddle. The answer was:

THE TRUTH

"The most powerful weapon is _The Truth_ "

But what did that mean? It made no sense whatsoever – at least not to me. Willowood and Violeena also looked very perplexed. To Dementia though, it made perfect sense.

'Place the "Truth" crown on your head,' smiled Dementia, 'and then look directly at the Quisitive bird overhead.'

Willowood followed Dementia's instructions. Suddenly, the crown began to glow and all of the internal thoughts of Pugnacious, Traizon, and the 63 tainted Soul wizards became loudly vocalized to all external parties, but not to themselves.

So, for instance, whilst Traizon could clearly hear the thoughts of Pugnacious and the 63 Soul wizards being projected outwards, he could not hear his own thoughts being projected outwards. Likewise, Pugnacious could hear Traizon's and the 63 Soul wizards' thoughts being projected outwards, but could not hear his own thoughts being projected outwards.

'Victory is mine!' echoed Pugnacious' internal thoughts aloud. 'What a genius I am! Hoodwinking those dumb Shrewdie wands into doing my Dark Lord's bidding! What a master stroke! I'll enjoy burning every last one of them once this is all over. They'll make excellent firewood.'

'I can't wait to teach this half-caste, bumpy-head, who is really boss!' echoed Traizon's internal thoughts aloud. He was referring to Pugnacious, of course. 'There is only enough room in this dimension for one of us!'

'Pugnacious and Traizon are our masters! Pugnacious and Traizon are our masters! Pugnacious and Traizon are our masters!' came the repetitive collective chant from the brainwashed Soul wizards.

The brainwashed Shrewd wood wands now knew that they had been deceived and were absolutely livid. They turned on their Riboltian masters by bursting into massive flames and reducing them all to an army of burning bushes. The Riboltians screamed with pain and ran around frantically, like clumsy Molotov cocktails. Every last one of them was burnt to death. Pugnacious ordered the Quisitive bird to release its talon grip on Trunkhardian moments before he ignited. The fiery Trunkhardian fell from the sky and landed on a few scorched Riboltians down below.

Suddenly, the Quisitive bird started flying erratically in the air above the Shrewd trees. This was because Pugnacious and Traizon's souls had become engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Their souls both had the other in a headlock and kept tightening their choke-grips.

' _Half-caste,_ hey!' screamed Pugnacious. 'I'll show you half-caste, you ungrateful _upstart_!'

'Give it your best shot!' screamed Traizon. 'I'll show you who's the _real_ boss around here!'

As both tightened their choke grips, negotiations began. 'You let go first!' gasped Pugnacious.

'No, you let go first!' wheezed Traizon.

With the two antagonists rapidly sapping each other's energy, their hold on the 63 Soul wizards' minds gradually began to dwindle. It was like the Soul wizards blinkers had finally been removed and they saw Pugnacious and Traizon for the lousy scoundrels that they really were. They put their collective minds together and began to slowly pull the Quisitive bird downwards towards striking range of the Shrewd tree roots.

'Stop dragging us down, you dumbarse!' screamed Pugnacious venomously at Traizon. 'If we go any lower, the Shrewd tree roots will get us!'

'It's not me who's doing this! You... You ignoramus!' yelled Traizon.

'Then who is?' shouted Traizon.

' _Us_!' replied the unified Soul wizards jubilantly.

Before either megalomaniac could respond, the powerful roots of Sir Branchalot and Lady Woodsworth surged upwards and impaled the Quisitive bird at a number of points. The Quisitive bird let out a spine-chilling scream. Sir Branchalot sucked out the insides of the bird whilst Lady Woodsworth backfilled it with the cement-like substance.

'Nooooo! Pleeeease!' cried Pugnacious in vain as the cement hardened and encased his soul like a fossil.

'It's your fault!' cried Traizon bitterly. 'If only you had shared, we could have ruled the—' He got no further with this sentence as the cement hardened around his soul as well.

That was the last word that either he or Pugnacious would ever again be able to speak. All future discussions between the two of them, from this point onwards, would be confined to telepathic exchanges.

The 63 Soul wizards were also fossilized. However, they accepted their fate with that feeling of peace and calm that touches all martyrs moments before they lose consciousness.

Pugnacious bitterly regretted having ever left the memorial diamond. It was like a five-star hotel compared to the fossilised rock that now surrounded him. He and Traizon could see nothing but grains of cement.

The great news was that the curse that had made so many creatures mute suddenly lifted. The soul wizards exercised their voices and commanded their wands to fling everything but the kitchen-sink at the shell-shocked, disorganised Cabats. They were pounded with stones, wads of glue, Murkleberries, and Bend rubber pods; even the thousands of large metal sledgehammers (courtesy of the fallen Riboltians) that dotted the forest floor were sent whistling up into the air.

The remaining Doolan dragons had regained their flames and joined the Dragon dogs in a frenzied attack on the Cabats. The Cabats were confronted by a solid wall of fire. Without their evil leaders' commands, they lacked direction. Some stayed to fight whilst others retreated. With depleted numbers, they were no match for the allies. The triumphant Dragon dogs tweeted loudly.

### CHAPTER 43

### BATTLE FOR FORT "PIZZA HUT"

A group of five fleeing Cabats noticed the reflection coming off the pizza shop's corrugated iron roof and were attracted by it.

They made a beeline for one of the side windows.

Fortunately, we had come up with our own plan of action should any nasty creatures breach our brick and mortal fortress. Each of us had a pile of over 100 round pizza trays next to us. They would be used for lobbing at any unwelcome intruders like lethal Frisbees. I had tried launching one earlier and it flew magnificently. It left a huge dent in one of the enormous stainless steel freezer doors. We also each had one of those long handled pizza removers for hand-to-hand combat. For extra measure, Flint off and Jonny armed themselves with a few of those sharp, circular-bladed pizza cutters. They protruded menacingly from the tops of their pants.

The five Cabats came smashing through the largest of the side windows. Once inside, they flew around awkwardly; like birds suddenly trapped in a cage. The combination of high-pitched wailing, thrashing wings and exposed fangs was really intimidating. And their faces looked exceptionally evil.

A shaking Hairy made sure that none of the allies were looking and then scuttled off towards the back of the shop. He somehow managed to squeeze his entire body into the gap that separated the back of the freezer from the wall. In order to do this, his body distorted itself horribly. It became as flat as a pancake, but twice as wide – not a pretty look. It was just as well the shop had no power. Otherwise, he probably would have electrocuted himself.

Feeling guilty about his cowardice, he tried to justify it in his own mind. 'I am not weally hiding,' he thought to himself over the loud noise of his beating heart. 'More like thetting a lethal trap for the enemy; an ambuth ith what it ith; a thneaky ambuth. Ath thoon ath they come near here, I'll thurprithe them and wip off their headth, one by one!'

Flopsy, by the way, had taken refuge long before Hairy. However, unlike Hairy, Flopsy never tried to hide his utter fear and desire to hide. The explosive bang when the Pizza Hut sign was obliterated earlier, had been enough to unnerve Flopsy. He had hurriedly begun emptying all the flour from one of the enormous metal drums. Once it was empty, he then, like a well-trained contortionist, managed to squeeze his entire body inside.

'Forget double-jointed, man!' Roland had laughed with utter disbelief. 'This rabbit-faced dude must be _triple_ -jointed!'

Flopsy looked as uncomfortable as a canned sardine. Whilst he was well concealed from a side-on perspective, if one looked from above, he could easily be seen. Having watched movies where the hero remains submerged underwater by breathing through a reed, I tested this theory with Flopsy by covering the top of the drum back over with flour and getting him to breathe through a soft drink straw – its tip protruding through the surface of the flour, ever so slightly. It worked!

Unlike Hairy and Flopsy, Jonny was not even slightly concerned. If he was, he certainly wasn't showing it. 'Come kitty, kitty, kitty!' he taunted and then started hurling pizza tray after pizza tray at them.

We all followed his lead. Pizza trays went hurtling in all directions. One of my shots hit a Cabat directly in the head. It fell to the ground limply. Jonny and Flint off also scored several direct hits. They ran forward and sliced the fallen Cabats necks open with their sharp pizza slice cutters. They made sure not to touch any of the blood.

One Cabat managed to somehow escape the poltergeist of flying trays and went heading straight towards Storm and Savannah. Roland lifted his beloved Fender guitar in baseball bat-like fashion and smashed the Cabat so powerfully that its head now protruded through the strings in front. 'Now _that's_ what I call a _wailing_ guitar, man!' he shouted.

As another enraged Cabat flew directly towards Fluffel, the normally sedate Hildegard suddenly expanded her chest and let out a scream that was louder than anything I have ever heard. Thousands of glistening blue Lentina scales went flying off her chest towards the advancing Cabat with enormous force. It sounded like machine gun fire. This was a party trick of hers (and of Lentinas' in general) that none of us were aware of. The Cabat screamed out in pain but continued to advance. As it came within range of Hildegard, we all started smashing it senseless with our long-handled pizza removers. Despite probably being dead after the first few wacks, Paprika and Wasabi's murder instinct kicked in and they continued to beat it to an absolute pulp. Their faces looked absolutely hideous, like devil children.

One of the Cabats who had been felled by a flying pizza pan moments earlier regained consciousness before any of us could finish it off, and suddenly launched itself at Hildegard's bare chest. Without the Lentina scales to protect her delicate skin, the Cabat was able to easily pierce through it with the tip of one of its razor-sharp wings. Hildegard was immediately paralysed. As it was about to inflict the final deadly bite with its ferocious cat fangs, Fluffel dived off the pizza counter and bit sharply into the Cabat's rubbery back. Fortunately, the bite did not penetrate its skin. Had it done so, Fluffel would have died of septicaemia almost immediately. The bite was painful enough, though, to cause the Cabat to spin around instantly. As it did so, Monty whacked its feline head for a six. Its neck snapped loudly as it fell motionless to the floor. The delighted Monty triumphantly belted out a line relating to 'death' from one of the many operatic scores stored in his head.

None of us realised that its sudden spin around motion had sent Fluffel flying into one of the boiling hot ovens. Believe it or not, it was still boiling hot from the night before – courtesy of the volcanic rocks, which were still emitting a huge amount of heat. He emerged from the oven a moment later with almost all of his fluffy white hair singed to the roots. Without his fur, he looked almost identical in size to your average urban possum; save for the circular shape of his body and face. His pink skin was severely pocked with painful looking heat blisters.

Despite his obvious pain and discomfort, he headed straight for the motionless body of Hildegard. 'I was by your side when the Riboltians nearly killed you!' he cried emotionally. 'And I am by your side now. So don't you dare go anywhere, ok?'

Hildegard's eyes stared back warmly at her brave saviour. She was not going anywhere. She would be absolutely fine once the paralysis venom wore off. It would take longer for Fluffel to recover than her. It would be she who would be caring for him.

We all celebrated wildly as we stared at the pile of dead Cabat carcases. Hairy took this as his cue to resurface and flex some muscle. He dived onto the pile of dead Cabats and started walloping them in a frenzied attack with all of his limbs.

'Any more of you flying puththieth care to methth with me!' he screamed. 'Let thith be a leththon to you and all your bwethwen not to methth with Haiwy and hith crew!'

'They're already dead, Hairy!' shouted Evelyn. Even she had fought more bravely that the Glutton spider. 'Where were you when they were still alive?'

'What do you mean, Evelyn?' replied Hairy defensively. 'I fought thwee of them at once with my bare limbth!'

'Nonsense, Hairy!' laughed Jonny. 'It looks like you were hiding behind one of the freezers the whole time!'

'How cwuel of you to thay thuch a thing!' cried Hairy. 'How vewwy, vewwy cwuel!'

'Then why,' cross-examined Flint off, 'is your body covered in grease lines that are identical in shape and configuration to the grids at the back of the freezers?'

'Well, err, umm...' muttered Hairy. 'No time for thmall talk wight now. I mutht be going. The allieth outthide need my help!'

With that, Hairy scuttled through the hole in the wall at the back of the shop and raced towards Frother.

'H-H-Hairy!' smiled Frother warmly. 'T-T-The b-battle is o-o-over. W-We w-w-won! T-T-The Dr-dragon d-d-dogs are j-just p-p-polishing off th-th-the f-final f-few!... Wh-Wh-What are th-th-those str-ipes on y-y-your b-body?'

'Nothing too theriouth, Fwother!' replied Hairy in a martyr-like tone and expanded his chest. 'Jutht a few battle thcars. You know how it ith!'

We threw the Cabats' dead carcasses out the window, one by one, as a warning to all the other Cabats. I cringed as my unprotected fingers made contact with the skin of the one that I was responsible for disposing of. It felt like what can only be described as a wetsuit covered in slime.

### CHAPTER 44

### FREEDOM AND FOSSILS

We unlocked and unbolted the entrance to the pizza shop and excitedly joined our victorious allies. Jonny and I carefully carried Hildegard. Roland and Monty carried Fluffel. Both were given immediate medical (which included magical) attention.

In and amongst the carnage of fallen Shrewd trees were the grisly remains of the fallen and incinerated from both sides. I had never seen the aftermath of a gruesome battle before and wept openly. It is a scene that I will unfortunately never forget. The only good sight was those allies who had survived and the enormous stone statue of the Quisitive Bird on the ground. It symbolised the end and containment of Traizon and Pugnacious. Their souls had been metaphorically and physically crushed. Dementia and the other Soul wizards could clearly see the fossilised remains of them and the 63 Soul wizards.

Dementia removed a solid iron sledgehammer from a pile of ash that had once been a Riboltian and started smashing the statue. Zoola and Eldorian did likewise. Not only was this cathartic, but it also served a specific purpose.

'Just be careful not to smash the fossilised souls of Pugnacious and Traizon.' advised Dementia. 'Those two need to be preserved forever!'

'What about those of the 63 Soul wizards?' asked Zoola.

'I want you to pulverise those into the finest particles of sand!' replied Dementia. 'These poor souls have been trapped and manipulated for far too long. They deserve to be freed.'

When the two fossilised faces of Traizon and Pugnacious finally emerged from amongst the rubble, they were so twisted and contorted with fear and bitterness that it was like looking at two hideously ugly gargoyles. These fossilised remains would be returned to the Land of Hope. They would be embedded into the enormous glass pavers that had been designed to align the main street of the town mall.

Whilst these stone impressions were not quite as flashy as the original memorial diamonds, they would nevertheless provide the closure that the good citizens of the Land of Hope so desperately needed. They provided the ultimate proof that the souls of these evil scoundrels were now trapped forever and no longer capable of mischief.

Whilst confined to the Pizza Hut store, Roland had written an impromptu song dedicated to the Shrewdies. Storm and Savanah were his backup singers. The rest of us had learnt the chorus.

Trunks so thick and bark so strong They are the Shrewdies

Most cool of doodies

Brains so wise and roots so long They are the Shrewdies

Most cool of doodies

They listen to every word you say

Their grey matter grows each passing day They are the Shrewdies

Most cool of doodies (Repeat all lines)

The Shrewd trees loved the song. It looked like they were actually wriggling their trunky bodies and waving their branchy limbs ever so slightly. The overall mood, though, was a mix of joy and sadness. Many wonderful creatures had been killed fighting for the cause. They would be given appropriate burials and wonderful memorial plaques would be erected to remember them. Each plaque would be carved from the wood of the Shrewd trees that had fallen.

### CHAPTER 45

### TYING UP LOOSE ENDS

The Shrewd trees were levered back towards the Mystical forest in Flush Fleas, through Witchway's crystal ball. We all held onto the thick sailor's rope tightly and gradually fed it back through the crystal ball. We were effectively acting like a crane that is delicately lowering a heavy load; an incredibly heavy load I might add! My delicate Earth hands were not designed for this sort of job and received really bad rope-burn. We accidentally lost our grip on the last 15 metres of rope and consequently, instead of landing gently, the Shrewd trees arrived back home with a loud, ground-shaking thud. Despite being a little bit shocked by their spine-jarring entrance, they soon settled. They were really pleased to be back in the Mystical forest. They found the environment here to be much more to their liking.

'You all did a great job,' smiled Witchway. 'Except for the landing... Please just remember for future reference, to hold onto the rope until it either reaches its very last metre, or you hear and feel a gentle clunk!'

The Pizza Hut, its staff and its customers, whom we had come to know so well, now posed a real dilemma for Dementia. If the shop suddenly arrived back in its spot on Earth with its missing staff and customers, it would create even more panic and confusion. And how would those who had been missing for two days explain their whereabouts?

Dementia did not like to mess with nature. Spells for turning back time were all good and well, but they also affected the future. For instance, someone flips a coin to make an important decision. They make the decision and it affects their future accordingly. Time is then set back and they flip the same coin again. This time it lands on the opposite side. They end up taking a completely different route. Everyone along their life chain is then affected accordingly.

Despite this potential side effect, Dementia felt that he had no choice but to take this course of action. I was assured by Dementia that my Earthling companions, who would now be returning, would remember nothing.

I sneakily removed the sim-card from Jonny's mobile phone and disposed of it. It would be too risky to have the footage of Flintoff's reaction to a bunch of strange looking creatures hitting YouTube. It would create too much of a stir. Even Steven Spielberg would be unable to produce such amazingly lifelike special effects.

Witchway politely interrupted Dementia and suggested a better way to handle the situation. Her suggested technique was better than Dementia's because it would only set back memories. It did not affect time. Furthermore, it would only set back everyone's memories in relation to the pizza shop.

We said our farewells to the Pizza Hut crew. Once they were all in the shop, Jonny put up the 'Closed' sign and then locked the front door. He told everyone to be seated, in case there was any turbulence on the way back to Earth.

The Pizza shop image was now in Witchway's crystal ball and being gently levered towards its spot on earth. I can tell you, it was a _much_ lighter load that the Shrewd trees. As metre by metre of rope was pushed into its centre and disappeared into the void, the pizza shop came closer and closer to its destination.

'Hold onto the rope tightly and release steadily!' shouted Witchway. 'No jerky movements, _please_!'

This was in response to Frother accidentally letting out a humongous sneeze that caused the entire rope to jolt. When the image was finally little more than a blur, we felt and heard a gentle clunk.

'Touchdown!' smiled Witchway. 'And a perfect landing at that, I might add. They don't get much better than that. Well done!'

Witchway then spun the crystal ball anti-clockwise twice. All memories relating to this shop were set back 48 hours accordingly.

The Pizza Hut landed back on its vacant plot at about 1am. The skeleton staff (Jonny and Flint off) freaked out when they saw the time and impatiently kicked the five customers (Monty, Evelyn, Roland, Storm and Savannah) out of the shop. It was already an hour later than normal closing time and they didn't get paid overtime. The five customers were also shocked that it was so late already.

The two dads (Monty and Roland) rushed home with their daughters. Their wives would be worried sick by now. Strangely, all were craving Meat Lover's pizzas. They would have to return tomorrow.

I was returned to Tidley Creek at 3am the next morning. It gave the Fodderflob ample time to sneak into my bedroom and hungrily devour my clone. Dementia and Willowood said their farewells and promised to pick me up at 2pm on Friday. They would be taking me back to the Land of Hope for the official opening of the new town mall and the ceremonial laying of the symbolic glass pavers. Before leaving me, Dementia quickly rubbed his heated, right index finger over my forehead and miraculously rubbed away the large green dot. He also stripped me of his white robe. 'You won't be needing this anymore!' he smiled.

I arrived home to find that my bed mattress and all of my linen was missing. All that remained was my hard-as-rock bed base. The Fodderflob had obviously been extremely thorough in its disposal of my clone. When Dementia had said, 'The Fodderflob will leave no traces of blood, hair or bone', he had meant it! I just never thought the implications through _that_ thoroughly at the time. I was now faced with two problems. Firstly, how would I explain these missing items to my folks? Secondly, how would I sleep comfortably and keep warm without my mattress and linen? My folks did not have money to required to purchase replacements; times were really tough financially.

So, like any respectable brother would do, I decided to make this problem my younger sisters' problem. I snuck into their room, gently lifted the snoring Leah and placed her in Rachel's bed. Neither even stirred. I then, very quietly, dragged Leah's mattress and linen into my room. Fortunately, all three of our beds and all of the linen is identical – plain white with a brown trim. The next morning, Leah and Rachel woke to great confusion and fright. They had a lot of explaining to do. Whilst my dad began the inquisition, I slept like someone who had just returned from a tiring battle.

After gulping down one of my mum's award winning breakfasts, I went to visit my sheep dog, Jessie. She was delighted to see the real me again. Her tail wagged wildly and she plastered me from head to toe with soggy doggy-breath kisses. My parents could not understand this sudden change in her behaviour towards me. I of course, fully understood!

'It's as if a new Alex has arrived!' laughed my dad. How right you were dad! How right you were!

Having renewed my friendship with Jessie, I set off for the secret spot along the stream where I knew my buddies, Jonny and Justin, would no doubt be playing. Both were none the wiser that I had been missing for the last few days and that they had in fact been interacting with my clone.

I was thinking, 'Thank you clone for doing such a great job. I owe you big time!' In fact, I felt a tinge of guilt for co-conspiring in his demise. That was until Justin said, 'So Alex, we saw you sucking face with Hanna Smith yesterday. How was it?'

The mongrel had stolen my first kiss! Oh well, at least I had broken the ice! We bounced stones off the river surface and chatted frivolously. How good it was to be back to the simple life. I had no doubt that this feeling would change as 2pm Friday drew closer.

### CHAPTER 46

### CHOOSING GIFTS

It was already 2:33pm on Friday 10 February 2007. Why had Dementia and Willowood failed to arrive yet to pick me up? We had arranged that they would arrive at exactly 2pm. On the last two occasions, they had arrived almost on the dot. The concerned part of me hoped that they were ok, while the impatient part of me hoped that they had not simply forgotten about me. After all, I did not want to miss out on the opening of the new town mall in the Land of Hope and the ceremonial laying of the glass pavers that would permanently house the fossilised souls of the two conquered megalomaniacs, Pugnacious and Traizon.

I could not wait to trample all over these evil tyrants. They deserved to be treated with contempt. I was wearing my favourite pair of muddy boots, just for the occasion. As I stomped on each paver, I would think about all the innocent creatures that had died at their evil hands. The pavers would be an excellent permanent reminder that, in the end, good always prevails over evil.

The other reason for my impatience was that I was dying to give each of my new friends their Earth gifts that I had hand-selected. My tog bag was so full that the zip would only close halfway. It had taken me all week to decide what may appeal to each of them. They were all so unique in their likes and dislikes.

I secretly purchased a selection of chocolate bars for the sweet-toothed Majika. I used up all of my saved-up pocket money in the process. But, hey! What can I say? The little Sugar fairy means a lot to me. I just hoped that her taste for sugary treats would extend to those made on Earth. I had sampled a few of the Sugar fruits that she lives on and they are nowhere near as nice as my beloved Snickers and Mars bars. I realised that this meant nothing though because human taste buds are probably very different to Sugar fairy taste buds. Just in case the rest of the ingredients in the chocolate bars upset Majika's sensitive tummy, I also packed a dozen of those small sachets of pure sugar. They were easy to carry and I knew my folks would be none the wiser if a few went missing.

I harvested a few large bags of blowflies for the constantly ravenous Hairy. I was confident that he would love their taste. After all, a fly is a fly! Although blowflies are smaller than Murd flies, they look considerably juicier. The beauty is that they did not cost me a cent to harvest and were very easy to kill. Not only are there millions of them constantly buzzing around the meandering sheep and their 'apparently' delicious droppings, but they are also totally lethargic as a result of the sweltering heat. Visiting Tidley Creek would be like visiting 'Club Med' for Hairy. It was no real contest. You could literally swing a rolled up newspaper in slow motion and still connect with a few. I enjoyed whacking each fly's head through its arse. The ferocity of the recent battle was still coursing through my veins. I imagined each blowfly as being a Riboltian.

I had decided to pack a Rubik's Cube for the thoughtful, broody Dementia. I hoped that this might help keep his ageing wizard's mind active. He did have a bad temper, though. I hoped that it wouldn't end up driving him crazy.

For Willowood, I had packed my 'skull centurion', limited edition, carbon-fibre skateboard. I would tell my parents that I had lost it and beg for a new one for next Christmas. My dad would lose the plot, but hey, such is life! Despite being a bulky item and taking up a lot of space, it would be worth it just to see this young Elkwoodian elf have even one radical ride. If he enjoyed it, I would show him a few of the simpler tricks. I hoped that his broad, flat feet and low centre of gravity would give him excellent balance. My giraffe-like body was not ideal for skateboarding. The constant cuts and abrasions all over my body stood testament to this.

It took me a long time to come up with a gift for Frother. After all, what do you give a five-metre-long, four-metre-tall dragon, keeping in mind that it has to be something that will fit into a small tog bag that is already very congested! Given that he does a lot of travel, I decided to give him my scout compass. I truly hoped that it would work accurately in non-Earth environments. I had given up scouts years ago, so parting with it would be no loss whatsoever. Up until recently, I had often used the small magnifying glass attached to it, to incinerate entire platoons of ants. I loved the way they expanded under the heat and went 'pop'. After the recent battle that I had witnessed, I realised the cruelty of my actions and swore to never do this again. Was it too late though? Were they perhaps secretly plotting my downfall already? Was I _their_ Pugnacious? I kept having this horrible dream in which they swarmed into my room in their millions and pinned me down by their sheer weight of numbers. They then efficiently and painfully devoured the flesh from my bones. For the last few nights, I had woken up in a cold sweat and a lot of pain. Yes, I am one of those rare people who actually feel pain in their dreams. If I run a marathon in my sleep, I am exhausted for the whole of the next day. Hey, at least I don't taste food in my dreams – unlike Hairy!

I knew that the gentle giant, Sked, is an avid gardener. So I decided to steal a few packets of my mum's prize-winning vegetable seeds for him. Mum had painstakingly harvested these seeds from her red ribbon tomatoes, pumpkins, zucchinis and lettuces. My apologies, Mum! I just hoped that these Earth seeds would manage to germinate in the Land of Hope's soil. I was fairly confident that they would because other than its tangerine colour, it looked and felt exactly the same as the sandy-loam soil found in Tidley Creek.

I packed my official Carlton Blues footy team navy blue scarf for Hildegard and the matching navy blue beanie for Fluffel. The Carlton football club would soon have its first intergalactic supporters. I also packed my favourite Rastafarian beanie for the colourful Witchway. I knew that she would be visiting the Land of Hope for today's ceremony. I hoped that she would like the avocado-green, sunflower-yellow and watermelon-red colour scheme. I would explain the significance of the black peace symbol sewn onto the front of it to her. I was sure she would love this.

Last but not least, I packed my beloved, genuine Sherbrook, pig-leather footy. I intended to teach Aussie Rules Football to anyone who was interested in learning it. I had such a visual of them kicking the ball and taking marks. It would be fantastic to introduce this iconic piece of Aussie culture to the greater universe.

I had been told that the Doolan dragons and the Burlian ironworkers would also be engaging in their unique forms of competition as part of the festivities. I could not wait. I expected flames and arrows.

### CHAPTER 47

### SORRY WE'RE LATE!

Dementia and Willowood arrived at 2:38pm. The ageing Soul wizard apologised profusely for being so late. Yet again, he had misplaced Old Faithful. For a wizard wishing to engage in long-distance travel, this was equivalent to losing one's car keys. It then occurred to me that I should have got him one of those key beeper thingumabobs that my mum gave my dad last year as his Christmas present. She purchased it because my dad was constantly losing his keys. It worked perfectly until my dad also misplaced the key beeper. So much for that idea!

In his haste to get here on time, Dementia had accidentally put his robe on inside-out and back-to-front. Despite this, he looked well-rested and totally at ease. It was really nice to see. His long white hair was neatly combed back and tied in a tight ponytail. By contrast, Willowood's luminous-green hair was all over the place. He looked exceedingly happy and had chubbed up a bit. Life was obviously treating him well.

I decided to wait until we arrived before handing out the gifts. Dementia warned me to hold on tight to the tog bag. If I dropped it, it might end up in another of the ten known dimensions. Dementia promised to explain these dimensions to me later.

Upon arriving in the Land of Hope, I was immediately stunned by the progress that had been made. If you recall, this was my first trip back since visiting for a few hours, only days after the gruesome battle with Traizon had taken place.

The landscape had transformed from a scorched-out battlefield to a 'Garden of Eden'. The vista was simply stunning: the shimmering silver grass; the colourful wildflowers; the magnificent stream and its stunning rainbow bridge; the array of established fruit trees the adorned the pavements; the sprouting vegetable patches; the magnificent Orphanage of Love; the rapidly emerging School of Hope; and the colourful house facades that covered the entire Bristol paints colour swab catalogue.

A group of orphans could be seen playing boisterously outside the orphanage. They were thoroughly enjoying the new cubby houses and play equipment. Willowood grabbed me by the arm and pulled me towards them. When we arrived, I took out the skateboard and handed it to him.

'This is a gift for you from Earth. It's called a skateboard.' Judging by the facial expressions of all present, none had ever seen a skateboard before. Nevertheless, Willowood looked overjoyed. He cautiously flicked the wheels with his fingers and watched with fascination as they continued to spin around and around. He seemed to like the whirring sound as well.

'Thank you!' he exclaimed with genuine excitement. 'I love it!' I wanted to explain its actual function, but he was very reluctant to hand it back. This would have to wait for another day. I still wanted to catch up with Majika, Frother, Hairy, and the others before the festivities commenced.

I found Majika and Frother hard at work. They were decorating the trees and poles that lined the new town mall with a wide range of colourful fruits. The fruits were just as colourful as, and far more practical than, using balloons and streamers. Whereas balloons and streamers need to be removed, tidied up and thrown away, the fruits would be eaten afterwards. No mess, no fuss! I must admit that the 'happy fruits' smiley faces left me feeling far more joyous than any balloon ever had.

Whilst his colleagues slaved away, Hairy inspected the decorations – with his tongue. 'Yuck!' he shouted in disgust. 'Why can't we hang some Floopid beetleth and Felmer flieth instead... much more tathty!'

The three of them were clearly thrilled to see me. I opened the tog bag and handed them their gifts. Hairy and Majika sampled their treats immediately. To my absolute delight, both were over the moon with these new gastronomic delights. Whilst I appreciated the kiss on the cheek from Majika, I could have done without Hair's flamingo-pink flappers on my cheek once again. It brought back the horrendous memory of when he was perched on my head and sucking away on my face. The less said about this ghastly affair, the better!

Majika informed me that the Snickers bar was the best thing that she had ever tasted. She had excellent taste because Snickers bars are also my favourites. The great news was that the rest of the ingredients appeared to be having no adverse effects on her sensitive tummy. With great enthusiasm, she put in a huge order for next time. I explained the impracticalities to her in me being able to firstly acquire, and secondly return, with over 1000 of these bars next time. I informed her that I only received two dollars in pocket money each week and that a single Snickers bar would cost close to this. Even if I did have the money, it was still highly unlikely that the Mars confectionary factory in Melbourne would be willing to deliver a truckload of these bars to remote Tidley Creek. The cost to them in terms of time and petrol would probably make it a totally impractical proposition. And even if they were willing to do this, how would I explain the sudden mountain of Snickers bars in our front yard to my parents? To simply suggest to them that I had a huge craving for Snickers bars would definitely not go down so well. Besides, I was not allowed more than one chocolate per day. A thousand snickers bars would last almost three years!

'Don't worry!' smiled Majika. 'Dementia will work out a way!' Now I was really worried. Having just recently been involved in the infamous Pizza Hut abduction, I was in no mood to become involved in the disappearance of an entire chocolate factory.

Frother appreciated the compass. He would test its accuracy next time he travelled. The compass looked like a five cent coin in his enormous paws. He truly appreciated the thought, though.

Meanwhile, the biggest of all gutses had finished off all three bags of blowflies in two seconds flat. He had consumed them like peanuts. All that was left were their wings, which he had deliberately extracted. He would be making 'Blowfly wing and Oachroach head soup' for an afternoon snack. Yum! He insisted that I try it. I politely declined.

'Can I pleathe altho put in an order for next time?' he lisped. Suddenly, a huge group of Flisters, in close formation, appeared in the purple sky. Dangling below them in an ornately carved, velvet-cushioned high chair was the stunningly beautiful Witchway. It was not some sort of magical flying chair, though. Rather, it was dangling in midair from four strong ropes that were tightly secured to the arms and legs of the chair. At least 100 Flisters were supporting its load from above. Her landing was about as graceful as that of a hot air balloon on a windy day. I have to tell you, she absolutely loved her new Rastafarian beanie. Its bright colourful stripes were totally in keeping with her personal tastes in clothing. She loved the symbolism of the peace sign that was sewn to the front.

Fluffel and Hildegard spotted me and could be seen steadily approaching. From a distance, they resembled an oversized hockey stick chasing after a fluffy beach ball. I was so pleased to see that Fluffel's thick fur coat had grown back almost completely already. I was also pleased to see that Hildegard had made a full recovery from the paralysis-poisoning. She still had residual nerve damage to her fingers, but she was hopeful that this would improve with time. It made sewing more difficult, but not impossible. Her beautiful shimmering blue Lentina scales were also starting to grow back.

Being fashion gurus, Hildegard and Hairy were fascinated by Witchway's new beanie. They caressed and scrunched this new soft, stretchy woollen fabric. Hildegard was therefore delighted to receive her Carlton Blues scarf. She could not stop touching the wool. It must have wrapped around her scrawny neck about ten times. Likewise, Fluffel loved his Carlton Blues beanie. However, when he put it on, it literally gobbled him up from head to toe. All that could be seen was the beanie. He could not even see where he was going. The practical-minded Hildegard quickly resolved this minor problem by cutting two neat holes to accommodate his brown, puppy-dog eyes. It was now perfect. Despite looking like a walking beanie, he refused to take it off. He felt as snug as a bug in a rug.

'Where does this magnificent fabric come from?' asked Hildegard.

"It comes from sheep.' I replied. 'Merino sheep to be precise.' 'Are thethe Merino theep of which you thpeak a plant or an animal?' asked Hairy.

'An animal.' I replied. 'We cut off their fur, which is called wool, just like Soul wizards remove the fur from Wobbits. It also grows back fairly quickly.'

'Can we put in an order please?' asked Hildegard matter-of-factly. 'We are happy to take delivery next time you are here.'

'Well, umm... You see,—'

'No need to go to the hassle of placing orders,' smiled Dementia, 'when we can create the wool right here!'

I was completely unaware that Dementia had been standing directly behind me, eavesdropping. That's the problem with being friends with a Soul wizard who does not have lungs, and therefore does not make breathing noises!

'You mean, like a synthetic wool equivalent?' I asked. 'No!' smiled Dementia. 'I mean the genuine article!'

'You mean somehow duplicating these existing strands?' I asked.

I imagined him pulling out a fancy device that can make additional copies of an item by simply scanning it. I seemed to recall having once seen a contraption similar to this in a sci-fi movie.

'No!' smiled Dementia. 'Even more authentic than that!' 'Please help me God!' I thought and swallowed hard. 'You mean... You mean—'

### CHAPTER 48

### SAY HI TO BAAA-RI (BARRY)

'Yes, Alex!' smiled Dementia, 'I'm going to make an exact clone of the sheep from which this wool was harvested.'

I gulped. 'But how are—'

'You see, the wool from the articles of clothing that you brought along contains this sheep creature's genetic coding,' smiled Dementia. 'Being a simple creature, it is very easy to replicate!'

I have to say that I felt quite insulted. Judging from the speed with which Dementia had made an exact clone of me, it suggested that I must also be considered a _simple_ creature. I was also irritated that Dementia had painfully sliced the tip of my finger to get my DNA, when it now seemed apparent that he could have simply used a strand of my ginger hair. I could not contain my anger.

'Why didn't you just use a few strands of my hair when you made my clone?' I shouted. 'Instead of slicing off the entire tip of my finger!' The pain at the time was really intense. Did Dementia have a nasty, sadistic side to his personality?

'It was hardly the entire tip of your finger Alex,' laughed Dementia. 'It was only the outermost layer of epidermis. Anyway, the answer is simple. We were in a hurry. Skin DNA replicates much quicker than hair DNA.'

I immediately felt guilty for my ridiculous outcry and apologised profusely to the offended wizard. Dementia accepted my apology and removed a few small strands of the colourful wool from the pompom on the top of Witchway's Rastafarian beanie. He intertwined the strands and then started to recite the 'clone spell' in a distinctively Bishop Tutu-like accent, whilst dancing around like Shaka Zulu.

The Powers that Be, please unlock the code

That makes these sheep with an Earth abode

Work these strands of fleecy wool

And make one of them appear in full

After almost half an hour of waiting, the sheep's green, yellow and red striped head started to materialise. It bleated loudly as its bright three-stripe body and limbs slowly began to emerge as well. The first creature that it saw was Dementia and immediately bonded with the Soul wizard. Instead of mother-child bonding, it was Soul wizard-Merino sheep bonding.

'Hello, dear colourful Merino sheep!' smiled Dementia warmly and patted its fleecy coat. 'What is your name?'

The Merino sheep completely ignored Dementia and waddled off towards a delicious patch of shimmering silver grass. It then proceeded to graze happily, totally oblivious to its surroundings or any of the kerfuffle around it.

'Of course!' smiled Dementia. 'I have not fitted the translator chip as yet!'

Dementia reached into one of his enormous pockets and pulled out what looked like a metal syringe. He pressed a button and a sharp, menacing needle popped out. He then went up to the Merino sheep and jabbed the poor creature in the neck. The startled creature let out a larger than normal bleat and kicked out its back legs.

'Thaaat was soooore, Daaaadddy,' it bleated in a completely understandable tone. 'Whhhhy did you huuuurt meeeeee like thaaaaat!'

'Sorry, Merino sheep! I won't do that again I promise!' smiled Dementia. "What is your name?"

'It's Baaaaa-ri.' bleated Barry rather matter-of-factly. 'This grass is deeee-liii-cious, Daaaadddy.'

'Welcome to the Land of Hope, Baaaaa-ri!' smiled Dementia. 'This grass is deeee-liii-cious, Daaaaadddy,' replied Barry. 'We are delighted to have you here!' smiled Dementia.

'This grass is deeee-liii-cious, Daaaaadddy,' repeated Barry. 'I am not your daaaadddy!' shouted Dementia.

'This grass is deeee-liii-cious, Daaaaadddy.'

For the rest of the day, Barry followed Dementia like a shadow. If Dementia moved, Barry moved. If Dementia stopped, Barry stopped. The father and new fleecy son were bonding!

Adding to Dementia's frustration was the Rubik's Cube that I had presented him with. He twisted and turned it furiously and took the repeated failures very personally. He took out his mounting anger and frustration on poor Barry.

'If you comment one more time about how delicious the grass is, or call me "daaaaaddy" one more time,' shouted Dementia, 'I swear, I'll shove this bloody Rubik's cube thingamabob down your throat.'

Barry replied in the only way that his simple brain knew. 'This grass is deeee-liii-cious, Daaaaadddy.'

'Open wide!' screamed Dementia.

Whilst Dementia continued to 'bond' with Barry, Sked busily began planting the seeds that I had just presented him with. He was very excited. The sooner he planted them, the sooner they would sprout.

### CHAPTER 49

### THE CEREMONY

A huge number of visitors had arrived for the ceremony to celebrate the opening of the new town mall in the Land of Hope. They included Soul wizards, Sugar fairies, Doolan dragons, Burlian ironworkers, Modesta unicorns, Tarantin trolls, Fwitches, Flisters, Tishy gnomes, Dragon dogs, Golfibobs, two enormous Wolly worms, and a contingent of over 200 liquid mercury-winged Carbanaras... _what... oh yes... of course_... and a Sugar fairy purse full of Drudger worms (sorry Drudgers!). Even the Mystical forest and all of its Shrewd tree residents had been pulled through Witchway's crystal ball for the occasion. They would not have missed this day for the world. For, all present, also saw today as an opportunity to celebrate the victory of the allies over Pugnacious and Traizon.

The melting-pot of weird and wonderful species who called this place home were also out-and-about mingling with their guests. These included the Bumroles (Wertheimer's species), the oversized porcupine-like Pollavers, the Coolaboohs, the Lentinas, and the monkey-faced, tiger-bodied Mongers.

Frother and Sked were given the honours of carrying the enormous, incredibly heavy glass pavers towards their meticulously prepared locations. Dementia was given the honour of being master of ceremonies.

Frother's paver contained the fossilised soul of Pugnacious whilst Sked's contained the fossilised soul of Traizon. Despite Frother and Sked's physical appearance being so strikingly different, their personality traits were almost identical. Both were very humble, law-abiding citizens, with hearts of gold and courage galore. They were the loyal friend that everyone wished to have, but very few ever found.

Frother's long curly eyelashes fluttered and his ears twitched. He was clearly quite embarrassed about being the centre of attention. Hairy, who was perched precariously on the tip of Frother's nose, waved proudly to the crowd of excited onlookers. He even took a few bows.

Once the pavers were carefully put into place, Dementia stepped up to the podium. Barry followed behind him and started eating the podium carpeting. 'This grass is—'

Barry stopped mid sentence as Dementia waved the Rubik's cube at him in warning. Barry was not so dumb after all. Having nearly choked to death on it an hour earlier, he now knew not to mess with Dementia.

'Good citizens of the Land of Hope and all of our friendly neighbours,' began Dementia. 'Today is a very proud moment for all of us. Our new homeland is now complete. Let the pavers that contain the tainted souls of Pugnacious and Traizon stand as a constant reminder of our struggle for peace and freedom. May it also serve remind us _forever_ of those who bravely lost their lives in this pursuit! I am delighted to introduce the best riddle magic Soul wizard in the whole of Flush Fleas – the one and only Ridfiddle!'

The large crowd applauded loudly.

'His riddle magic will prevent these pavers from ever being cracked open or removed'.

Riddle magic is one of the most ancient and complex of all supernatural arts. It prevents objects from being removed irrespective of what tools are used or how much brute force is applied. It basically modifies the laws of nature. The object will remain stubbornly in place until such time as the riddle that protects it has been solved.

Ridfiddle's reputation for brilliance in riddle magic was unsurpassed. Not a single one of his riddles had ever been solved. They protected the 'Dividian Stone' of the Burlian ironworkers and the 'Sacred Sterling Seeds' of the Golfibobs. More recently, he had produced a riddle spell to protect the 'Sacred Jewels' that power Flush Fleas. He thanked Dementia for the kind introduction and then commenced with his riddle magic in a very deep tone.

Two stone infested souls are trapped in glass

Freedom for them, is now just a thing of the past

In order to escape, they would need to know

What keeps on giving but never knows?

The two pavers suddenly became bathed in a bright purple glowing aura. Ridfiddle explained that whilst this aura was absolutely fine to walk over, it would violently repel all attempts to break through it and get to these glass pavers. He did a demonstration by trying to stab his sword through it. The sword was flung from his hand with such enormous force that it became deeply lodged into the top of a wooden beam that was three metres high and about 20 metres away.

Had he been unaware of what was about to happen, the force would have easily broken his wrist. I take that back... I keep forgetting that Soul wizards do not have bones to break! Notwithstanding this, it would have jolted him quite severely.

Until the riddle was solved, the glow would remain this strong forever. This was a very comforting thought. I must say that I have spent hours on end trying to solve the riddle – but only in my head. If I had, by chance, managed to stumble upon the correct answer, I would never have dared vocalise it aloud.

We all took turns walking over the fossilised remains of Traizon and Pugnacious. To me, the aura felt like a springy trampoline. A cold shiver went down my spine as I remembered the pain and suffering that they had orchestrated.

Many of those who had lost loved ones at the hands of these evil creatures looked downwards and hurled abuse. For many, it was a very cathartic experience and helped give them closure. I wondered whether either of these villains were in any way aware of what was going on above them. Even Dementia could not answer this because it was the first time to his knowledge that souls had ever been fossilised.

Pugnacious and Traizon could easily have answered this question because they were, in fact, totally conscious of their plight and bitching to one another – telepathically. They were like an unhappily married couple forced to live in close proximity 24/7. The only things they shared in common were deep resentment, a desire to escape, and an intense yearning for revenge.

'If only you had listened to me and concentrated on ascending,' whinged Pugnacious, 'those damn Shrewd trees would never have gotten us! Now these pathetic creatures above get to walk all over us whenever they want to. How utterly humiliating!'

'Boring!' shouted Traizon. 'For the millionth time, I was trying to ascend, bubble head! The 63 Soul wizards' downwards pull was simply stronger than our upwards push!'

'Never!' screamed Pugnacious. 'If we had both worked together, we—'

' _Boring_!' smirked Traizon bitterly.

'Listen, dumbarse!' shouted Pugnacious. 'If ever I do escape, you will be the first on the chopping block!'

'Promises, promises!' laughed Traizon.

Whilst these two pavers boiled over with anger and resentment, everyone else relaxed and enjoyed the festivities. All the new shops were opened, including Hairy and Hildegard's top-end fashion boutique, Sked's art studio, and Frother's modest blacksmith. Other shops included a grocery store and a general household appliances store.

The Doolan dragons' fire-blowing competitions were amongst the most amazing spectacles that I have ever witnessed. The individual events ranged from who could blow the longest flame, to who could keep a single flame alive for the longest period of time, to who could produce the most ferocious flame in terms of radiant heat. Frother won first prize in the competition to see who could to keep a single flame alive for the longest period of time. We were all so proud of him. He also finished an honourable second in the ferocious flame competition. He managed to melt more than six sheets of twelve gauge metal with one single flame. His weak point was distance. This is something that he would have to work on for next time.

The Burlian ironworkers competed rigorously for the coveted honour of who would be first to produce a perfectly flat metal sheet less that a millimetre thick from the original twelve-centimetre-thick solid iron blocks that they all started out with. Their powerful muscles rippled and their bodies glistened in sweat as they pounded down repeatedly with their enormous metal sledgehammers. They looked like mythical Greek gods. The sound of metal pounding against metal was incredible. It sent me into a trance. Their arrow-shooting competition was also amazing to watch. The precision of their shooting defied belief! They managed to consistently hit targets the size of cherries from over 200 metres away.

Spurred on by the spirit of competition, I unveiled my pigskin Sheridan footy and introduced a few of my companions to Australian Rules football. To my delight, they all seemed to take to the game fairly well. At first, it was hard for Frother and Majika to avoid the temptation to fly up into the air in pursuit of the leather projectile. However, they soon adjusted to remaining on the ground. Sked proved to have a ferocious kick. One of his kicks sent the footy sailing more than 90 metres through the air. It then travelled a further 50 metres along the ground. Frother's handballs were equally impressive. Dementia proved to have excellent spring in his 250-year-old legs. He took a few spectacular marks. Even the legendary Carlton star, Alex Jesaulenko, would have been impressed. Dementia's major problem was his landings, which were no quite so elegant. Zoola, Eldorian, Felterain and Spledan displayed the speed of cheetahs and the agility of gazelles. Poor Hairy and Fluffel simply tried their best to avoid being concussed. To his credit, Hairy did manage to secure the grounded ball once. He then ran on top of it like a log-rolling lumberjack. However, he eventually lost his balance and fell forwards headfirst. He decided to hang up his footy boots after this. Willowood and Violeena were not particularly good. They were too slow and stocky. I would have to introduce them to rugby.

Meantime, Barry was proving to be a real hit with the kids. They loved his colourful coat and his simple approach to life.

'Hello, Baaaaa-ri,' smiled Willowood. 'Are you enjoying the ceremony?'

'This grass is deee-li-cious!' replied Barry.

This line was gradually becoming the reggae sheep's calling card. His simple desire from life for nothing other than a good feed made him totally unthreatening and well-liked by all the citizens. Everyone could learn something from his simple outlook.

Hairy was showing himself to be a real entrepreneur and an outright scoundrel. He had a sharp pair of scissors at hand and was busily selling chunks of Barry's colourful fleece coat. Customers would select the section of fleece that they wanted, and Hairy would then hack away ruthlessly. By the end of the day, Barry looked like he had been put through an enormous paper shredder and Hairy's pockets were lined with wealth.

The pumpkin spider spat the dummy when Dementia insisted that at least half the proceeds be shared with Barry given the blatant exploitation that he was subjected to.

'But he doethn't care about hith coat! It will grow back! All he wantth ith delithiouth grathth!' cried the lisping pumpkin spider.

'And there ith plenty of grathth all around him. What doeth he need half of my proceedth for? What could he poththibly want to purchathe anyway?' Hairy slammed his 30 feet into the ground angrily before continuing. 'It'th totally wediculous and unweasonable!'

'The decision is final, Hairy!' shouted Dementia. 'Fine!' screamed Hairy. 'You have ruined my day!'

In a weird combination of protest and rage, Hairy started hacking at his own bristly orange hair and throwing chunks into the air. 'And now you've also ruined my fine looks!' he cried.

His protest was so ridiculous that we all burst into tears of laughter. Even Hairy eventually saw the funny side. That was until he inadvertently caught sight of his new reflection in Frother's large eyes.

### CHAPTER 50

### IT CAN'T BE, CAN IT?

'Two stone infested souls are trapped in glass... Freedom for them, is now just a thing of the past... In order to escape, they would need to know... What keeps on giving but never knows?... Hmmm, shouldn't be too hard for my Sethonian brain to solve!' thought __________.
