

# TWIN SPIRIT

MATTHEW THOMPSON

# TWIN SPIRIT

by Matthew Thompson

# PUBLISHED BY:

Marooned Publishing

Smashwords Edition: Twin Spirit

Copyright 2011 by Matthew Thompson

This Ebook Edition First Published 2017

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Dedicated to my family

# CHAPTER ONE

Remember, Remember

Maybe today you'll slip and drown in the stream, or fall from a tree. Maybe you'll get hit by a firework – a fatal hit. That would make my–

"Serving soon!" shouted a faint, manly voice through the vibrant autumn forest of Hampshire, England.

"Okay!" yelped Rose, without seeing her father.

_Yeah, don't be late to stuff your face_.

Rose picked up a cluster of tree branches and placed them into a wheelbarrow. She reached for more. "Eww!" she gasped, watching the biggest, fattest and no doubt deadliest spider ever crawling over the branch. "You can have it."

In a hurry, Rose pushed the barrow away from the monster. The wheel bumped over the damp, leafy ground as she trundled towards home.

The sun shone low and bright through the trees, causing the leaves to glow, though barely warming the birds that tweeted, whooped and whistled.

Rose attempted to whistle a tune she had heard on the radio. But her technique was more breezy than tuneful, so she broke into a hum instead while crossing over a small bridge, listening to the chuckling stream. She passed a dying tree house, infected with rot and covered in a blanket of moss, then climbed a steep hill, making good use of her green wellies. She soon arrived at the fence that divided the Ashworths' home from the forest. The fence was also in a sorry state, it too tainted with rot.

Rose's father knelt at the bottom of the garden, arranging a pile of branches. His hair was a shade darker than the bark he held in his hands. He was clean-shaven, and Rose thought he looked younger since removing his facial bristle.

"Dad," said Rose, breathing heavily as she stood behind the rickety fence.

"Be right with you, sweetheart." He stood and turned. "Wow! Look at _that_ lot. You needn't have cut down half the forest, love."

Rose brimmed with a smile and let out a squeaky giggle. "There's more if you want."

"More? It'll be burning till next November with any more." He placed his large earthy hands onto the wheelbarrow and lifted it along with Rose. The wheel bounced on the ground with a _thump_. "Careful over the fence."

_Please fall_.

"And, sweetie, you're sprouting leaves in your hair."

"Oh." She raked her fingers through her tangled blonde tresses and discovered a leaf, followed by another.

"Take your wellies off outside," he said, clutching two large handfuls of timber and placing them neatly amongst the six-foot pyramid of branches. The structure was far taller than Rose, but not her father, who stood the same height.

Sitting on the porch step, she watched excitedly as he worked, imagining the blaze and fireworks. "Looks really good, Dad."

_He's a carpenter, you muppet, it should be. (Sigh) If only you could hear me – I'd call you worse than a muppet_.

"Better be, being a carpenter and all," he said.

Rose smiled, then wriggled out of her wellies. She then noticed a man sitting with his head slumped over his chest, and reached towards his newspaper-stuffed head to give Guy Fawkes a better view of his deathbed.

* * *

Three o'clock struck while Rose waited patiently at the finely crafted dining table. She and her father ate their Sunday roast, chatting about fireworks, Guy Fawkes, red squirrels and the biggest, fattest, deadliest spider Rose had ever seen.

Sophie, their pet fleabag puss, curled up next to the house fire, occasionally flicking her paws, ears and whiskers – in cat land.

"Oh, I spoke to Mary's father earlier. He's bringing her and Lynn over, 'round seven-ish," said Rose's father as he prepared a forkful of roast potato. "He told me he's got a new motor; the one from the new James Bond film. Must be doing well for himself. More gravy, love?"

" _Hum-hum_." Rose nodded, unable to speak due to her full chops and enjoying every chew. "Lynn's grandma isn't well, so ( _gulp_ ) they're not having a bonfire this year," she said, finally.

"Ah, I see. Well, the more the merrier. Lynn, she's the youngest out of you three?"

"Yeah, she's ten in January."

"Double figures for you soon."

_Ugh_ ... _die already_.

Rose thought of her coming birthday. She gave her father a gentle smile, before glancing towards the darkening garden. "Should be dry tonight, I heard on the radio this morning, and a full moon."

"That's good, we don't want soggy fireworks, now do we?" He followed her gaze to the descending sun. "Yes, we'll have a night to remember. Maybe that spider friend of yours will come visit."

"Don't say that!"

* * *

With her belly stuffed, Rose lay on the settee while her father clanged and clattered in the kitchen.

As the night swamped the house, Rose's eyes became heavy. Wearily, she watched the black and white television screen. The programme featured four musicians from Liverpool. Rose was intrigued by what they called themselves. Three of them stood and one sat, waiting with their instruments at the ready.

"Please, everybody, raise your hands," said the presenter, "for The Beatles!"

The band played a catchy tune about holding hands. Rose realised it was the song she'd been humming earlier. She made another connection with The Beatles. Rose was born in a car called a Beetle, on 9 December 1954: a fateful day for the Ashworths; a day she refused to celebrate.

Rose made a mental note to ask her father about the band later as her laden belly impaired her from even sitting up.

"You watching this, love?" said her father, carrying a newspaper into the living room.

"No..." she said, barely awake.

"Right-o." He turned off the television and sank into his armchair, ruffling the paper.

Rose opened and closed her eyes, watching the white dot in the centre of the screen slowly fade from sight. Slowly fade away.

* * *

An unmistakable sound disrupted Rose's dreamy thoughts. Two beams of light shone through the window, illuminating the living room. Raising her sleepy head, she noticed her father's absence and stood stretched onto her tiptoes, observing the impressive vehicle beyond the blossom tree.

A quick time check revealed eight fifty-six. They're late to arrive _,_ she thought. "Dad – Dad!"

No response.

The sound of the Aston Martin DB5 came to a throbbing halt as Rose searched for her father. Inside the kitchen, she caught a glimpse of flickering light in the window, dancing in the darkness. The bonfire was full of life.

She scrambled to the porch and slipped on her flip-flops, dashing outside. "Dad, you started without me!" she complained, unable to hide her excitement.

"Only just got it going, love," he said. "Didn't want to wake my sleeping princess, now, did I?" He gave Rose a smile, placed his arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze.

"Oh, they're here," she said.

Two girls hurried down the side of the cottage, followed by Mary's parents. Mary bellowed with laughter as Lynn skid on something slippery.

"Rosey... Oh wow, great fire!" shouted Mary, the loudest of the girls: not just in her tone of voice either, but in everything – clothes, toys, even perfume. With long, sleek, blonde hair, a well-maintained face and the latest fashion accessories, Mary had it all. She lived with her parents on a wealthy estate, surrounded by three acres of land: an eight-minute car journey to Rose's house, or roughly the same time on foot through the forest.

"Hi, Rose, looks fab," said a far more soothing voice. Lynn lived with her parents, a family known for looking after their pennies. A girl never spoilt with gifts, though as with Rose, that didn't matter. Her shoulder-length mousey-brown hair looked well groomed, held in perfect position with a white hair-band. She looked thoughtful, displaying signs of concern for her ill grandmother.

"Evening, George," said Mary's father. A well-built man, though slightly the shorter of the two fathers, he wore a long trench coat and glossy shoes that reflected the flames.

"Evening all, glad you could make it," said Rose's father. "Brilliant night, eh?"

No...

"Oh, it is. And how are you, keeping busy?" asked Mary's mother, adjusting her fur coat and sidestepping a slug.

"Fine thanks, Ruth, you know, plodding on. How about yourselves?"

"Very well," said Mary's father. "Not long now, three or so weeks until she pops!" He grinned and placed his hand over his wife's large round belly.

"You thought of a name yet?" asked Rose's father.

"Ruth has many, haven't you, darling. What have you narrowed it down to now – twenty or so?"

"Shut _up_. No, we haven't decided yet. I think I'll know when I see her. Did you know what you were calling Rose?"

"Well, Violet had already covered that. Probably some ten years before Rose was even born." He looked to his daughter and chuckled.

"When are the fireworks going off, Rose?" asked Mary. "We've brought our own, _really big_ ones."

"When George is ready, sweetheart – ah, cheers," said Mary's father, taking hold of a chilled beverage. "I don't suppose you have red wine?"

"Erm... sorry, Pete, all out."

"Not to worry," he said, turning to his wife, who stared at the beer-can with wanting eyes. "No drink for you, darling. Do you have any orange juice, George?"

"I do. Rose, can you pour Ruth an orange?"

"Okay," she said, and skipped away.

Inside the kitchen Rose closed the fridge door, then noticed her chums enter with mischievous expressions.

"Hey," whispered Mary, "me and Lynn are going out later, when everyone's in bed. I have this book my Grandpa gave me for Halloween – well, I kinda took it. A book of spells, like what witches use and that!" she said, with great enthusiasm but trying not to raise her voice. "Isn't that right?"

Lynn nodded. "Yeah, but you can't let anyone know, okay?"

Rose looked at the glass and began to pour the orange juice. "But we have school tomorrow," she said, realising she sounded like a true teacher's pet and party-pooper, all rolled into one.

"We'll not be out all night," said Lynn. "But it's a full moon tonight, and we looked at the spells and a lot say it must be a full moon to work, like."

"Really...?" said Rose, looking less than convinced. "Well, okay, for an hour or so, I guess."

"We were thinking midnight. We'll head into the forest, down to the lake. I've got a torch, do you have one?" asked Mary.

"The lake, at _that_ time? I don't know..."

" _Awwww_ ... you afraid of the lake _monsters_?"

Yeah, she's a wuss.

"No... just prefer not to go _there_ , that's all."

"All right, the Bowl then?"

Rose bit her lower lip. "Okay," she said, finally.

"So you got a torch or what?"

"My dad has, he's got it outside."

Mary smiled. "Great, we'll–"

"What's great?" said a male voice by the door.

Mary glanced at the window, then looked her father directly in the eye. "Rose's bonfire," she said, thinking quickly, which came easily to her as she lied about many things.

"Yes, you've done a grand job there, Rose, you and your father. I'm just popping to your loo. Where is it again?"

"Upstairs, the first door on your left."

"Gotcha. Erm, how's that orange coming along?"

"Oh yeah, sorry, I was talking too much," she said, pouring the rest of the juice.

"Ta, love. Take it out to Ruth. George said he'd light the first firework soon; you don't want to miss it."

"One of ours!" exclaimed Mary. "The Star Blaster, or the Thunder – _thingy_."

"I don't know, sweetheart – we'll see them all eventually, won't we. Right, I'm off."

* * *

When Mary's father returned to the fire, the awaiting crowd were watching the first firework being prepared. Once lit, they all stood back with exposed teeth. The rocket, "Stunner" emblazoned along the side, shot out like a bullet, screeching into the sky, and finished its journey with a flash and mighty _bang!_ However, very little else.

"Try one from our box, the Star Blaster! _Please_ ," said Mary.

"All right. Sorry, George, we'd better get this one up," said Mary's father.

They all stood back in immense anticipation. Within five seconds, the rocket roared towards the stars and blasted amongst them; at least, it appeared to. One after another, reds, greens, blues and violet sparks lit the sky, accompanied by cries of "Whoa...!", "Wow...!" and "Amazing...!".

"That was a good one, eh?" said Mary's father.

"I _told_ you," said Mary. "Let's have another from our box."

The fireworks blasted, squawked, fizzled, sparked and banged for a good hour or so. The bonfire kept burning all evening, tended by Rose's father with occasional help from Rose, and Guy Fawkes made his contribution.

They retreated into the cottage, all smelling of smoke. Mary's parents wished to stay longer, but her mother's back begged for a bed. They said their thanks and goodbyes, and they left. But Mary was clearly still excited as she climbed into the back of the Aston Martin; she knew the night had only started.

Rose sat on the stairs thinking about promises, and breaking them. With that thought, she slipped into the porch and grabbed the torch. Keeping it up her pyjama sleeve, she said goodnight to her father, brushed her teeth and went to bed.

Sophie was woken as she slid under the duvet. With all paws stretched at once, the fleabag gave a quick scratch, curled up and returned to her nap.

Rose knew her father would check up on her, to see she was asleep. Sure enough, twenty minutes later he arrived. She lay still, eyes closed, and breathed heavily.

Light in the room diminished, followed by the landing light. The household was brought to a close by a light _click_ of his door.

Surrounded by darkness and silence, she looked towards another cat, which beamed with a smile while its eyes and tail waved from side to side. According to Tickey, it was sixteen minutes past eleven. Rose sighed with sleepy thoughts while her eyes begged to surrender to the night.

_If you don't go, you're an even bigger wuss than the wussiest of wussies_.

# CHAPTER TWO

Awaken

At first, Rose didn't know what to think. Although her dream had been interrupted, she wasn't sure why, until she heard a sharp _tap_ , and then _rat-at-tap-tap_ , as a small stone hit the window and bounced down the porch roof.

Rose realised what was happening. A sudden glance at Tickey revealed it was five minutes past midnight. She pushed off the duvet and crept to the window.

Mary was about to throw another "wake-up stone" when Rose pulled back the curtains, revealing the vibrant full moon. She gently opened the window, feeling the chilly air brush her skin.

"You fell asleep, didn't you!" Mary complained in a whisper. "I _told_ Lynn you would – hurry up."

"I'll be right down," Rose whispered back, and then slipped on her chequered navy and white school uniform, as her other clothes were either in the wash or still drying. She was determined not to get mucky; the sight of dirt would no doubt give away her mischievous night-time escapade.

The window opened as far as it would go. Rose peered down to see her wellies by the porch door. She stepped through the window, leaving it ajar, and carefully placed her foot onto the joining brackets of the drainpipe, easing herself down.

As Rose touched the cold paving stone she was greeted by Mary's face, lit from below by her torch. "I _knew_ you'd fall asleep," said Mary, turning towards Lynn. "Didn't I tell you?"

Lynn held a dictionary-sized book with both hands. She raised her eyebrows and walked towards Rose. "I could have fallen asleep too, had she not been with me."

"You two are useless. Let's go before the sun rises, yeah?"

Rose squeezed into her wellies, shivering, and followed the girls down the garden. She stopped to spread her hands over the dying bonfire. Slight heat rose from the glow; she absorbed all the warmth she could.

"Where's your torch?" asked Mary, half over the fence.

"Ummm... Oh, I forgot," she said, looking back to her window.

Mary sighed. "For God's sake! Fine, we'll have to share. Here, have mine. I'll take the book."

The three girls reached the Bowl in six minutes. There, they found a small pool of damp leaves, with log seats protruding from beneath. They had named it the Bowl because the ground was sculptured into a crater-like shape, the length and depth of a family car. Some opined a forest troll had made it for bathing. Others said a tiny asteroid had created it; but Rose had seen _The Sky at Night_ and knew otherwise.

"All right," said Mary. "Take a seat, and hold this."

Rose took the bulky black witch book; at four inches thick, it was even heavier than it looked. The cover was fashioned of real leather, and Rose could smell the aroma of the hide. An embroidered symbol of three polished spirals adorned the front.

They sat on the damp timber, the moonlight piercing through the tree branches, and Mary began flipping through the pages. She arrived at spell that intrigued her: Lies to Loss. The spell she read aloud, would cause any being who lied to lose a vowel from his or her speech.

Rose looked at Lynn and made a face. They both grinned at each other, unsure whether to laugh out loud for fear of upsetting the reader.

"Tell a lie then, Mary, you're good at that," urged Rose.

"I am, and I will, if you're too... _chicken_ to do it." She coughed to clear her throat. A serious voice came forth:

" _If thou shall lie tonight, a tongue will tie in spite,_

Let a lie live, don't expect a vowel to give,

Lose one, lose two, three, and four; don't wish to tell anymore,

A liar shall descend into her deceitful hole, therefore a mistrusting soul,

Should Lynn Parks want to try, remember this rhyme and never lie."

"Hey! Not _me_ – don't put it on _me_ ," cried Lynn, jumping to her feet and waving her hands with frenzy.

"Tell a lie," prompted Mary. Her head moved closer with an expression of intrigue.

Lynn looked at Rose, who offered a sideways smile and said, "Just prove her wrong."

Unenthused, Lynn covered her head in her arms and said, "I don't _want_ to."

Mary sighed. "Just say I can fly!" She placed the book down and stood on the log. With reaching hands, she began flapping her arms. "I can fly high, like the birdies of the sky!" she bellowed, then stopped flapping. "Say that."

Rose and Lynn burst into laughter, though Lynn's resonated with nerves. Nonetheless, she slowly placed the torch under her chin and said, "I can fly high, like birdies in the sky."

"Anything?" asked Mary. "Say something."

Lynn looked at Rose and back to Mary. "Something –" she uttered, followed by a relieved sigh. "I don't think the spell worked. My speech is fine. My speech is absolutely fine!" she added, shedding her anxiety.

Mary looked puzzled and picked up the book. "Maybe I read it wrong or something. Let's try another. Rose, you read one."

"What? Must I?"

"Yes, pick one."

Rose took hold of the book with reluctance. She held the torch in one hand and turned the pages with the other. The book looked worn and ancient; some pages were stained, possibly by tea or coffee. She continued to flip, glancing at the titles, paying little attention, until one struck her. It read: _Spirit Awaken_. She paused, glancing at the page number: three-hundred and four. Her temptation to read was deflated by her company. Instead, she continued to search, discovering a spell simply titled Toads. Rose beamed with delight; she knew how much Mary hated anything slimy. Especially green and slimy.

* * *

For Rose, time in the forest had crawled. The three had been sitting in the Bowl for well over an hour, and not one spell had astounded or vaguely enlightened. Their toes had become slightly numb. Fingers and noses also felt the pinch of the late autumn temperature.

Mary bounced up and leapt out of the Bowl, dragging Lynn with her. "Hide and seek! Find us if you can!" She dashed behind trees. "Count to fifty, Rose!" she shouted from a distance.

Lynn looked lost for a moment, and then began to follow in Mary's steps. "Wait for meee!"

Rose relished the prospect of energising her lukewarm blood. She placed the book down and began to count to fifty from zero.

Approximately forty-seven seconds later:

". . . forty-eight, forty-nine... fifty!" She stepped out of the Bowl, torch in hand. "Ready or not! Here I come!"

The light shone amongst the trees and bushes as she searched with two sharp eyes and sensitive ears. She followed the trodden path, wandered passed the tree swing, crossed the shallow stream and arrived at the lake to consider hiding places.

Small rafts bobbed and scraped against the lake edge. Being all alone by the water caused Rose to turn in circles, listening to any sounds that threatened her comfort zone, which had already been severely breached.

Not wanting to remain, she began to head back to the Bowl, thinking they wouldn't have hidden at the old mill, or beyond the lake. And surely not at the farmhouse – or would they?

Lonely as ever, Rose sat in the Bowl. With folded arms, she hummed with thoughts of leaving. If the seeker gives up, the game is over, isn't it? "You can come out now!" she shouted with chilled hands cupped around her mouth. "I've given up! You win!"

Not a whisper.

"I've had enough! I'm going home!"

Nothing.

With a whine and an irritated huff, Rose reached for the book and flipped through the pages. She then remembered _that_ spell. The title alone caused her throat to pinch. "Spirit Awaken," she uttered. The text covered a whole page, and word for word she read under her misty breath. The final descriptive paragraph was soon finished. She paused for a deep breath, and began the spell:

" _Spirits, open your eyes, for your time has come to rise,_

Beyond Heaven, beyond Earth, a spirit shall rebirth,

A voice of tales will speak through ghostly veils,

The closet spirit shall be blessed, for she is now your guest,

Two worlds to forever unite, and time for the spirit one to awaken, roam and fright."

Rose glanced to her left, right, then closed the book, cringing. She cupped her hands to call out one last time, when:

" _Boooo!_ "

The frightening voice hurtled from behind. Something pointy jabbed into Rose's back. Reality became slow-motion as she couldn't turn around fast enough. She half stood, twisted in body, and glanced at the figure behind.

"Ha-ha! Made you jump!" cried Mary, barely able to speak amid her laughter. "You were _so_ scared!" she continued, giggling without control.

Rose didn't move, but frowned and began to breathe again. "Don't _ever_ do that!" she yelled, repositioning herself to appear a little less terrified.

"Sorry, it was her idea," said Lynn.

With the torch beneath her chin, Mary spoke in her spooky voice. "OooOooo... don't be frightened, girlies," she said, before shining the light into Rose's eyes, turning it on and off repeatedly.

"I'm going home," said Rose, squinting into the flashing light.

"Don't be boring," said Mary, dancing the light over Rose as she stepped out of the Bowl. "Okay..." she added, in a tone that sounded almost apologetic, "my turn to seek. Go on, go hide. I'll count to fifty."

Rose walked past them without making eye contact.

"Don't go," said Lynn, "we can play something else. Whatever you want, eh, Mary?"

"Sure..." she said.

Rose stepped towards home, then turned to face them. "No, it's not that, I'm just tired. You do whatever you like."

"Bye then," said Mary.

"We'll walk home with you," said Lynn.

"No, no. I'll see you both at school, okay?"

Lynn nodded.

She turned and headed home, and could hear faint whispers from behind. Unable to make out what was being said, she realised she no longer cared.

* * *

Out of sight from prying eyes, Rose had walked for three minutes when she was interrupted by a sound, no, a murmur, she thought. "What now? Stop trying to scare me. I'm not playing anymore!"

No response.

Rose put the sound down to fatigue, and continued to walk. She soon stopped. Another murmur, no, she gasped, a voice; faint, but most certainly a voice. She not only looked back, but every which way she could, lighting the forest with her torch.

Rose ran, dashing the beam of light in front, but her right foot careered ahead. She fell to the ground with a thump. The torch flew from her hand, tumbling down the hillside and resting against a thorny bush by the stream. Her hands sank into the gooey mud as she pushed herself up, grimacing with regret; she realised a wash was needed before sunrise.

For Rose's return journey the trees had separated the beams of silver light. However, while scraping the dirt off her hands, she stood adorned by moonlight. The cold air blustered through her hair and clothes, while the leaves emitted familiar sounds.

Rose glanced behind to witness the sight of a ghostly hand. Her lips parted, eyes widened. The appearance of the hand was small, childlike, Rose's age perhaps. Barely able to breathe, move or even blink, she felt spellbound, standing like a manikin. The voice spoke again, clearly a young girl's. Rose's heart began to pump so loudly and rapidly that her eardrums rattled with every beat.

"Just go home," said the voice. "Back to beddy-byes."

Rose turned her head so slowly, she was barely moving. Her eyes were fixed on the faint, translucent hand that swayed back and forth. She witnessed an elbow and patterned clothing, much like her uniform. Hair too, illuminated by moonlight, wisped in the breeze.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," she uttered.

"Huh..."

"Oh no, oh no, oh no..." she continued, struggling to control her breathing as she moved a millimetre per second.

"Huh... what?" said the voice, now clearer than ever.

"Who – who's there? Who are you? Please, don't frighten me," she whispered, emitting hasty breaths.

"You – you can hear me?" said the voice, now sounding surprised and amazed.

"Ye–yes..." she said, in her smallest tone. "Yes, I can hear you. Please don't hurt me, please."

"You _can_ hear me?" the voice repeated with punch. "It can't be. Am I dreaming? No, it's _too_ real. You can hear me, but can you see me?" Arms flailed at Rose's side and towards her bewildered face.

"Yes, I see you. But what are you?"

The voice let out an almighty yelp. " _Yeeaaah! Wooo-hooo!_ You can _hear_ me! _See_ me! _Woooooo-hooooooo!_ "

Rose finally found she could move. With urgency, she began to look behind, around and underneath. Wherever she stepped the ghost moved too, as if attached to her back. Rose's fear subsided, and curiosity took over. "Who are you? Why are you behind me?" she asked, turning left, right, never quite able to clearly view the ghostly speaker. The figure seemed to be looking in the opposite direction, fading from the waist down.

"You have _no_ idea, Rose!" said the voice, in raptures.

She knows my name?

"I'm –" The voice caught her breath. "I'm your sister."

The revelation caused Rose's jaw to sink. She stood static, staring, as what seemed like a thousand thoughts rattled through her brain. And yet, oddly, it all made perfect sense. Rose had once had a sister. Not only that, but a twin; not only a twin, a conjoined twin. Born as one, they had been attached at the lower back.

"Lily, that _really_ you?" whispered Rose, to her left shoulder.

"Yes, it's _me_."

Rose knew her name. Her father had told her a few years ago how her sister died before separation, and how their mother had passed away on their birthday.

Realising how this had come to be, Rose took back all she had ever said about magic and hocus-pocus. The spell had worked.

She narrowed down her thoughts, choosing carefully what to ask her sibling amongst the labyrinth of questions. "You have just appeared, right?" she asked, her voice still shaken, then glanced over her shoulder. "I mean, this is the first time here, with me?"

" _What?_ No!" Lily's voice had changed from exhilarated to hard edged and bitter. "I've been here _all_ _along_. Nobody _cares_ for me. Nobody _knows_ me. I'm not even fully formed. I've never once seen my legs, or feet." Her frustrated tone deepened. "Your first day at school, I was right behind you, making _no_ friends. And when you visited the seaside, building sandcastles and eating ice-cream, I couldn't join in. And... the first time you and Dad went to the pictures, I watched the projector! And –" Her voice came down as quickly as it had risen, "– like tonight, I couldn't see the fireworks, not really, not like everybody else."

Rose was speechless. She tried to say something, but nothing formed to ease her sister's sorrow. They shared the silence together; a much needed moment of reflection – for them both.

Out of the moonlight and under the canopy of thick branching trees, Lily began to fade; soon, she vanished. "Lily ... _Lily!_ You there?" cried Rose, worried she was gone, and gone for good. "Lily ... Speak to me!" Only the breeze and fluttering of leaves could be heard.

Rose turned around and headed back to where she had last stood. As she moved closer she heard a faint voice say, "... into the moonlight." Then, "Move back into the moonlight," repeated Lily, vivid as before. "There, see, moonlight. Primitive spirits can only be seen and heard in moonlight, _got_ it?"

Rose felt a sense of relief swathe her mind and body. "How do you know this?"

Lily sighed. "Rose, I've been like this for nearly ten years, I should know a thing or two. And anyway, I heard others talking about it. William-what's-his name, he was twenty-two, and a primitive. His mother came to Earth from the afterlife. She transformed him into a true spirit, and I watched him leave this world."

"To where?"

"To _Kiian_ ..." she said, longingly, as if it were a place of paradise, a utopia for all spirits.

"Is that –" Rose paused, almost afraid to say the rest, "– Heaven?"

Lily burst out laughing; a laugh that was almost identical to Rose's. "No," she said, bluntly. "It doesn't exist – it's not Heaven, or Hell, it's... _Kiian_."

"Well, what is it then?"

"Let's go!" she said in a fit of excitement. "We'll find Mum!"

"Mum?" said Rose, startled.

"Yes, I've seen her, once, I think."

"When? Where?"

"Mum's visited every year. The first time I didn't know who she was, but then I saw a picture of her in the house. At times I thought she was looking at me." Lily's voice lowered. "Then I realised she was looking at you. Nobody has ever looked at me."

"Really?" said Rose.

Lily snapped from her sadness. "I think she can help us. I think she can separate us. And I can _finally_ be free."

"We can really go and see Mum? I can't believe this, I mean how? I'm not a spirit," she said.

"No... not yet."

"But –"

"Rose, you're going to have to kill yourself."

"What? _Noooo_. I can't."

Lily narrowed her eyes and searched the forest. "Maybe ... I guess there's only one way to find out. Say _La'atzu_ three times."

"What's that?"

"That's what spirits say to be granted the portal to Kiian. Hurry, I want to see if it works."

Rose gulped and took in a deep breath. " _La'atzu. La'atzu_." She paused and glanced around her surroundings.

"Go on," urged Lily.

She closed her eyes tight and grimaced. " _La'atzu_ ..." A moment of silent anticipation followed while Lily searched for a sign. Rose peeked through her right eye. "Anything?"

"There, _look_ , that tree," said Lily, pointing to a large oak.

Rose snapped open her left eye. "I don't see anything, except – a tree."

"Trust me, Rose, walk into that tree."

"What?"

"There, down there," she repeated, pointing at the oak, which for Lily at least, was illuminated by an inner glow. Cracks of bright light shone through the bark, as if it were lit from inside.

"But?"

"Do it! That's what everyone else does. I once saw an old chap walk into a post box. Go on, try it!"

Rose took a few paces towards the giant oak. Bathed in moonlight, its great thick roots pierced through the ground and intertwined, as if marking its territory. Confused and anxious, she made her final step to the tree, observing the trunk. She extinguished mere thoughts of reality, and continued to stare at the bark. "Okay, so I just walk into it. And then what?"

"Say 'Kiian'. And I suppose ... _I_ don't know. I've never done it before, have I."

Rose took in her deepest breath and exhaled while gazing at the oak, which looked more solid than ever. "So it's 'Kiian' when I step forward?"

"Yes. And mean it when you say it."

"Okay..." she said, with eyes closed and Kiian repeating over and over in her mind. "Kiian."

Her right foot rose towards the knobbly bark. She planted her welly to the ground. There was zero contact. With eyes wide open and frantic, she observed her foot being devoured by the trunk.

"What are you waiting for?"

"My foot," she said, in a squeaky voice. "It's... _inside_ the tree."

"Go further, or your foot might be chopped off!"

The words "chopped" and "off" caused Rose to hop forward. She was then surrounded by pure black, inside the tree, or Kiian?

"Now what?" whispered Rose.

"Wait," said Lily.

"For what? I really don't –"

"Quiet."

"What is it?"

"I see something, look." She pointed to a crack of horizontal light a short distance away.

Rose turned sideways, giving them both a clear view. They witnessed a fluttering line of bright light move along the ground from left to right. It paused after a metre or so, and began to rise, halting at Rose's height. The light moved right to left and back down, reaching the starting point. The kind of light that shines from the cracks of a door, observed from within a darkened room.

"Okay, go closer," said Lily. "Through there... that's _Kiian_."

Rose took another deep breath before embarking into the unknown. She placed her hand within the centre of the light; the surface was hard, smooth and warm to her fingertips. With a push, the right-hand side opened, illuminating the twins. Rose didn't hesitate. She pushed and walked straight into the warm, hazy wall of light.

# CHAPTER THREE

Welcome to Kiian

The twins were blinded by the intensity of light. Slowly and surely, shapes began to emerge: a corner of sandstone wall, a tiled floor, steps and figures in the distance moving at pace. Focus soon returned, along with the sounds of bustling people, conversing with a buzz of excitement and apprehension.

Rose was too consumed with awe to speak. She stepped forward, noticing a change of physical laws; she felt lighter, as if her weight had halved and, if she wanted to, she could leap into the air and float like a balloon.

Transfixed by every sight and sound, she moved towards an intricate banister railing. Steps to the left and right led to the ground floor, all within the largest dome interior she had ever witnessed, more so than St Paul's Cathedral. Above, small windows produced God's rays. There were many statues, mostly of people in defiant poses. One in particular graced the centre stage: a man standing twenty-foot high held a spherical cage in the palm of his hand while looking towards the dome.

Crowds of people jostled for space – or were they people? thought Rose. She glanced behind to witness her unchanged, translucent sibling, and returned to watch those below; they looked real, solid, like people from the world she had left.

A young couple breezed past the twins. Hand in hand, they stared at each other in amazement. "We're here," said the man, and together they headed down the steps towards the masses.

Rose changed her gawping expression to a quizzing one. "Lily, what do you think we should do?" she asked, holding onto the banister railing, unable to divert her eyes from the crowd.

"Why am I _still_ a primitive?" said Lily. "I don't get it. I'm a spirit, just like them, aren't I?"

Rose noted Lily's uncertain tone. "I think we should go down. Those behind the desk might advise us, or something."

"This isn't right, this is _not_ how I'm supposed to be!" Lily persisted, flicking her fingers.

Rose headed down the steps to her left. She chose this route as the least amount of people congregated there, which included two elderly gentlemen. While passing, Rose listened:

"I knew there was an afterlife. I always thought so, even as a wee sprog," said one.

"I assumed I'd be going straight to Hell," said the other, chuckling. "Looks like I got away with my sins."

" _Attention! Attention!_ " boomed a male voice through speakers from all sides of the dome. " _Welcome to Kiian. All entrants, please form an orderly queue at the check-in. I repeat_ ..."

Rose ducked and weaved her way through the rampant crowd of people, most of whom appeared to be searching for someone. Through the mass of chaos and confusion, she reached the front desk, which stood far higher than she anticipated.

On her tip-toes, Rose began to wave at a woman. "Excuse me, miss, hello!" she called, waving her hand with vigour. "Miss, excuse me, down here!"

The woman looked middle aged, and was relatively plump. Her hair towered high in a bun, and she wore a long necklace with what appeared to be galaxy shapes all along it. Small spectacles sat below her eyes on her nose while she typed, talked, pointed and ordered others behind the desk.

"Miss! Excuse me ... we're looking for our mother!"

The women glanced directly at her before resuming her typing. She then gazed back, raising her spectacles to eye level, and moved her head closer for inspection. "Child ... how in the world ..." she said in a small Scottish voice. Flustered and overwhelmed, the woman composed herself to beckon Rose towards a row of turnstiles.

Rose didn't hesitate. She swiftly headed to her right, squeezing through the crowd.

The woman pressed a switch, which caused a red light mounted over the turnstile to turn green. Rose pushed the bars and proceeded through, to the displeasure of others.

"Quickly, come here, my dears, _quickly_ now," urged the woman, scouting all around as if possessed with nerves.

Urgently, Rose dashed into a room, followed by the woman, who closed the door and shut the blind.

The twins observed an office space, rectangular and study-like, brimming with books, stacks of papers and many half-open drawers, spilling out documents. They scanned the narrow room, watching the woman close the blind at the far end of the office.

"No snooping eyes, _thank_ you," said the woman, switching on a nearby desk lamp. "Right... let me have a look at you," she added, waddling closer, adjusting her spectacles. "My... how on _Kiian_ did you come here? And a primitive too. My goodness, you must be twin sisters?"

"Yes, my name is Rose, and –"

" _My_ name is Lily," she interjected. "Why am I still like this?"

The woman's face fell with sorrow. "Well... you're a primitive. A true spirit is solid, fully formed, whereas you are –"

"I'm aware of _what_ I am. Now look, you old crow, we don't have time to tell you our life story. We want to find our mother and find her right now. So tell us how and we'll be on our way."

The woman gasped, raising her eyebrows. "Well... I... never," she said, huffing. "A girl should know better than to speak to an elder in _that_ tone. You haven't been taught manners, young lady." She shook her head with disgust, searching for a reason to help a girl with such a mouth disorder. "Although... since this is highly unusual, I'll let it pass, this once." She pondered her next words. "However you've managed to be here, you shouldn't be," she said, looking directly at Rose. "And _you_ , my dear..." She turned to Lily. "Well, you're in the right world. But I'm afraid, in order to see a loved one, you must first be judged."

"Judged?" said Rose. "What do you mean?"

"All new spirits travel to Sector LV-426, and stand to be judged by Judge Kiian. He will decide your fate. He knows everything about your time on Earth. One glance, that's all it takes."

The exterior noise grew as the door opened; a man poked his head through the gap. "Erm, Mrs Barnett –" he said, pausing and staring at the twins, unable to remove his confused expression.

"Yes? _Quickly_ now."

"You're needed, it's... We're overrun," he babbled.

"Yes, yes, one moment," she said, shooing him away. "And shut the door behind you."

Lily gave Mrs Barnett a narrow glare. "Please – you forgot to say _please_ ..."

Mrs Barnett looked at them both as the sounds subsided and the door clicked shut. She stepped closer and knelt. "The fact is, you're not allowed here," she said, looking fondly at Rose. "And you shouldn't be a primitive," she added in Lily's direction, with the eyes of an angry teacher. "What is occurring here is quite frankly unheard of. Nevertheless, you're here, but you can't remain as you are."

Rose noticed a mirror at the door side. She stepped once towards it and the twins' identical eyes met for the first time. Mrs Barnett stood and leant against the back of a wooden chair, observing them. Only the constant frolicking of the outside hustle and bustle could be heard.

"All right, you two, you can't be judged. You will both be banished and who knows what," said Mrs Barnett, stroking her dimpled chin. "I do know of somebody who _may_ be able to help you. He knows far more about this malarkey." She walked over to the desk and pulled out a piece of paper, scribbling in a hurry. "Right, I've written his name and address. You need to travel to this sector."

"What's one of those?" asked Rose.

"There're hundreds of sectors on Kiian. Each differ in size but ... it's hard to explain – they're big steel things that you go inside, okay? The man you must visit is called Professor Pei. He lives alone in his home, which is also his laboratory, or so I gather. Probably going senile, but he's your best bet. Tell him I sent you."

She reached out the paper and handed it to Rose. "I hope he can shed some light for you both. And I hope you find your mother. Now, as you can see, I'm rushed off my feet." She walked towards the door and stopped in her tracks. "Oh, wait a minute. You can't use the portals. The Govern, they may discover you got through operations. That would be dangerous for you, me and the entire entry staff."

"The Govern?" said Rose in a whimper.

Mrs Barnett's face fell with dread. "Only the deadliest, nastiest –" She stopped, thinking better of it. "Just keep away, got it? Never go near the Govern. _Never_."

Rose gulped and wondered what a Govern looked like, but didn't dare ask. Lily pictured a cloaked man with immense horns, along with razor-sharp claws and fangs.

Mrs Barnett walked over to the window and peeked through, muttering to herself. "On second thoughts ... what if you travelled by air?" Her eyes sparked with excitement. "Delivery service is due to leave in an hour or so." She plucked a book from a shelf, browsing the delivery timetable. "Yes, they will travel to Sector NY-334. I can send a package to ensure they take you directly to his house. Let me see..." She set down the book and waded through a pile of clutter, placing her hands on a large empty cardboard box. "Ever wanted to be a parcel?"

"No, I've never liked being trapped," said Rose.

" _Pfft_ ," uttered Lily.

Rose stared at the box with unease. "Well... if you think it's best, then we should."

She stepped over to the box and hopped inside. Lily, not able to touch, scrunched herself tight so as not to appear through the cardboard. The lid was closed and secured, drowning the twins into darkness.

* * *

Mrs Barnett pushed a trolley with the twins onboard, heading into the depot bay. "Now remember," she whispered to the box lid, "be cautious of everybody. There are spirits out there that will thrust you upon the Govern at any given chance. Keep your wits about you, and, Lily, mind your manners."

The girls sat in silence, hoping the plan would work and that they would never come close to a Govern, or be judged, for that matter.

They rolled through the halls and arrived at the depot entrance. The vast interior echoed clanging sounds and booming engines.

Mrs Barnett stopped abruptly, causing Rose to hold out her hands to prevent her head from impacting the box.

"Barnett... why are you not at your desk?" asked a deep-voiced man.

"Urgent delivery, Mr Lewis – unexpected. I'd better be on my way. Won't take –"

"Hold it. Why not order a junior for this? I believe we're busy, are we not?"

"Indeed, sir, I just wanted to make sure it arrived safely."

"Whatever is it?"

"Oh, you know, faulty hardware. We can't handle the crowds when our machines aren't up to scratch, now can we?"

"No... of course not. Let me see."

"I really should be going. Like you say, we're very busy."

"I want to know the model number. Won't take a mo–"

"Sir!" shouted a voice from down the hall.

With reluctance, Mr Lewis turned to face the running figure. "Yes?"

"There's been a surge of entrants at EN-259," he said, gasping for breath. "We need to open more portals. It appears to be a natural disaster – an earthquake struck southern Asia."

"And?"

"We need your permission at HQ. They can't open them otherwise."

Mr Lewis sighed and turned to Mrs Barnett. "I _don't_ want to see this happening again," he said, and strolled away in a hurry.

"Of course not, sir," she said, trundling off with the trolley.

Within a minute, she had arrived at her chosen station where she set the twins down. "Wait here to be collected. And all the best, my dears," she whispered. "Take care now."

"Thank you," said Rose to the box lid.

They sat in silence and darkness. Then, just as Mrs Barnett had stated, they were wheeled into the rear the delivery craft, and after a short, anxious wait, Rose felt the vessel take flight.

The twins stared at black for over half an hour. Then, without warning, their attention was gripped by a change of acoustics. Gone were the quaint humming engine sounds, replaced with sinister roars of thunder; sharp whistles and ominous rumbles careered all around.

"Lily, what is _that?_ " asked Rose, clutching her collar.

"I have no idea."

Rose detected a slight nervousness in her sister's reply. Just what in the world was outside?

The sounds of a storm raged for over twenty minutes and then faded, as if switched off. The howling roars and lightning whiplashes were replaced by the soothing hum of the vessel.

Rose licked her dry lips and felt their descent, hopefully towards their destination of Professor Pei's home/laboratory. Whatever the case, the twins were free from the raging tempest, which Lily found tremendously exciting, while Rose prayed to never hear such sounds ever again.

# CHAPTER FOUR

Portals and Potholes

A vigorous thud shook the twins on touchdown. The rear doors opening caused a speck of light to infiltrate their containment; the tiniest of holes gave nothing away of their surroundings. However, the sounds of people and machinery were vibrant.

"Almost half a ton," said a male voice. _Perhaps the pilot's voice_ , thought Rose.

"You're putting on weight, Dom," replied a female voice. _Maybe she's the pilot_ , thought Lily.

The twins buffeted while the box was carted off into another vehicle. A petrol engine gurgled into life and the vehicle sped off; with any luck, towards the home of a professor.

"I hope it doesn't take long," whispered Rose, "I've got pins and needles."

Lily gave no response. Pins and needles were far too human, and she didn't particularly want to hear about those occurrences; all the peculiar habits and expressions, such as goose pimples, fevers or dizziness.

"Stop complaining," she said. "This Pei had better help us. I can't stand to be like this much longer. Rose, you listening?"

"It's really uncomfortable. I need to stand and –"

"Just take your mind off it. Think of something else."

"Like what?"

No reply.

During a moment of listening and wondering, Rose remembered a query. "How come you're wearing my uniform?"

"I wear whatever you wear. I have _no_ choice. So don't go thinking I admire your dress sense."

"Have you always been able to see me?"

"I see everything."

Rose puckered her lips for thought, which soon turned to frustration as the pins and needles remained merciless. She squeezed her eyes tight and pictured herself in the garden on a sizzling summer day. While planting flowers by the shed, her father watered the cabbage patch. Rose was shocked by the sudden spray of cool water. Armed with the hosepipe, her father gave chase and threatened to use it. She smiled at the scene; it helped too, as she quickly forgot about those pins and needles. But her thoughts soon turned to dread when she imagined her father observing the empty bed, followed by the window ajar; a bedroom of a runaway girl, not even leaving a note.

"Dad is going to go spare," she said.

"Quiet."

The vehicle came to a sudden halt. A door slam was followed by the rear doors opening. The tiny hole shone bright, along with familiar sounds: bustling vehicles and beeping horns provoked images of a town, or a city.

The packaged girls were rolled out into the sunlight and pushed along on the trolley. Further car horns beeped, and language Rose was told never to speak ensued.

A _thud_ , followed by _thud_ , _thud_ , _thud_ ; the impacts caused the twins to rock inside as the trolley descended a series of steps. A final _thud_ was followed by successive knocking.

"Yes?" said a faint voice.

"Delivery for Professor Pei."

"I'm not expecting anything. I don't order anything from _Beyond_. Now leave!"

"Sorry, mister, just doing my duty. Do what you want with it."

"No! Not my problem. You talk to your superior!"

The twins remained still while listening to the fading footsteps. The engine revved and the vehicle sped away. Before Rose could reach for the box lid, there was a _click_ , followed by a rattling chain. A sound of hinges emitted an elongated whine.

"Bah! Foolish delivery man, _very_ foolish!" said Pei. His accent wasn't familiar, the twins mused, but they knew it was Eastern, and he sounded old and wise. He took hold of the box. "Oh, Dribble Holly! It weighs a ton of spuds!"

Rose made a face while the box slid across the floor. She began questioning what his reaction would be when he discovered the contents of his package.

Lily had waited long enough, and had grown bored of staring into darkness. "Open up, Pei!"

" _Bah!_ Stay back!" he cried, followed by a jangle of jars. "I know chemicals to turn your skin to tar and your eyes to jelly!"

Rose pushed above with all her might. The box lid bulged.

" _Agh!_ " squealed Pei, followed by another jangle of jars.

On the second attempt, Rose pushed with her legs too. The lid split open, causing her to lose balance and tumble out onto all fours. She stared up to see Pei, an old Asian man with white hair and a lab coat, holding two jars of coloured liquid, preparing to drench his invaders.

"Gir– human, and primitive, OooOOooo, visible, here?" said Pei, bemused, before recalling their obscure way of entry. "What are you doing here? Explain yourselves, right now!"

Rose dusted her hands and stood to her feet, brushing her hair aside and remaining calm. "We came for your help," she said, and pointed behind. "Lily, my sister, heard that our mother may be able to separate us. Will that work? And what would happen to me if she can?"

"Wait, wait, wait. How did you know where I live, hmm?"

"Mrs Barnett, at the entry hall. She told us to speak with you."

"Rose, turn around," ordered Lily, and she obeyed her sister's request. "I once overheard a group of spirit boffins. They talked about something called 'a child's desire', and that a parent can transform their primitive child into a true spirit. But with Rose being human, will it work?"

Pei placed the jars down and shuffled around the twins, scratching his hairy white chin. His voice was softer and calmer. "There are many theories, true ones, and _downright lies_. And 'a child's desire' does not necessarily qualify for separation –"

"What! That's rubbish!"

"My child, the separation of conjoined spirits isn't black and white. What you fail to understand is that a spirit must be one entity, fused within a consistent reality." Pei moved over to a blackboard situated next to the sink and chalked a large circle. Inside it, he began to write what appeared to be mumbo-jumbo; some sort of formula, Rose guessed. "You two, on the other hand..." He held a thought, raising a white eyebrow. "You two aren't sharing those existing laws."

"What are you saying?" asked Lily.

He puckered his lips and stared with wild eyes. "The touch of your mother's hand may, and I express _may_ transform – what are your names?" he asked, wafting his finger in their direction.

"Lily, and she's Rose. May what?"

"May transform you into a true spirit. And Rose too will become a spirit, joining our world."

"A spirit, here, _forever?_ " uttered Rose.

"Although... the moment of contact may have implications; environmental dependencies may well be your deciding factor." Pei began scribbling more on the blackboard. "I believe for you, Rose, to become a spirit is reliant on the physical laws of our sectors. If, however, you're not confined by such laws, then a connection between your mother and Lily, entangled with a human aura, will result in you becoming a nonentity. And without the confines of Angelo physics, you may be forced out. Thus, Rose will possess no spiritual connection, and shall be transported back to where she came – back to Earth!" he said in triumph, underlining his formula, and spun an Earth globe on the table with force.

The twins tried to untangle Pei's logic from the lunacy. They watched the globe spinning with a slight wobble on his science-infested table top. The Earth then unhinged from its stand and rolled towards the edge. It stopped before plummeting and rolled back to the centre of the table, colliding with a furry creature.

A large brown, droopy-eared rabbit emerged from the undergrowth of scrunched paper and wooden splints. It bobbed its head and touched the globe with its wet nose. Worse were the large strands of dribble which drooled from its jaw.

"I believe this formula could be the catalyst for my next thesis," said Pei. " _Ooh_ , isn't that right, Dribble Holly?" He scooped up the rabbit into his arms and cradled it like a baby.

Lily collected her thoughts, averting her eyes from the oozing drool. "So, if we find our mother and make contact within a sector, Rose may became a spirit too. But outside the sectors, I will become a true spirit, and Rose returns to Earth?"

"That's what I said. Aren't you sleepy, _yes, you are_."

"Okay... now, how do we find our mother?" asked Lily.

Pei had a think. "Just one moment." He placed the bunny down and dialled a number. There was no answer. "Where are you?"

"Where's who?" Rose asked.

"An engineer. He knows the sectors like no other. You can take the portal. It's a ten-minute tram ride to the Penn Portal Station."

"Portal? We were told they were dangerous," said Rose.

"Ah, you mean being found, by Govern?"

Rose nodded. "That's what Mrs Barnett said."

"Well, I'm afraid you don't have much choice. There won't be another delivery for days."

"Where do we catch the tram?" asked Lily. "And what number? What if we get lost?"

"I don't know the number. _Blast_ it, Dribble Holly. I may have to leave. Could I... _could_ I leave?" He peered through the slight crack in the curtain. "Are you sure you can't... _bah!_ Okay, I drive. We leave right now."

* * *

Rose stepped outside into the world of Sector NY-334. As she climbed the steel steps, she gawped at the familiar environment. "Wow," she uttered, observing a blimp cruising beyond skyscrapers. "This is –"

"New York!" confirmed Pei, standing in the doorway with both hands fixed on the door frame, carrying a wary-eyed expression. "The setting of nineteen thirty-three," he added, and gave the girls a disconcerted smile, glancing at the building tops. "I always love Art Deco."

Rose nodded while admiring the scene. She then turned to the professor. "Is something wrong?"

"No, very good here. It's just... I've not left since..." Pei paused to recollect. "Probably two – no, maybe three years ago."

"Three years!" cried Lily. "You're scared? That's kinda wussy."

"Agoraphobia! Not wussy! My condition is _serious_ , OoOOoo, you, girl, need to learn manners!"

The twins watched an agoraphobic in action. Pei forced his right hand onto the steel banister, then placed his left onto the door knob, with knees bent in preparation.

Rose clenched her fist, willing Pei to overcome his fear. Lily tried to withhold her giggles, and failed.

He looked poised to jump, rocking back and forth, preparing for propulsion. "Be back really soon, Dribble Holly. Real soon. Now I go. Now I go. Now –"

"Pei!" shouted Lily.

"Coming! Three, two, two and half, two and a quarter..."

"One!" shouted the twins.

The professor leapt onto the lower step and huddled around the banister while the door slammed shut. "I did it! I _did_ it!" he cried, hugging the steel bars. "Now open the car door," he added, and tossed the keys to Rose, pointing at a black, boxy vehicle.

Without hesitation, Rose entered the car, leaving the door wide open. She clambered into the back seat of the Ford Model A. Looking back to see Pei's progress, she witnessed a white-cloaked blur. He threw himself into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut, causing the Ford to rock from side to side.

" _Ahhh_ ... easy," said Pei, and placed a key into the ignition, starting the engine. "Now, let's see if I remember how to drive."

"Why do you even have a car?" asked Lily. "You never go out."

"Gloria has been with me for over forty years."

"You gave it a name?" said Rose.

"Yes, named after my first kissy woman. Now, buckle up and keep low, we don't want to attract attention," he concluded before beeping at the scavenging pigeons, then weaved in and out of traffic, overdosing on adrenaline.

American flags fluttered from skyscrapers, trams ran back and forth, hotdog stands sizzled, and grand advertisements were displayed for all to see. Many men wore brimmed hats, suits, shirts and ties, carrying their suitcases in a hurry. Women wore hats too, though much smaller, with petite jackets and long, slender dresses. However, Rose knew enough history to know Asians weren't common in these parts. In fact, people of all races graced the sidewalk, conversing together; black children playing with Caucasians and Asians – a sight Rose never witnessed on Earth in nineteen sixty-three.

"Move it, slug!" shouted Pei, honking his horn and waving his fist. "Go, go, go!"

Snapped from her thoughts, Rose incurred an injection of anxious energy.

"Oh, no," said Pei. "What's all this traffic? Lots, lots and – police!" The Ford moved at a sluggish pace, which made Rose feel safer at least. "I take another route. Hold tight," he added, and made a sharp u-turn, causing a vehicle to swerve. "Yeah, same to you!" he bellowed, communicating with a hand gesture.

Pei's temperament tipped over to the mad variety, concluded Rose, though Lily was more entertained by his expressive charm.

"Ah... yes, look. It's all quiet down here," said Pei, delighted. "I smart, see, I know what I'm – Oh no, what's this?"

Red lights flashed ahead. The Ford came to a halt as a uniformed man waved his arms up and down and blew a whistle while another strolled towards them.

" _Oh_ ... not good. Hide, get down, quick!" urged Pei.

Rose unbuckled and crouched behind the front seats, scrunching herself tight.

The uniformed man tapped on the window three times. Pei wound it down.

"Good morning, sir," said the officer. "I'm afraid we have major malfunctions across Park Ave and Fifty-seventh Street. I need you to turn your vehicle around and proceed through Broadway."

Pei hesitated. "Err... of course, officer."

"Malfunctions?" whispered Rose to herself.

"No way through. Impossible, right?" asked Pei.

"This area is closed for your safety, sir. Now, on your way."

"But, it looks fine."

"You wouldn't say that if you've seen what I have."

"I take my time, no rush. I can take risk, no?"

A pause. "Sir, may I ask you to turn off your engine and step out of the vehicle." A longer pause. "Sir, turn off your engine and step out of the vehicle," the officer repeated sternly.

Before the officer had time to demand again, Pei yelled, "Okay!" and in a screech of tires and billow of smoke, he sped off.

"What are you doing?" asked Rose. "You'll get us into trouble!"

"Shush now! I know what I'm doing."

Rose couldn't help but peek over the passenger seat, witnessing reality gone loopy as a theatre advertisement vanished and reappeared, as if operated with an on/off switch. The road side too: signposts, post boxes; there one second, gone the next. Surely the world around her wouldn't vanish?

"Hold on! It get bumpy!"

Rose squeezed the seat, causing deep finger impressions. The professor's comment wasn't the cause for a tightened grip. It was the road ahead.

"We have potholes!" cried Pei.

Rose stared through the windscreen. Her lips parted and quivered. She frantically wanted to speak, to tell him to stop. Her voice finally returned and she yelled, "Pei! They're not potholes!"

Layer upon layer of tarmac had vanished. They hurtled and descended over the absent road. A foot drop dispatched the steel bumper and a disturbing rattle perpetuated underneath the chassis. Rose couldn't bear to watch as their vehicle approached the lip of the ditch which Pei had called a pothole. The impact caused Rose's head to connect with the roof. The mighty Ford continued regardless, parting company with the front grille.

The following officers weren't so lucky: their vehicle became detached from its front wheel axle. The car scraped to a halt beside a barber's shop.

"Ha-ha!" bellowed Pei, observing the officers' vehicle disappear within a cloud of smoke. "Just like the movies, yes?"

Rose simply nodded with sheer relief, though the sight ahead prevented her from serenity as the limping Ford marched towards another blockade. Pei frowned before accelerating the car, ripping through the caution tape. If it weren't for the pedestrian crossing the road, they might have rejoined the traffic. Instead, Pei swerved around the petrified woman, causing the Ford to collide with the kerb and be forced onto two wheels. Like a stuntman, whether he intended to or not, Pei kept the car in motion and careered down the road towards speechless onlookers. Rose gripped harder than ever, hanging on to the seat to prevent the opposite window breaking her fall.

The Ford trundled on to the sidewalk and toppled over onto all four wheels with a _crash!_

"Wow! Cop chase, two wheels. _Very_ exciting."

Rose breathed deeply, gathering her thoughts.

Lily grinned.

Within sight, a gigantic building with colossal stone columns situated ahead. A sign pointing in its direction read:

PENN PORTAL STATION

Rose stared at the building while continuing to claw the seat. She reminded herself to let go, opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle, slightly dazed but in one piece. She staggered forward as Pei fully wound down his window.

"Stanley will take you to your mother, I'm sure of it," he said, holding a piece of paper out of the window, which Rose took. "Now, once you reach the sector, follow the railway lines until you reach the Scrap-yard Tower. You can't miss it, okay?"

Rose looked at the paper. It read: _Stanley Hopkins, Scrap-yard Tower, Falcon Drive, S-IR-294_.

"Here, you need this," said Pei, placing a silver coin into Rose's hand. "A token, for the portal. Don't lose it now."

"Thank you for... everything," said Rose, with a slight whimper. "Have a safer drive home, won't you?"

"Thanks, Professor, that was a ride I'll _never_ forget," said Lily as police sirens came hurtling down Broadway.

Pei glanced over his shoulder and grimaced. He turned to the twins and gave them a bow of his head. "You take care, and good luck!" he said with passion, giving them a thumbs-up and a heartfelt smile before flooring the throttle once again.

The Ford limped away, slowly gaining momentum while dropping the rear bumper at one side. The siren blazed louder, closing in on Pei. The twins could only watch as the police vehicle roared past with a heart-stopping:

Bang!

The front tire of the police vehicle burst, causing the pursuer to career into a lamppost. Smoke billowed from the engine, while the officer, clearly in a state of frustration, stepped out and gave his wreckage a booting.

Stunned by the calamity, Rose felt off balance, unable to think clearly. Sharp pains stung her mind. She clutched her dizzy head and then slowly regained her composure. Three deep breaths later, normality returned.

"What's wrong with you?" asked Lily.

Rose sighed. "That was – weird."

"Stop babbling and get moving," she ordered.

Rose stumbled forward, directing her feet towards the station. Its large revolving doors swept the twins inside, and towards their imperative portal.

# CHAPTER FIVE

The Life, Death and Spirit of Shane and Niall Brady

" _Grovel_ for your brother!" declared the most despised man in the lives of Shane and Niall Brady. The man who claimed to be their father. At least for Niall, Frank Brady was his biological father; for ten-year-old Shane, however, he was his step-father.

* * *

"Shane!" shouted his mother. "Come down please."

Shane turned his head towards the bedroom door. "Coming!" He placed his racing cars in a toy box and headed downstairs. The smell of freshly baked bread engulfed him. Quite rare during the war, thought Shane; Mother must have saved the rations for something extra special.

In the kitchen, his mother stood by the bread as it cooled on a tray. His father sat at the kitchen table, hands clenched, with a newspaper laid out in front. A large suitcase stood in the corner of the kitchen; a suitcase only ever used for holidays.

Shane's mother came towards him, placing a hand around his shoulder, ushering him to the table. He sat uneasy, looking at his parents in turn while his mother knelt by his side.

"Sweetie, you know about the war, and how soldiers are going away, fighting for our country, freedom and our lives."

He began to nod and looked towards his father.

"Son..." His dad leaned forward on the table with his lofty eyebrows causing deep creases in his forehead. "I'm going away for a while. Now, in the meantime, you and your mother will live in Ireland, with your grandpa and grandma."

Shane looked puzzled, glancing at his mother and back to his father with anxious eyes. "When will I see you?"

His father sighed. "I can't answer that, son. Not that I can promise you. But as soon as possible, that's for sure. I'll write to you and your mother, _whenever_ I can."

Shane's expression didn't change. He fiddled with his pockets and looked at the red and white chequered tablecloth.

"You'll be fine, tough guy like you, huh? You'll be going on an adventure. You like exploring, don't you?"

He shrugged his shoulders, avoiding his father's eyes of authority. "Yeah..." he muttered.

"That's my boy." His father stood and walked round the table. He wrapped his arms around his only child, kissing his forehead. "I love you, son, you and your ma, very much," he said, while covering Shane's head with one hand, brushing back his hair.

Shane watched his role model, his best friend, his daddy, take the suitcase and leave, knowing his father would enter a battle called World War Two.

* * *

Living in a four-bed house in Meath, Ireland, Shane enjoyed the company of his mother and grandparents, but couldn't hide his longing to be with his father.

He always looked forward to seeing the postman. A plump brown envelope would drop through the letter box, landing on the mat like the greatest present he could ever ask for. Most of the letters were about his father's training tasks and daily life overseas, and mentioned how much he was missing them. He did so by comparing it to food; Shane knew how much his father loved rhubarb and custard, or steak and chips with an ample serving of brown sauce. Well, apparently, he would give up eating them forever to see Shane and his mother again. It made Shane smile and sad all at once.

The letters came most weeks, until a uniformed boy stood at the door on a damp, drizzly Tuesday evening. While Bing Crosby sang 'An Irish Lullaby', Shane's grandparents looked ever so sad.

The boy held a hat by his side, along with an envelope. Though this envelope wasn't brown, it was white. Shane's mother seemed to know that it contained something terrible. So much so, she burst into tears without even reading what was inside.

"I'm awfully sorry," said the uniformed boy, leaving the envelope by the phone.

The telegram was later read, and informed them that Shane's father had been killed in action, battling against Germans on Italian soil. The news consumed Shane, along with his mother, like nothing before. He thought he'd never be able to smile again.

Shane missed all the meals the following day, and sobbed himself to sleep most nights, to dream of past times, only to wake to confront his nightmare.

He didn't go to school that week, and barely uttered a word. No longer did life have any meaning or purpose. _Time will heal_ , said the elders. _Time is on your side_ , they assured him. But Shane could only wish to go back in time.

* * *

Two years later, the war had finally ended. At the age of twelve, Shane worked hard at school, and enjoyed spending time with a close group of local friends. He still thought about his father, almost every day.

His mother, too, had progressed. She seemed more alive, happy even. She frequently asked Shane's grandparents to look after him, especially at the weekends, when she would disappear.

On a bright Sunday morning, a man came to the house while Shane was eating his breakfast. He was tall and well-built with dark, piercing eyes. The man, who went by the name of Frank, gave Shane a lump of toffee and a strong handshake upon their first meeting.

Frank would soon become his step-father. Together as a family, they moved to Dublin.

Life changes occurred yet again: a new school, new friends, and new father figure. However, not a replacement; Shane made that distinction clear in his mind. But the greatest change of all: Shane now had a step-brother, Niall.

Niall was younger, by two years. He seemed quiet and reserved, but as Shane got to know him he became more open. Yet still, something wasn't right. Niall seemed to carry a secret, a burden, like a constant reminder weighing his shoulders down and causing a thoughtful frown. A secret which Shane was determined to discover.

* * *

Eight months of marriage had moved along blissfully. Strange, then, when his step-father returned home late one evening and began to shout at Shane's mother.

He jumped out of bed and leaned against the stair banister, listening to his step-father slur his words, taunting. He hit Shane's mother that night. Not only did Shane hear it, but he almost felt it, and knew he would never forget it.

The following morning, he got ready for school. He didn't say a word about the matter and nor did his mother, but she hid the bruise the best she could with make-up. His step-father listened to the radio, occasionally laughing, and simply ate his toast.

Weeks passed by, and Shane kept the knowledge of the night to himself, thinking it had been a one-off event. However, one Monday evening, when all seemed fine, Shane and Niall lay awake in bed hearing the impacts a hand makes on skin and trembling cries.

"Stop, please stop," uttered Niall from under his blanket.

Shane turned in his bed to face Niall. "Why's he doing that?"

Niall shook his head. "I was told not to talk about it. If I did..." He threw the covers over his head and began to hum.

Shane cringed, then picked up the pillow and buried his head beneath it.

* * *

Late one humid Saturday evening, his drunken step-father arrived home. That night, while Shane's mother was away, his step-father witnessed Shane's hand departing a forbidden place.

"What are you doing, boy?" asked Frank, frowning while steadying himself with the living room door.

"I was just... looking," said Shane, closing the drinks cabinet.

Shane's step-father gazed at him with venom. "Looking? No you weren't. You were going to steal. Isn't that right, boy?"

"No, I wasn't, I –"

" _Shut up!_ " He gripped his belt, taking it out from his alcohol-stained jeans.

"Dad..." said Niall, standing at the door in his pyjamas. "Don't, Dad, please."

His father coiled the belt around his hand and took hold of Niall. He turned him around to face the living room wall and held him there with one hand.

"Tell me not to do it, boy!" he shouted, looking back at Shane.

"Don't do it!"

He swung the belt into Niall's back, causing him to scream.

" _Stop it!_ " yelled Shane, at the top of his voice.

"You're going to have to do better than that, boy. Grovel, _grovel_ , and mean it."

Shane looked into his step-father's eyes in horror. "Please, I beg you, please don't hurt him, please!"

Another slash of the belt provoked a louder scream from Niall. Shane grimaced and grovelled on his hands and knees, pleading over and over for him to stop. Soon enough, he did. Apparently, for Shane, grovelling had the power to grant his plea.

Weeks and months passed by and nobody spoke of the truth. And yet, a least once, sometimes twice a week, Shane, Niall, or both were beaten by a leather belt and buckle. The brothers were even unsure if he remembered what a monster he became after intoxicating himself. What Shane did know, however, was that it had to end.

* * *

On a stormy night, Shane was awake in bed. Had it not been so important, he wouldn't have got up and got dressed. However, action had to be taken and justified the need to see it through, even if a storm raged.

As for their mother, the fact that both Shane and Niall had sustained cuts and bruises, yet she seemed oblivious, was more brutal than the beatings. She appeared to have accepted her husband's ways, defeated, abandoned and soulless. The brothers pitied her, as she too reached for the drinks cabinet more and more often to ease her woes.

"Ni... wake up," said Shane, rocking his brother's shoulder.

Niall woke, startled, nevertheless aware of the event to unfold. A plan known for over a month. A mission to run away from all the beatings they incurred from their ghastly guardian.

The storm continued to rattle outside with great ferocity. Shane knew the plan with precision. The key to the car was always inside Frank's jacket pocket. The brothers sneaked downstairs and Shane took the key without hesitation. They then opened the garage door, the raging storm dampening the sounds of their covert mission.

He inserted the key into the ignition, pausing for the heavens to rumble. After turning the key, the diesel engine growled into life, and out they drove through the deserted, rain-swept streets of Dublin.

Driving was new for Shane; aged fourteen, he had only read about it in the library but had watched observantly, mastering the technique in his mind. Putting it into action wasn't so challenging. However, he hadn't foreseen he'd be driving through torrential rain. Nor that he would be chased by another vehicle.

Headlights flashed in the rear-view mirror and a large, dark mass came hurtling towards them, identical to Frank's second automobile. Appearing larger and blacker than ever, it gained like a hunting predator.

Shane pushed his foot down to the floor. A push too far it seemed, as the car skidded on the drenched tarmac and became air-borne after colliding with the kerb. Had steel barriers been there (they were introduced two weeks later), Shane and Niall wouldn't have rolled down into the ravine.

The relentless storm continued to bash the car as it bobbed and scraped the edges of the raging river. The doors buckled. Water cascaded in. The brothers' yells were unheard. Half a minute later, all was quiet.

* * *

Unusual as it may seem, Shane and Niall benefited from the stormy night, they thought. No longer were they at the mercy of a brutal hand and belt. They had their spirit lives ahead of them, in Kiian.

* * *

One month later.

"Shane?" said Niall, as he lay on a bed in a darkened room, alone with his brother. "Are we leaving tonight?"

"Yes. There's nothing to keep us here. We don't belong in an orphanage. My father's out there, somewhere."

Niall expressed his anxiety, then said, "Will we find him?"

"I hope so. This flyer says the London Library has all spirit records. You all packed?"

He nodded.

"Good. When lights go out, we leave."

Nine hours later, after three train journeys through the sector, inspired by Victorian London, Shane and Niall arrived outside the library. A carnival spread along Oxford Street. From what Shane could gather, it was to remember those left behind on Earth. Those in the parade wore colourful costumes and danced to the sound of trombones.

"C'mon," said Shane, "let's go inside."

Waiting in line to be served at the information desk, Shane observed the vast interior, featuring what seemed to be the entire collection of books ever written.

"Can I help you?" asked a young man behind the desk.

Shane stepped closer to him. "I'm looking for my father. How do I find out where he lives?"

"We have records of all known spirits. I can have a search for you. However, details of residence aren't supplied without confirmed relations, I'm afraid."

Niall looked at Shane's thoughtful expression.

"Can you at least tell us the sector he's in?"

"No, I'm sorry..."

"Can you... just look up Michael Kendel?"

The man nodded and reached for a book; it was four inches thick. "Date of passing?"

Shane looked to the ground, thinking. He recalled the uniformed boy holding the letter. "That would be the sixth of April, nineteen forty-three."

The man flipped through the pages, paused, and flipped again. His lower lip dropped. "Just a moment," he said, and wandered off to his fellow worker for a hushed conversation.

The woman he spoke to came towards Shane. She smiled and said, "Hello. I've been informed you're looking for your father."

"That's right."

She examined the page in the book, the expression sombre. "I'm awfully sorry. He's no longer here."

"What?" said Shane.

"He passed away, over two years ago."

"How?"

"The details of his death aren't given here. I'm sorry."

"But this is the afterlife. He _should_ be here."

"The records don't lie, I'm afraid."

"No. No, you're wrong."

Shane stormed out of the library in a rage and dashed through the carnival, pushing others aside. He entered an alleyway, splashing through puddles and began kicking a pile of boxes next to a dumpster, then repeatedly thumped his palm against the brick wall. He stopped himself and gripped his head with both hands, hearing footsteps. Niall had caught up.

Screams. Panicked voices came from the carnival.

Shane looked up to witness a man barge his way through a family, toppling over a young girl. The man ran towards Shane and Niall. He seemed in a hurry, as if his life depended on it.

Up above, the black fleet appeared beneath grey clouds, with bat-like wings the size of a private plane. Three Govern dived with grace to the carnival in full swing, prompting a standstill.

Shane wasn't repulsed by the Govern; he admired them from what he had learned during his short time in Kiian. Their power to be unafraid of anyone, anything they may encounter, excited him. He and Niall watched as a Govern swoop down, opened its sleek black tentacles, which glowed red, and engulfed the runaway man in seconds.

That moment, Shane understood. He approached the creature. It seemed busy, recoiling and relaxing. He stood within five metres of the eight-foot creature, which had wrapped its wings around its body of tentacles and created an hourglass figure. Its sight, Shane presumed, came from within the rigid hood. Inside, its face couldn't be seen.

"We'll help you catch them," said Shane in his bravest voice. "My brother and I."

It moved as if floating on a bed of air. Two spindly black tentacles rose from its body and touched Shane's temples. He took a deep breath and held it, watching in peril as the faceless Govern fluttered its body and screeched a sound so loud he became deaf, except for a high-pitched buzz.

Shane witnessed only darkness.

Niall's face expressed worry as he leaned over his brother. Shane, on his back, opened his eyes to see his brother appearing to speak; his lips moved for sure, but Shane heard nothing. After a moment's anxiety, he finally heard Niall's voice, ever so faintly.

Within a day, Shane's hearing regained clarity – as did life.

# CHAPTER SIX

Minds for Revolution

The interior of Penn Portal Station echoed with announcements, combined with chatter and footsteps; it was almost as chaotic as the entry hall, though every bit as grand. High above, shards of light pierced the glass panes. Steel arches webbed across the roof, and the largest clock the twins had ever set eyes on ticked.

Rose excused and apologised her way through the masses. The direction for most appeared to flow towards the centre of the station, where mechanical sounds came from.

She finally caught a glimpse of the station's centerpiece: a chain of black, cylindrical, steel objects lined up, each featuring a light at the top, like an oval of eighteen-foot-high lighthouses with an open entrance. People entered and vanished within a flash of light, as if having their photo taken.

"The portal looks harmless enough, right?" said Rose, turning to the side to give Lily a better view.

"I hope you're right, for your sake," said her considerate sibling. "Let's go already."

Rose headed towards the centre and joined the shortest queue she could find; at least a dozen awaited their turn. She witnessed a young woman insert an item into a slot; the token, she thought, just like the one Pei had given her. The woman then stepped up onto the portal platform and began to type on a key panel. Rose glanced down at the piece of paper and back again towards the woman, who had vanished.

One by one, spirits stepped into the portal: a flash of light, followed by the sound of industrial exhaling, like a vacuum cleaner after being switched off, only the sound was much deeper and much more threatening.

Rose's heart rate had doubled in pace. She felt leering eyes upon her and heard gossiping tongues. She caught snippets:

"...ever seen that..."

"...she's human... I doubt she'll be here..."

"...still primitive... really unfortunate..."

"What are you _staring_ at?" said Lily, causing Rose's unease to magnify. "I have a right to be here too!"

Rose stared hard into the paper and walked a few paces. She was next, and carefully watched the man in front proceed through the sequence. He stepped inside the cylinder and caught Rose's fearful eyes, then raised his hand to hold the brim of his hat and gave her a nod, before vanishing like a magician.

Holding out the piece of paper within her shaky grasp, she stepped forward and inserted the token, then entered the portal. A panel to her left featured letters and numerals. She began to type, one by one, double-checking every input. The sector displayed on screen above the keyboard, adjacent to the command 'Enter' and a flashing red button. Her index finger hovered over the button, and she pushed it.

White light beamed above. Rose shut her eyes tight and squeezed her hands together as an eerie drone surrounded them. Deeper, the frequency caused Rose's ribs to vibrate. She exhaled along with the portal. _Did it work?_ Rose had felt nothing, not even a flutter of hair gone astray.

She snapped open her eyes.

The vast, arched, steel interior dwarfed everything in sight and was filled with muffled sounds. Compared to the Penn Portal Station, there appeared far less of a crowd. Men wore taller hats than those witnessed in New York. Women dressed in large frilly frocks that made their waists seem petite.

Rose took her first steps into Sector IR-294, mouth parted in awe, and made her way towards daylight where the railway tracks departed the station, disappearing round a bend.

The sound of a horn alerted the twins' attention. Steam blasted through a funnel as a locomotive cruised closer, easing her heftily constructed wheels into the station. She glided alongside platform five like the queen of the railways, all mighty and majestic. Men and women lined up and observed with interest; some appeared to be taking notes as she came to a standstill.

"She's a _beauty_ , so she is," said a male voice.

Rose glanced to her left, while Lily did the same to her right.

His accent was known. Rose certainly had watched enough television to hear many voices, and Irish was unmistakable.

"I got to tell ye, I ain't seen the likes of you two before. No sire, not ever," said the man beside them and smiled, looking at the twins in succession.

Rose smiled back. "We have to be going now," she said, and continued to walk in the direction Professor Pei had told her.

Footsteps followed.

"Yep, they don't make 'em like that anymore. Heck, not on Earth anyway," said the man. He smiled and held out his large hairy hand. "Sorry, my name's Shane, nice to meet you both."

Rose stopped walking and looked at his hand. She gave it a quick shake.

"My curiosity got the better of me, what with your humanness and your... lack of spiritness," he added, before grinning crookedly.

Shane wore a brown leather jacket over an off-white shirt and a dark flat-cap slanted to one side covering most of his short blonde hair. He was probably taller than her father, and around thirty years old. He seemed charming enough, if a little too keen to talk.

"I'm a fan of the _Flying Scotsman_ , myself," said Shane. "I got to ride her some years ago. _My God_ , she has power behind those wheels." He scratched his neck, then stroked his stubbly chin. "So you here for business, or pleasure?"

Rose had been told many times by her father to avoid speaking to strangers. Although taking that advice would mean not speaking to anyone in the spirit world. She glanced again at his welcoming face. "They're amazing. But I don't know anything about them," she said while admiring the intricacy of the wheels. "Well, we need to be going now. It was nice to meet –"

"Lack of _spiritness?_ " butted in Lily. "Don't think _you're_ so special, mister."

"Whoa! Ha-ha. You're a feisty one, so ye are," said Shane, holding out his hands in front and took a step back as though he had a gun pointed at him. "I don't mean to offend ye – simply stating what little I know, that's all."

"Too late. Let's go, Rose."

"Look... let me make it up to ye both. Where ye headin'?"

Rose's father had given her the correct response to that very question. "We're waiting for our father. He'll be here any second," she recited, remembering very well.

" _All aboard!_ " shouted a uniformed man, and blew his whistle hard and loud.

Shane looked to the train as steam blasted from its wheels, then glanced back to the twins. "So how come you were headin' out the station?"

"We're going to the Scrap-yard Tower, you know it?" said Lily.

Don't say that!

"Oh, so that's it. And I'm thinking you're not from round here. Because that way is the long way. I'm talking... forty minutes," he said, pointing along the railway lines as the locomotive rolled away, giving a triumphant blow of its horn. "But sure, I know the Scrap-yard Tower. Though I'd watch yourselves, I've heard the owner is bit _cuckoo_ , if you know what I mean." Shane twirled his finger at the side of his head and then turned to his right, facing the rear entrance. "Ye wanna be heading that way. Takes half the time. I should know, I live here. Anyway, I'm headin' in that direction. I'll escort you there, free of charge of course." He looked at the twins, adjusted his cap with one hand, followed by a wink and grin.

Rose's expression told of her discomfort. She knew the right thing to do would be to thank him for his wonderful insight and trundle off to follow the railway lines, just as she was instructed.

"Lead the way," said Lily, in her commanding voice. "Half the time should be..." she counted down her ghostly fingers, "twenty minutes. So let's see, _shall_ we."

"Ha-ha, I like your fiery spirit. What's your names?"

"Lily, and she's Rose. Whenever you're ready," she said, folding her arms, even though she couldn't rest them.

"Right ye are – follow me!"

The twins left the station in Shane's shadow, passing antique-looking shops along English streets of eighteen eighty-three E.C. (Earth Calendar). They strolled along to the sounds of an organ-grinder playing merry music, and jugglers performing to enthralled crowds. The twins noticed a man riding an odd bicycle; the front wheel was more than half the size of Shane, whereas the rear was barely above his ankles.

Shane did all the talking as they departed the streets and began walking over grassy terrain. He told of the time the sector had begun operating in nineteen hundred and five E.C. He informed them about his upbringing, how he came to live at the sector and how he died on Earth. His story made an impact on Rose, and she found it hard to begrudge a man for being a stranger, and a helpful, pleasant one at that.

They walked past rows of giant chimneys that seemed to reach into the clouds and blow out their own. They wandered over a large iron bridge, designed by Abraham Darby III. Shane related in detail the history of Abraham and his family, and the first iron bridge ever built on Earth. The beginning of the Industrial Revolution, said Shane.

"Not long now, just a little farther," he said, glancing back to view Rose. "We can take a short cut through my backyard. My place is just along here, then you go straight on," he added in a cheerful tone.

They continued along a narrow alley between terraced houses. And around the time Shane had said they would arrive, they came to an opened black steel gate, tall and arched, surrounded by brick and mortar. It reminded Rose of a gate at Mary's house, but not so grand and elaborate.

"Well, this is me," said Shane, sounding upbeat. "Like I say, just head through here and straight on. You can't miss it."

Rose proceeded to follow Shane and entered an enclosure, at least ten paces long. In the centre, amid a patch of soil, was an apple tree. The paving stones which surrounded it were irregular, featuring cracks where tufts of grass protruded. To her right was an identical gate, held open by a small stone on the ground.

"Well... I hope I've been informative for ye. See, there's a lot you can learn from strangers," said Shane as he walked through the second gate. "Like..." He paused, placing his foot to the stone that held the gate and slid it along the paving. "Like not trusting them." He grinned as before, only this time he looked menacing. The gate swung shut, and he brought out a padlock from his jacket, then clamped it onto the bars.

"Rose!" cried Lily, witnessing the first gate being slammed and locked by another man, who looked just as intimidating. His hair was dark and scruffy; his clothes matched.

"What are you doing?" asked Rose, turning around in a state of panic, looking for another way out, but there were none, only brick walls twice her height.

"Sorry, lasses, please don't take this personal. It's business, that's all," said Shane while the other man let out a snide chuckle and continued to chew on something.

"What do you want from us!" snapped Lily. "Open the gate! Let us out, right now!"

"It's not about what I want. It's what the Govern want," said Shane, leaning on the gate, looking quite chuffed. "Like I say, it's business. I give them the intruders, the escapees, the misbehavers; they give us loot and freedom very few get to experience. Ain't that right, brother?"

"Aye, sure is," the other said, echoing his brother's accent. He threw down a bag and brought out some equipment, then held it against the bars. "Give us a smile, won't ye?"

"Go on, give him a smile," said Shane. "Another one for the album, eh, Niall?"

He grinned and focused the lens, revealing a missing tooth. "Sure is. Say cheese!"

"He's quite an accomplished photographer, is Ni. You'll never be forgotten, that's for sure." Shane stood straight and his tone became serious. "Now, you be good lasses and sit quiet. Ni, don't take your eyes off them." He walked away and out of sight.

Niall kept his eyes transfixed on the twins as though his life depended on it, and they sensed every second of his glare, as if he were a spider and his meal had just flown in.

Rose tried to control her breathing, but all she could think about was the Govern. She couldn't put an image to one, only fear the worst. Her legs strained to function as she dashed to the gate, where Shane had departed. It moved a few millimetres at the most. The lock preventing their escape was as thick as Rose's wrist; it rattled between the bars and nothing more.

"Don't bother wasting your energy," said Niall. "Better to accept your fate. You'll feel better for it. Trust me, I used to."

"Stop moving," ordered Lily, causing Rose to freeze.

"That's right, stay put. Not long now," said Niall. He brought out his pocket watch, then placed it to his ear. "Huh... you two are gonna buy me a new timekeeper."

Lily hadn't felt the same since entering the spirit world. Her fingertips would tingle from time to time. Her senses seemed to have improved: hearing had become sharper; sight too, clearer than ever. Now she felt something in her belly, a feeling of pressure, energy, building and fermenting, with a notion that if she wanted to, she could release it, like plunging a pin into a balloon.

_Rose_ ... said a voice, though it came from nobody's lips or tongue. _Can you hear me? Click your fingers if you can_.

Rose paused for a second. She placed her middle finger and thumb together.

_Click_.

_Good_. _Listen_ , said Lily in her thoughts, and explained her plan.

Stunned by her sister's ability, Rose wasn't convinced the plan would work. Nonetheless, she took a deep breath and made her way over to Niall.

"Had enough looking for a way out?" asked Niall. "Your wait will be over soon. I shouldn't think it'll be too painful. But then again... what the hell do I know."

"Does Shane always order you about?" asked Rose, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head.

"You what? Get away with ye." He straightened his posture and tilted his head, giving her a menacing stare. "It's more the other way around actually. He was the one at the station, no? That's because I told him so. We had a tip-off about one of our targets, see. Well, looks like he found some easier fish to fry. To tell you the truth, I'm glad it was Shane there. Methinks he has a charm with the ladies. Charmed you two, good and proper."

"I don't believe you," said Rose. "I bet he wouldn't dare give you a key to the locks."

"Ha-ha, cobblers, and why not? Thinking I might just hand it over to ye, 'cause yer quite sweet looking? Ha-ha!" He shook his head while laughing. Fake laughter.

"Prove it. Show us your key," said Rose with growing anxiety, though refusing to display it.

"Show ye my key? Yer quite petty, aren't ye. But if I must, so I can laugh in yer face." Niall reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a small item. "There, see, my key."

Lily gleamed at the silver. Within seconds, the key departed Niall's palm and floated through the bars.

"What the... How on _Kiian_ are ye doing that!" he shouted, hands gripped to the bars.

Rose grabbed the airborne silver and dashed to the other gate. She inserted the key and turned; the padlock joyfully clicked. The lock was stiff and Rose yanked, once, twice, three times for freedom. She twisted and pulled the lock from the bars. It thudded to the ground, denting the paving stone. The gate swung open and she sprinted as fast as she could while Lily squished her eyes tightly and poked out her tongue. Her actions were seen, which only ignited Niall's inflating fury.

" _Shane!_ " bellowed Niall. "They're getting _away!_ "

Rose ran along alternate alleyways. She enjoyed every stride with an overwhelming sense of freedom, until her senses began to fade. For a moment she felt as though she were fainting, and stopped to cradle her head, leaning against a wall, while thoughts swept her clouded, throbbing mind.

"Rose, _keep_ moving, they might catch us!"

"I know... it's just... my head, it hurts..."

"Be strong, block it out or something."

"I'm trying..."

The pain began to ease from her mind. She sighed in comfort, feeling the strength in her legs return.

Rose stood and ran, slightly off balance, with thoughts of Lily's unexpected feat, her stupidity in involving Shane and his sibling, and the fate at the hands of the gruesome Govern, which they had avoided; for now at least.

# CHAPTER SEVEN

The Scrap-yard Tower

Rose gasped for breath, stomping down a narrow bricked alley, rapt with thoughts of Lily's magical moment.

Invading a shaded corner, she leaned against an abandoned wagon and wanted to collapse onto the bulging sacks within. Instead, as she slumped next to the wagon's wheel, when a distraction caught her attention. She glanced down the alley. Along the major road, cheering was generated by a mass of gatherers. Rose pushed off the wheel and drifted towards it. The scene reminded her of Queen Elizabeth II's coronation, which she'd seen on television. Like that, horses trotted by with a carriage in tow surrounded by hordes of people, cheering and waving flags. A man stood within the open-top carriage and waved to the abundant crowd. Rose had seen him before in a book, but couldn't put a name to his face.

Not all felt the same about the silver-haired man. Amongst the cheerers, others held large boards that read:

GREATER LIFE EXTENSIONS FOR ALL!

BOYCOTT FAVOURITISM NOW!

END TO PREJUDICE – EQUALITY FOR _ALL_ SPIRITS!

The angry men and women shouted their statements too. Some of the callers were brutally pushed aside; men were thrown to the ground by patrolling officers, who were wielding rifles.

As the parade continued along the street, Rose finally regained her breath as she continued to observe the spectacle.

"Rose, over there, look," said Lily, pointing at a tall structure. "Stanley Hopkins must live there."

What Rose looked at was indeed a tower, of sorts. Made of rusty steel, it featured sheets of metal-like patches that looked to have been stitched on. Protruding from the side were what appeared to be balconies and other unidentifiable objects. The tower was more akin to a monstrous machine, with a giant wheel half-buried in the ground, giving the appearance it was mobile.

Rose picked her path through the crowd of people, many of whom wore long white jackets. As she crossed the road the sounds of cheers began to fade. She looked up, and the steel structure loomed, covering the twins in shadow.

The first obstacle seemed to encompass the entire scrap-yard: a thick iron fence reached three times her height. She followed the fence along, seeking an entrance. A sign caught her eye:

ALL TRESPASSERS WILL BE _ERASED_

Rose couldn't help but think the sign was a scare tactic. After all, the professor had told them to go seek Hopkins for help; and helpful folk are not the kind to erase people – trespassing or not.

She reassured herself and proceeded with caution to what must be the front entrance. Alongside it, a chain with a handle hung from a bell. Rose took hold of the handle and gave it a yank. Her efforts resulted in nothing but a rattling chain. She leant forwards and pushed the entrance door. The noise caused her to halt, as it creaked and groaned like it were in pain. The gap she created was slight, but enough to slip through.

Rose had never entered a scrap-yard. Nevertheless, her surroundings were just what she imagined. Rows of crushed junk reached unstable heights, with wires extending out like scrawny robotic hairs. More than anything, the yard featured plane carcasses – wings, tails, propellers – all in a dire state, and the fumes reminded Rose of her father's toolbox.

Treading with care, she stopped and listened to the crashing and smashing. She followed a path that led around piles of worn tyres, dismembered furniture and a rusting train. The sounds became louder and more frequent, as Rose stepped closer to a large mound of junk.

" _Where are you?_ " shouted an aggressive male voice.

A cog came tumbling down the mountain of metal. Rose dodged, preparing herself for more flying objects. "Hello! Mister! Are you Stanley Hopkins?" she shouted, and leapt to avoid an airborne exhaust pipe, followed by a typewriter.

" _Huh?_ " uttered the man. "Who's there? You should have rung the bell; you're trespassing! I'll... have you erased!" he threatened. "Unless you have my module, or its _damn_ tracker!"

"Your bell doesn't work!" shouted Rose, on her tiptoes, trying to see the man she presumed to be Stanley.

She clambered onto a rusted car shell for a better view. At the very peak of the mountain a man appeared from behind a propeller. His face looked like he had bathed in motor oil. His hair was black and stood out in rigid spikes. He pulled himself up, revealing his grease-stained overalls with turned-up sleeves.

"Are you the owner?" asked Rose. "Are you Stanley Hopkins?"

The man did a double take, balancing himself with the propeller blade, his expression one of great bewilderment. "Are you what I think you are?" he asked, brushing his brow with a black cloth. "You're human, aren't you? And _you_ ... why, you're a primitive."

"So everyone keeps telling us," said Rose.

"You two shouldn't exist here. This is all _terribly_ wrong."

"That too," she added, stepping down from the car and taking slow strides towards him.

Lily would usually have given the man an earful after calling her the 'p' word. However, she remained calm and held it, this once. "We need to find our mother, as soon as possible!"

"Hold on, how did you even arrive here? And why Stanley, what's he going to do for you?"

Rose stopped moving. "I read a spell from a book. I discovered my sister, and we entered this world to find our mother. That's why we're here. We need Stanley to navigate, and help us find her, so she can separate us – hopefully."

"Mighty, that's a big ask. You have tokens?"

"Tokens? No," she said, shaking her head.

"Then what's in it for him?"

Rose paused, searching for a reason.

Lily spoke on her behalf. "Only a heartless, soulless, no good, petty prune of a man wouldn't help us!"

Rose held her breath before adding to Lily's reasons. "Professor Pei told us Stanley would help, and that he knows the sectors better than anyone. That is you, right?"

"Stanley? ( _pfft_ ) No, he's... out!"

"Out where?"

"Oh... out doing what strange men like him – do. My name is Henry, his... _errand_ boy. I'm not even allowed to set foot in his precious tower. All I do is serve the man: find this, clean that, fix those. That's pretty much my existence. He says carry; I say, where?"

"When will he be back? He does live in there, doesn't he?" asked Rose, glancing at the tower.

"Stanley has been known to live throughout Kiian. He can travel for days, weeks, even months at a time. I have no idea what he gets up to. Now, if you don't mind, be on your way. I'm extremely busy. That is, unless you have my module?" he asked with an expression that indicated he knew the answer. "I thought not. Now scarper, as time is short and I've got _metal_ to move."

Rose sighed with disappointment as he clambered down the trash mountain, searching along the way. She glanced at Henry as he approached. "Well, if you see him, tell him we need his help," she said, and observed Henry shooing her away.

He escorted the twins to the entrance and eyed them both, remaining tight lipped upon opening the door.

"Henry, please tell him, my and Lily's life depend on him. He's our only chance of finding our mother, otherwise we –"

"Yes, yes, yes," said Henry as he gently, though with urgency, pushed the twins out of the yard, closed the entrance door and locked it tight. "I saw that."

" _Good_ ," said Lily, who had given him a farewell tongue poke.

* * *

Rose scanned the streets for preying eyes, namely slimy Shane and his even slimier brother. She looked up in the hope of seeing a flying vessel preparing to land, which Stanley Hopkins would be piloting. Only a scattering of clouds drifted beneath the blue sky.

Realising how obvious they were, Rose made her way alongside the fence and onto a heavily shaded path. Hidden behind foliage, she stopped, recalling her sister's hidden talents. "Lily, how on _Earth_ did you move that key?"

"Don't you mean _Kiian_?"

"Oh yes, you know what I mean. And speaking to me, with your mind?"

"Well... by not being on Earth for a start," she said, softly. "Ever since we arrived I've not felt the same. It's like a tingle in my belly. Like the globe on the table, at the professor's. It would have rolled off the edge had I not stopped it."

"I thought that seemed ... You did that?"

"Or when the police car chased him, when we arrived at the station, I–"

"You burst the tyre?"

"Yep. I just focused, wishing for it to pop, and then..." She clenched her hands into fists and opened them quickly. " _Booooom!_ I did it," she said, gleefully.

"Wait, after that, I did feel something, like a dizzy rush to my head, like when I've stood up too quickly. After we escaped too, my head hurt – that must be why. I wonder if there are others like you."

"I _doubt_ it. I'm a one-off."

Rose gazed at a rusty steel bar on the ground. She narrowed her eyes and focused her mind, pushing, forcing with thought. The bar didn't move in the slightest. Clearly, Lily was the gifted one, while Rose felt the consequences.

"Let's find another way in," said Lily. "I reckon he's hiding in the tower."

"You think so? Let's have a look around first. Maybe there's another way in."

The sun beamed through the foliage as Rose clambered through the unkempt vegetation, interrupted by a joyous yelp from inside the yard. "I found you! My beauty!" And he gave whatever he had found a long, loving kiss.

Thinking Henry was odder than ever, Rose scraped through the brambles, ducked below the branches and discovered another entrance. Surrounded by earth and caped with weeds and vines, the door appeared to have little function.

"Here, let's try this," said Rose, and pressed against the entrance. Her face changed from discovery to dismay. "It's locked, there's no way in."

"You thought there was no way out of those gates before."

"Yeah... but there was at least a key."

"There must be a lock, or something on the other side. Let me have a look. Press your back against it."

Rose turned to face away from the entrance and backed up. Lily glided through like a ghost and observed the interior.

"What do you see?" whispered Rose.

"A _mess_ – worse than before," she said, twisting her neck. "It's a single bolt. But a large one."

"Can you move it?"

"Hold still." Lily concentrated, willing the bolt to slide. It was heavy; certainly no key.

Creak!

Rose gasped with amazement. "Did you do that?" she asked, and then covered her mouth, hoping nobody heard.

Lily didn't hear, or simply declined to. She gazed at the steel bolt with fire in her eyes and heat bubbling in her belly. Her hair fluttered around her face. She became almost possessed with a will to move the bolt. And she did so, again, and again. Inch by inch, the rusty bolt creaked and scraped.

" _Done_."

"Done?" said Rose, then she grimaced, overcome by a mighty migraine. It consumed her thoughts, distorting her sight. Her head pulsed, as if her brain had inflated inside her throbbing skull. She limply fell to her knees, grasping at the vines.

"Rose! What's wrong?"

She took a deep breath, followed by a soothing exhale. Her eyes opened as the pressure inside her head eased. The iron door was her support, and she leaned on it with both hands to stand. "I think the harder you try, the more I suffer. Try not to make a habit of that, will you, sis?"

Lily sighed and smiled. "Of course not – sis."

"Thanks. I really don't want to go through that again."

Rose pushed the door with both hands. A deep, thudding sound emitted as she dug her wellies into the ground, pushing with enough might to create a gap, and slipped through.

The scrap-yard was devoid of sound, apart from the occasional tapping of metal on metal. Rose navigated around the maze of junk, using the tower as her beacon. At the entrance of the tower, Rose faced the door. It featured a handle more akin to a bank safe. She gripped the wheel, though as predicted, it didn't budge. She removed her hands and stood back. "So you going to do your magic again?" she asked, wishing her sister wouldn't. A sudden headache gripped her mind, only mild.

"Already have."

Rose steadied herself and reached for the wheel.

"No, not there, the window."

To her right, the lower window frame slowly opened.

Lily smiled, relishing her newfound gift; for the first time in her life, she felt important.

Rose stepped through the window to enter a dim hallway featuring poky windows. Every stride was carefully chosen to make the least sound and to avoid the clutter of machine parts, oil-soaked cloths, empty bottles and mechanical apparatus. The black and white chequered floor featured numerous stains, paint drops and slippery grease.

Rose edged her way towards a steel spiral staircase. The steps featured sections of missing banister and others hanging loose.

_Drip_ ... _drip_ ... _drip_ ...

Had it not been for the dripping tap, she wouldn't have presumed the room she entered to be a kitchen. It became far too apparent that Mr Hopkins was not keen on the use of a mop, fixing breakages or general hygiene. What was clear was his liking for trash, and lots of it.

"Yuck... who dares live like this?" said Lily. "I bet his mother doesn't visit."

"Maybe he doesn't live here," said Rose. "Maybe Henry was telling the truth. He travels, leaving this place to rot, I guess."

Not wishing to stay and continue inhaling the stench, Rose moved swiftly from the kitchen impostor to brave the staircase.

With careful footsteps, she headed upwards and peeked at the next floor. Her examination revealed three rooms full of junk. So much that the doors couldn't be closed: pipes, steel rods, nuts, bolts and chains oozed out. Between the doors were dark and dingy windows, some barely emitting a glimmer of light. The air was musty, and Rose could taste the décor at the back of her throat.

"What... a... _dump_ ," said Lily. "He can't be married, it's not possible. He's probably ancient, fat and ugly with greasy hair and a beard with food all mangled in it."

"You don't know that. He might be too busy for housework. Anyway, keep your voice down."

She continued her ascent over more greasy, wonky steps, gingerly gripping the sticky banister rail.

The next floor established a pattern: more doors, spewing out oodles of clutter; more windows, barely relevant for all the muck preventing light from entering. Further floors revealed more rooms and windows; rooms with one purpose only – junk hoarding. Rose made her way up again, floor after floor of repetition, only more abundant with grit and grime.

On the sixth floor, the twins reached the top. One door featured, closed. Rose stepped towards it, and to her delight the door opened with the slightest of pushes. Inside, a king-size bed stood against the left-side wall. The windows ahead were by far the cleanest and largest seen in the tower. On closer inspection, the windows were doors; in front was a low standing table cluttered with framed photos and trophies. Beyond the doors, a balcony where a steel chair faced the sun. The rest of the room was tidy, with no stains, litter or machinery parts in sight.

" _Raaaaaw! Amnesh! Amnesh!_ " cried a voice.

Startled, Rose stepped back and observed a grey parrot flap across the room, then perch on the curtain rail above the balcony doors. A cage hung in the corner with its door wide open.

" _Raaaaaw! Oh boy!_ "

"That parrot's _potty_ ," said Lily.

Rose clung to the wall and edged her way along so as not to cause the bird any more alarm. "I guess it's Stanley's pet."

"Best not get too close, might peck your eyes out."

Rose stopped in her tracks, standing close enough.

The parrot's grey feathers looked silky smooth, and its tail featured a distinctive red tip. Its beak was black and its eyes too, surrounded by brilliant white.

As the parrot didn't seem too alarmed, Rose began to scout around, keeping one eye on the bird while looking for information regarding Stanley. Family photos donned the wall space, most in black and white, though some were of a yellow tinge. Upon closer inspection, she saw some of the dates: eighteen eighty-nine, eighteen fifty-five, nineteen hundred and two.

"Shall I look in the drawers?" asked Rose.

"You'll not find him in there."

"For information, silly. Maybe we'll find..." Rose paused. Movement caught her eye. She glimpsed a figure in the scrap-yard through the balcony. A man strolled wearing a flat cap, accompanied by another. Shane walked alongside his brother.

"They're here," she whispered. "What're we gonna do?"

"Hide?" suggested Lily.

Rose dashed around the room, seeking concealment. She gently closed the door and eased the handle to prevent a loud click. On her hands and knees, she slid under the bed and lay flat on her belly, slowing her breathing to silence. Her eyes widened; she remembered the window she had clambered though. Worse were the clanking sounds of heavy-booted feet on steel steps. She began peeking towards the window for options. However, the sound of thudding boots was directly outside the room. Rose bit her lower lip and froze, wishing she hadn't hidden under the bed – the most obvious place to hide.

"Rose... I've come to talk," said the Irishman. It sounded like Niall. He spoke softly, alas, menacingly, and Rose knew he was lying through his yellow-stained teeth.

The door swung open. Footsteps proceeded into the room, thud by thud, and stopped.

" _Raaaaw! Amnesh! Not be happy!_ "

"Quiet! _Stupid_ bird." He pulled down on the balcony door handle and pushed. A swift breeze of air fluttered the bed linen. He then stepped upon the table, toppling over a picture frame, and went outside.

"They're not 'ere!"

"You checked all the rooms?" shouted Shane, from below.

"There's only one room open! The rest are the complete pits!"

"Have you looked in them?"

"Yeah! Not a chance are they in there!"

"You checked under the beds, right?"

A pause. "Of _course_ I have!"

"Just keep looking!"

Rose's entire body tensed. She knew the next place Niall would be looking, and crawled closer to the door.

Footsteps plodded on the table, followed by the floor. A knee hit the deck, along with a large grubby hand. Rose pushed with her wellies and out from under the bed.

"Oi!" he shouted, and sprinted to the door. Far quicker than Rose, his hand made contact before her escape. He slammed it shut, rattling the room, so she backed off and jumped for the bed, trying to second-guess his next move. "I've got ye... I've got ye now," he said, spreading his hands wide.

"Stay back, you _freak!_ " shouted Lily, twisting her neck for a better view. "I swear you'll regret coming here. I swear!"

Rose rocked on the bed from side to side while Niall took out a piece of rope and began to creep towards her. With little room, the balcony was the only option. She prepared to leap, interrupted by the unexpected.

" _Raaaaw! Agggghhh!_ " The parrot took flight and flapped its wings above Niall. He thumped into the door, covering his head from the sharp, scraping claws and pecking beak. " _Raaaw! Raaaw!_ " cried the parrot, continuing its frenzied attack.

Rose leapt over the table and out onto the balcony. She braced herself against the steel railing preventing her from plummeting to the ground; the balcony was at least three double-decker buses high. She grabbed hold of the chair, pointing the steel feet outward as a weapon, then backed up into the far corner as the parrot flew away from the tower.

Niall followed, grasping his head where blood flowed and observed his red-smeared hands. His anger was blatant, and he gave Rose a revengeful glare. "That ain't gonna stop me," he growled, pulling the rope he held taut.

"Bring her down!" shouted Shane. "They're not getting away again, that's for sure!"

Niall stepped closer every second. "Don't try anything."

Rumble! Rumble!

At first, Rose thought an earthquake was causing the tower to tremble. It started slowly, then grew with force. The sound of machinery and rotating cogs came from below, where the lower scrap-yard floor began to part. A deep _booming_ drone ignited as Rose desperately leant against the vibrating bars. The twins glanced down, as did the bemused Niall.

The mast rose, made of bronzed steel. Tied from the mast were ropes crisscrossing back and forth like calculated chaos. Its cream satin sails were tied up; beneath, a steel chimney, and below that, small circular windows glistened. The deck was pristine and glazed with a fine shine. At her side, two twin engines drowned Niall's distressed words.

The pilot stood tall, dressed as a true gentleman. He wore a black top hat, reaching a foot high from his brow. A deep-red velvet jacket was buttoned up and knee length. It featured gold chains and shiny medals pinned to his chest. With both hands he held a large wheel, the kind a pirate would steer his treasure-hunting vessel with. He glanced towards the static twins with his strong facial features. They stared back in awe as the man nodded and placed a hand on a lever. He pulled it, causing a side section of the air vessel to lower. A display of steel and chains flowed out, shaping a series of steps.

Rose observed the lowest step rise towards her. She threw down the chair and clambered onto the balcony railing, then leapt onto the escalating step. Her grip wasn't tight, but enough to prevent her from falling. She steadied her balance and scrambled up, holding on to the chain that swayed by her side, then climbed a small ladder, followed by slumping onto the deck, feeling the vibrations of the vessel all over her body.

The twins looked upon their saviour as the man pulled the same lever, retracting the steps with a _clunk_. He spun the wheel with vigour, then pulled it towards his chest. The vessel rotated, rising on its axis, and was propelled skyward.

Rose stood and staggered over to the edge, observing Niall throw down his rope in disgust while Shane stepped out onto the balcony, shouting, but Rose couldn't hear, nor cared to listen.

The parrot flew above, circling the vessel. It swooped and flapped its wings, then landed on the pilot's shoulder. All that was missing was an eye patch and a peg leg, thought Rose.

"C'mon, _c'mon_ ," stressed the pilot.

Rose couldn't help but notice the man's anxiety. An ever-present sound stirred the air, which appeared to trouble him:

Bleep! Bleep! Bleep!

# CHAPTER EIGHT

Engineered for Life

The scrap-yard tower appeared like a child's toy as the vessel climbed higher and higher, gaining velocity.

Rose observed the man in the dark velvet jacket. He steered with the wheel, adjusted levers and seemed reassuringly adept. However, his attention was drawn to his right, observing a semi-sphere, mounted on a plinth of brass pipes. It _bleeped_ and a pulse flashed in the centre of the screen.

She cleared her throat. "Thanks," Rose said, moving a step closer to her knight in shining velvet.

No response.

"How rude," said Lily.

"He probably didn't hear me."

The parrot gripped on to the man's shoulder like it was riding a frantic bull, until it had enough and flew to a crossbar joined to the mast.

"Mister..." added Rose, taking another step. "Excuse me, mist–"

"I _heard_ you," the pilot interrupted, speaking with a strong English accent. "Here, make yourself useful and hold _this_ ," he said in an irritable tone while staring at the bleeping screen, which self-rotated, to the annoyance of the pilot. "I'll fix it one of these days. That's _if_ I see another."

Rose stared at him, made anxious by his troubled words. She held the device and angled the screen for his viewing. On closer inspection, it seemed to be some sort of radar display. The bleeps sounded as the emitted pulse connected with a scattering of white dots. Each one moved towards the centre.

Rose had many questions to ask the pilot, and pondered the most suitable. Lily, however, averted her attention to the parrot, arms folded, and let them get on with it, whatever that entailed.

"Those men," said Rose, finally, "they're in your home, so why are we flying away? Why don't you –"

"Hear those bleeps?" interrupted the pilot. "Those bleeping dots catch us, me, you, and _her_ are goners!"

"What does it mean?" asked Rose, staring at the display in a newfound way.

"The Govern, that's what," he said, while pulling another lever amongst a jumble of controls.

"We can handle it," said Lily.

"Yes... I'd like to see that. The same day I can be human again!" he said, spinning the wheel with purpose. "You have no idea what you're dealing with. The Govern uphold the law. We must obey, or lose our right to exist. Now hold tight!"

Another lever caused the deck to jerk. There was a cranking sound and then the square section that Rose and the pilot stood upon began to sink below the deck. The wheel, radar and the lever he pulled came down with them. They arrived within the vessel's interior with a sudden halt.

Above, the entrance began to close from both sides, while the parrot swooped through and flapped rapidly. It landed on a spherical cage covered in octagonal shapes that hung on a hook and swung in a circular motion.

The doors came together with a _clunk_ , enclosing all inside in a dimly lit control chamber surrounded by sounds of ticking and tapping machinery, hard at work. Levers, gauges and gizmos adorned the entire room, which made Rose uneasy and claustrophobic.

"You lied. Why did you _lie?_ " snapped Lily, not in the slightest impressed by her new surroundings.

"Sis, the man saved us."

"He didn't want anything to do with us. I bet his name isn't Henry. It's Stanley, isn't it?"

The pilot peered through a periscope, the type used in submarines, before pushing it aside. "She's right. My name isn't Henry; I'm the man you seek. However, it's my yard you broke into, and without _even_ ringing the bell. Then you had the audacity to break into my tower," he said, letting go of the wheel and activating autopilot. "And because of that, I now have two other fiends snooping around – and probably this very moment, the Govern are there too, finding out _all_ about me. So yes, I lied, so I wouldn't be in this situation right now, oh... too late!" he barked directly into Lily's translucent face.

" _Excuse_ me," said Lily. "I'm not the liar. _And_ we tried your bell, it doesn't work, remember? As for your tower, it's a dump anyway."

Stanley stopped in his tracks and puckered his lips inquisitively. "My bell doesn't work... _are you sure?_ " he asked, appearing to have misplaced that information. "Anyway, my tower is how I like it. And that's by the by, you shouldn't have broken in. End of story." He turned his back on the twins and observed the bleeps.

"You'd rather we were captured," said Lily, "and killed by them, you... selfish... bolts for brains!" She searched to conjure up more insults to spurt his way.

Stanley remained mute, watching the white dots, twitching his bushy moustache.

"How close are they, Stanley?" asked Rose.

He paused before replying. "Fading. Thankfully... we're out of their radius. We should be safe. For now."

"I wouldn't trust him. He lied to us before, so he'll do it again."

"When will you give it a rest? You... _primitive_."

Lily scrunched her face, hands on hips, about to unleash a verbal outburst. But before her words could carry her venom, Stanley paced towards the door, dabbing the beads of sweat from his brow. He blissfully ignored Lily's brewing frustration, but he couldn't proceed through the door as it slammed shut, almost making contact with his nose. Stanley was taken aback, and glanced at Lily's frown.

"Did you... do that?" he asked.

Lily huffed and blew strands of her hair aside. "Maybe I did."

"Lily can do things that I can't," said Rose.

"No... nor I. How extraordinary."

Stanley walked over to Lily's side. He began to click his fingers inside her ghostly head. She instantly wafted her hands, as if trying to swat a fly. "Get off! I'm not a plaything, you know!"

"Stanley, about our mother," said Rose. "We wish to find her, as soon as possible. Professor Pei said that with her touch Lily may become a true spirit, and I... well I might too, or be sent back home. Back to Earth."

Stanley sighed. "Pei, huh?" He looked at them both with friendlier eyes. Only the sounds of the vessel were audible as he mused over the facts. "All right, I'll take you." He removed a cloth from his top pocket and dabbed the perspiration on his face, then pointed his index finger at the ceiling. "Under one condition! You, and _you_ , will help me get my module back."

"Deal!" replied an ecstatic Rose, unsure what she was agreeing to, though she didn't require a second thought.

"All right," said Lily, unable to make eye contact. "Maybe I'll forgive you, when we find her."

"You do know where this module thing is, don't you?" asked Rose.

"I have my suspicions. And according to my tracker, we should arrive in less than six hours," he said, spinning around and walking towards the door. Holding out his hand in front, he began to open it with slight hesitation, looking over his shoulder.

Lily gave him a smile that was almost expressionless, followed by a small nod.

He returned the nod, smiling. "Follow me. I have something to show you."

* * *

Intricate and confined, the room the twins entered was much like the rest of the vessel; it all had function and purpose, without any wasted space. Odd, thought Rose, that Stanley lived and ran such a vessel, and yet his tower was quite the opposite, apart from one singular room.

He stood in front of a steel apparatus. Two wheels with handles featured at either side. At the centre were two eye viewers, and he pressed his face against them and peered inside. He took hold of the handles and began to turn the wheels clockwise. "What's your mother's surname?"

"Ashworth, Violet Ashworth," said Rose, taking a step forward.

Stanley paused and peered outside the viewer. "Rose... Lily... and Violet..." He thought for a moment. "There's a pattern there." His gaze returned to the viewer, turning the wheels anticlockwise and cheerfully sang:

" _We are spirits, together you'll see,_

We are free to live by the sea,

We are spirits, never alone,

We are home, home sweet home."

Then: "Ah-ha, there you are, Mrs Violet Ashworth, aged thirty-one. And may I say... quite the golden girl. You have her eyes." He faced the twins with a sheepish glint in his own.

"Can I see?" asked Rose.

Stanley stepped away from the instrument and placed his hands under Rose's arms. With a slight groan from the slender man, he lifted Rose up to take a peek.

Lily got a close-up of Stanley's bright blue eyes. She thought he was quite handsome, in a rugged, middle-aged kind of way, and without the dirt, grease and whatever he carried earlier.

"It's Mum... It's really her, sis!" said Rose.

"Would you like a look, Lily?" asked Stanley.

"Of course."

He placed Rose down and turned her around on the spot; a further prolonged groan ensued. Rose noticed he had streaks of silver hair protruding from his usual jet black with sporadic curled ends. It made him look distinguished.

"She looks just the same," said Lily.

"That would have been taken soon after she passed away," said Stanley. "How did it happen?"

" _We_ happened," said Lily.

A moment of silence was observed for their mother. Then, arms severely aching, Stanley set Rose down. "Oh... I see. Childbirth, huh?"

"And complications," said Rose.

"Yes, indeed. Childbirth is a journey of life, death and all in between. There is none to blame but your fate."

"Is there any more information?" asked Rose. "Like, how long will it take to find her? And which sector?"

"According to this, she's lives in Sector BL-903. The database is usually up to date. And with our current speed, I should imagine we'll arrive in two, maybe three days, tops."

"What about portals?" asked Rose. "We were told not to use them. Should we not?"

"Possible, but I strongly advise against it. The Govern have more than likely configured the portals to detect you. Tracing you would be as easy as... devouring you."

Rose glanced to her side and touched a steel pipe, giving it a tap. "So this vessel –"

" _Bella Air_. Yes, carry on," said Stanley.

"This, _Bella Air_ can take us to her; it's safe? I mean, we've flown before, and we heard terrible sounds, like a storm."

"Yes, yes and yes. All will be revealed shortly. But fear not, I've lived and breathed engineering and science since I wore nappies. I designed and built her to sail such airs."

Rose smiled, nodded and observed Stanley remember something. "Ah... I have more to show you," he said, then pushed and held a button adjacent to the apparatus. A circular photocopy of their mother came through on cream speckled paper. The twins stared with curiosity as he stepped over to a shelf and took hold of a circular brass object with a chain necklace. He sprang open the lid, where an arrow perched inside. He then placed the photo comfortably within the base, and the lid closed snugly with a light _click_. Returning to the twins, he held the object out in front.

"A compass?" asked the twins simultaneously.

"Not just any compass. This is a Hopkins special. See that?" he said, looking at them both in succession, pointing to the arrow. "That's the direction to your mother. And here, the distance in kilometres." He pointed to the row of static digits, which revolved from zero to nine. The last digit moved, barely a millimetre per second. "Keep it safe," he said, and gently placed the necklace around Rose's neck.

"Wow, thank you. It's... amazing," she said, holding it closely as the arrow jerked.

"Now," said Stanley, "I'm going to take us out of the sector and into the spirit atmosphere. You can make yourselves at home. Just don't tamper with anything, okay?"

"Sure," said Rose, nodding, and stared at her mother's picture.

Lily looked up at Stanley. "The atmosphere, is it as fierce as it sounds?"

Stanley smiled. "You'll see, soon enough." He turned and walked towards the control chamber, only to stop in his tracks and observe a framed picture on the wall. He tapped: _tap_ , _tap_ – _tap_ , _tap_ – _tap_ , _tap_. Pausing for a moment, he frowned, emitting a thinker's hum, and then he continued through the door.

* * *

Rose didn't hesitate, she explored the interior like a new discovery. Machines appeared throughout, never blatantly displaying their function, but looking mighty impressive nonetheless. The living quarters featured lavish furniture and gadgets: she saw a cuckoo clock, a train set and toy planes that flew in circles on strings. Further down and along a small hallway, the twins discovered two cabins with single beds, and the smallest bathroom they'd ever set eyes on.

A narrow set of steps led the twins up into a kitchen, where Rose snooped inside cupboards. Tins were held in containers, with all the labels displayed forward. Many kinds of herbs, spices and other oddities filled jars. Her father had never used most of them in his cooking, but he always said "K.I.S.S" (Keep It Simple Stupid), which made Rose smile, just thinking about it. Her expression loosened: Does he know yet?

After further snooping along the upper deck, the twins returned to the living quarters to further their investigation.

Stanley entered. "Girls, follow me," he said, before returning to the control chamber.

She followed and sat beside the circular window to peer across the industrial revolution; a sight barely visible at such an altitude.

"Hold on to your seat, Rose," said Stanley. "Lily... as you were. And enjoy the show."

Rose looked up through the window. The blue sky was darker, almost black. _Space?_

Stanley pulled a lever. Above, the blackness was punctuated by a line of light as the expansive sector doors parted. The vessel rose up into the entrance bay then travelled along a circular tunnel of rotating yellow lights. Another lever pulled, the exit opened. Deep rumbles of thunder bellowed. High-pitched whistling winds engulfed the vessel's exterior, while lightning flashes lit the interior. The turbulent air shook those onboard with a mighty quake. The wind howled, rushing across the windows as if the vessel was sailing through a tornado.

Rose gripped her seat as she and Lily stared through the glass in astonishment, observing the exterior of a contained world. Their entire view was taken by the mass of steel known as IR-294. The sector they had now departed stretched as far as the eye could see.

The potent gusts of the relentless storm rocked _Bella Air_ from side to side. Stanley pulled more levers, then pushed the wheel forward, propelling the vessel into the sector stream, he told them, known for its constant air-vortex. Bolts of lightning danced through the churning clouds in search of a strike. Some struck a large spike attached to the sector – the conductor doing its job.

They pierced through the golden white clouds and out the other side, the decibels now dimmed to a bearable level. She then noticed the hazy sun. Its warmth was felt.

Stanley turned a circular dial to a notch that read _Destination_. To his right, he looked upon a key panel displaying letters and numerals. He pressed BL-903, followed by _Store_. He then entered TU-939 and pressed _Destination_.

# CHAPTER NINE

Domino Galaxy

After three hours of restless sleep in their cabin, the twins had returned to the living quarters. Rose had her head in a book. She looked closely at the pictures, trying to decipher who the people were; people of Earth.

She thought about never going back; and never seeing her father again made her feel sick. _I wish I could tell him_ , she said to herself. _Tell him everything_.

Lily observed the spirit atmosphere through the window, admiring the cloud funnels twisting in the distance. The sunlight was fading and the spectacle took on a menacing appearance.

"What are you looking for, Rose?" asked Stanley.

She glanced up, witnessing his inquisitive posture leaning on the door frame. "I just... found it. Is this you?"

Stanley walked closer and tilted his head to view the person in question. "Huh, I guess I do look like my father, more so every day it seems. Strange... we're not even genetically related," he said, stroking his moustache.

"You weren't brought up by your real father?"

"I was adopted; well, abandoned first."

"Why?"

"My mother wished a better life for me. At least that's what I believe. There, that's me, the little swot with the flat cap," he said, pointing at a black and white photo. "Had my first flight that day, passenger of course. Probably around your age. How old are you?"

"Nine, nearly ten."

"Yes, about that. My father took me to Farnborough Airfield, where we flew in an Avro Avian," he said, revisiting his firmly embedded memory with warmth.

"Where's your father now?"

Stanley gave the photo a closer inspection. "On Earth, alive and well, last time I checked. He married and fathered two children."

"How _did_ you die?" asked Lily, bluntly.

"You know of World War Two?"

"Kind of."

"Yes, I do," said Rose. "I've seen footage on television, and read some books." She pulled an awkward expression. "But it seemed so... pointless."

"I flew a Hurricane fighter plane. Shot down in my prime, I was." He shook his head and looked through the window, appearing to relive the moment. "Still... a worthy cause to fight for your country and those you love. That's never pointless."

"What about your mother?" asked Rose.

"I know nothing of her." He frowned, sighing. "I don't see the point in searching. If we ever do meet, it will be her own doing." He knelt by the set of drawers where the photo album had been withdrawn and gave it six consecutive taps, followed by a displeased groan.

"Why do you do that?" asked Lily, with a perplexed expression.

"If you ever find a book titled _Stanley Hopkins II_ , inform me at once. I've gone and forgotten where I hid the _bloomin_ ' thing. But I left myself a clue to its whereabouts." Stanley reached into his top pocket and brandished a small piece of paper. It read:

JOURNAL

TAP, TAP – TAP, TAP – TAP, TAP

"I've been tapping _Bella Air_ for over a year," he said, annoyed.

"If we find it, we'll let you know," said Rose. She placed the photo album down and had a thought. "Stanley?"

"Yes..." he said, as he walked to the opposite wall to straighten a row of picture frames, most of which featured _Bella Air_ 's conception.

"I don't understand. How does all this exist?"

"The photos you mean, or... everything else?"

"Well, these photos are from Earth, aren't they?"

"Indeed. I took that album from my last visit. Rather, I obtained a copy."

"A copy?"

"Once a year, every spirit is granted one return ticket to Earth. Equipped with a Particle Reader, spirits are allowed to take samples from their past life. Mind you, no more than the set VDM: that's Volume of Duplicated Mass." He turned and looked at the collection of photos that adorned his wall. "Of course, not all wish to return; painful memories, you see. And it's not always been an option."

"How come?" asked Rose.

Stanley stepped over to a cosy-looking rocking chair; placing his hands onto the arm rests, he sank into it and rocked. The chair creaked each time. He soon stopped. "Not until they invented a means of travel. I say _they_ : I speak of Francis Herbert and his lifelong colleague, Samuel Henderson. They made the impossible, _possible!_ "

"So, all things in this world are copies from Earth?"

Stanley sighed. "Oh dear... we're going to need a history lesson, aren't we?"

Rose smiled. "I like history."

"Boring..." said Lily, rolling her eyes, arms folded. Nevertheless, she would listen.

Stanley stood and clasped his hands together. "Where shall we start?" He rubbed his palms and paced back and forth. "I know just the ticket!" He dashed out of the room and returned with the cage the parrot had landed upon and where it remained, albeit looking rather disturbed and restless.

"Brunel...what have I told you. _Never_ make a mess on here."

" _Angry Amnesh! Angry Amnesh! Pheeew!_ "

"Oh... you haven't been introduced," said Stanley, taking the parrot onto his arm. "This is Brunel. Brunel, Rose and Lily."

" _Rose! Lily! Welcome aboard! Welcome aboard!_ "

Rose laughed at the talkative bird. "Why did he say Amnesh?" she asked. "He said it in the tower as well, before attacking one of them."

" _Ah_ , I see. You attacked our intruders, huh?" Stanley looked closely into the parrot's black eye. "You gave those bounty hunters a good Brunel _bashing_. At least you're good for something."

"Bounty hunters? Is that what they are?" asked Rose.

"Yes, no doubt working for the Govern. You're highly valuable to them. But to answer your query, Amnesh used to be my nickname. Many called me it after a vessel of mine hit the deck. I took a hefty blow to my nut in the process." Stanley rubbed his head. "I suffered amnesia, and my memory hasn't been the same since. And this feathery critter caught on. _Silly_ bird."

" _Silly bird! Raaaaaw! Silly bird!_ " squawked Brunel, as he flew off Stanley's arm to perch on top of the cuckoo clock.

Stanley brought the twins' attention back to a spherical cage, covered with octagonal steel shapes. "Now... what's this?" he asked, spinning the sphere on its axis.

"A cage?" guessed Rose.

"Try again."

"A globe?"

"Correct, Lily," said Stanley, "it's –"

"Rose."

"What?"

"My name is Rose."

"Right! Now, this globe represents the spirit world, Kiian. Each one of these is a sector, see. And we're travelling around about here," he said, pointing to a small shape. "And we are going to here." He pointed to another.

"How big is it?" asked Lily.

"Kiian? Hmm, I believe it's about the size of Mars. So, pretty big, but not ideal."

"Why not?"

"Well, consider Earth's population. Fortunately, not all spirits come here. Some prefer to stay on Earth. One benefit is that you don't age there."

"What about me?" said Lily. "I did."

"Yes, but you're... odd."

"No more than _you_."

"So, you can live forever?" asked Rose.

"On Earth, yes. There aren't ghost stories for nothing, you know. But I prefer to age here. There isn't anything on Earth to entertain me. Now, Kiian sits within a solar system of spirit planets, in a galaxy –"

"Like in the Milky Way?" interrupted Rose.

"No, a ring galaxy called Domino."

Rose held a thought, imagining millions of dominos in space.

"Life is like dominos, see?" Stanley added.

"No, I don't see," said Rose, pulling a face.

"Have you ever toppled a domino into another?"

"Yeah..."

"Think about. Now, imagine this: we're positioned three _billion_ light years away from Earth. You know how far that is?"

Rose gasped and her jaw sank. "No... but it sounds far," she said softly, then she had a sudden thought. "Wait, we arrived here in seconds."

"Quite, as Earth spirits are granted such teleportation. And the connection between Earth and Kiian is permanent, manifested by a Judge, named Drasaji."

" _Drasaji?_ " echoed Rose.

"The first Judge to rule this world. The worst to ever rule. A reaper of souls. You see, Drasaji discovered Earth and its highly evolved species long before the days of Christ. He united the two worlds, as the presence of spiritkind gives a Judge strength and longevity. We are a highly sought-after commodity amongst the Judges of our universe."

Rose struggled to conjure a mental image of a Judge, and settled for a man with a vast white beard wearing a long cloak.

"However, during the early fifteen hundreds, Earth's calendar, this world was shaken to its core. A miracle came and fought. A new Judge overruled Drasaji for power. His name was Ollus. A much-welcomed Judge, who wished to work alongside spiritkind, not overrule. If it wasn't for Ollus, our world wouldn't exist as it does today."

Coo-koo! Coo-koo! Coo-koo!

Rose glanced at the chiming bird and watched it retreat back into the clock. She retuned her attention to Stanley.

"Drasaji's world was bleak, with little atmosphere and nothing but rolling mist, covering ninety per cent of barren terrain – the rest craters. Once Ollus ruled, he allowed great minds to thrive. One such collaboration brought two men together: Francis Herbert and Samuel Henderson. Together with Ollus, they made returning to Earth and duplication possible. By any standards an historic achievement, as Earth's treasures could be obtained. Although the materials were used here, it was never going to be enough. And thanks to a man named Marcus Angelo, the sectors were born: the largest and greatest playhouses you'll ever see. Heck, this planet became known as Angelo. Some even say he was Leonardo da Vinci's prodigy."

"Da Vinci," said Rose, "I've heard of him."

Stanley stood and began to pace back and forth, speaking with greater passion. "The first sector remains unchanged to this day, over fifteen kilometres in length, width and height. A gigantic steel monolith, though minute compared with the largest we have today."

Lily unfolded her arms and turned her head with a puzzled expression.

"Every inch within the sector was controllable. Whatever they wanted, as long as the material had been brought back from Earth: it could be shaped, moulded and combined however one desired. And indeed, Angelo worked with the greatest of architects, designing the first sector as a tribute to his country. It featured St Peter's of Rome, the Arch of Titus, and the greatest of them all, the Colosseum. Technology has advanced to the point where whole cities can be captured from Earth and reproduced in a sector. " Stanley's eyes turned to the window. "Only..."

"Only what?" asked Rose.

"Unlike Earth, there's infinite fuel supply with duplication. Over six hundred sectors were created, dawning a new era. The generators that make it possible caused the atmosphere to swell under the immense weight of industrial chemicals. As a by-product, storms have raged in this world for over three centuries. And by all accounts, it's getting worse."

Lily peered to the outside fury. "Is that why malfunctions happen?" she asked, remembering their perilous events with Pei.

"Mostly due to power cuts. Indeed, the very first sectors weren't perfect, and we continue to live in an imperfect world. So it's vital, should you ever come across a malfunction zone, that you keep _well_ away. It's extremely dangerous for two entities to co-inhabit in the same vicinity."

"We already have," said Lily.

"What?"

"Professor Pei drove us through malfunctions in New York."

"Jeez!" cried Stanley, and puffed his cheeks while shaking his head. "He's finally lost it."

"What about _Bella Air?_ " asked Rose. "Could it malfunction, _disappear?_ "

Stanley wafted his index finger and spoke with confidence. "Fear not, _Bella Air_ relies on no generators. Every inch of her, along with every nut and bolt at my yard, is material of original properties, directly one generation from Earth. And never has this vessel given me, nor any passenger, the notion of failure."

Rose looked at Stanley deeply. "No malfunctions?"

"Nope."

She replaced her concern with a smile, though her expression fell when she thought of her next query. "What about the Govern? What are they?"

He sighed and paused before speaking. "Another Judge brought them here from a volcanic planet situated amongst a cluster of stars known as the Red River of Domino. The creatures are capable of devouring spirits. A species that I have had the misfortune to encounter more times than I dare speak of. We stay away at _all_ times. Understood?"

Rose nodded while Lily scrunched up her face.

"Lily...?" he said, narrowing his eyes.

She too nodded. "But they don't frighten me. Nothing does."

"What do they look like?" asked Rose.

Stanley was poised to describe his vision, but instead, he stood and walked over to a drawer. He took out a hand-sized wad of paper and sank back into his chair. "Come closer, this will give you an idea."

She knelt by his feet and he flipped through the pages. An image, black and slender, animated. It rose from the ground, wrapping its body of tentacles with bat-like wings to form an hourglass shape. The shadowy figure began to slither, like a sinister silent film.

Rose pulled a face and took hold of the booklet, flipping the pages. "Did you make this?"

"No. It was a gift. A story for another time, perhaps."

"I hope I never have to see one," she said, handing back the pages that made her toes curl even more so than spiders.

"Indeed. Should you ever come close to them, seek water. They can't traverse it."

Rose nodded, storing Stanley's wisdom, before she remembered a question that stirred her mind. "So this Ollus, why's he not here any more?"

Stanley expressed a troubled face. "Sadly, Ollus couldn't remain our Judge. By the end of the last century he was overpowered by another."

Rose learned forward. "Another –"

"Judge, Kiian, the one that renamed this world. The one that brought the Govern here."

"Have you seen him?" asked Lily.

"Yes... and no. You see, the Judge is a species of pure soul. Any being can be possessed by a Judge and manipulated to his desire. He judges you in LV-426 – Life Vindication. He appears as an authority figure; usually the person you have the utmost respect for. When I died and travelled to LV, he appeared as my father."

Rose thought of her respected figure, before breaking the silence. "So the Govern, they are also ruled by Kiian?"

"Yes. At least that's our understanding. Kiian is by no means the worst ruler this world has ever witnessed. Nor is he the best."

"Why?" asked Rose.

"Many have criticised the laws he imposes and manipulates. Kiian is a Judge in pursuit of the greats, regardless of their mindset. Even Hitler lurks somewhere within our sectors."

"I've heard of him. He had a lot of people killed," said Rose.

Stanley nodded. "It's well documented that Kiian sees the human race as an inferior species. The fact that no one has reached another planet amuses him. But I dare say we'll travel to the moon and back. _Why_ the moon, that's only a stepping-stone for humanity's exploration. The universe awaits!"

Rose smiled, admiring Stanley's intoxicating affection. She then remembered: "There were protestors amongst a crowd, not far from your tower. Some held signs ... _banish life extensions_ , or something. Is that against Kiian?"

"Ah, yes. You must have witnessed the Einstein Tour."

"That's him. I remember now, Albert Einstein."

"A great man. Though the protesters would rather he be treated like most. You see, in the eyes of the Judge, Einstein possesses many more years of discovery. Even Kiian doesn't know or understand everything. I believe he was given twenty years of extended life – _if_ I remember correctly."

"How about you? Any extension?"

"Me? _Bah_ , not a chance. And not likely having met you two," he said, with a sly smile. "Well, not to matter, I don't believe in extending life."

"But what happens when you die here?" asked Lily.

Stanley gave a smile and a hum. "One of life's perpetual questions. We simply don't know."

_Buuurrrm_ ...

Rose held herself with embarrassment.

"Now, either you're hungry," said Stanley, "or your stomach is upset."

Rose smiled. "A little, I guess – hungry that is."

"It's just as well I took stock at CK-211, commonly known as the Chocolate Kingdom." Stanley opened a storage compartment, taking a handful of confectionery and tossed a bar over to Rose.

"Thanks," she said, and began to tuck into the glossy bar, trying to withhold her delighted groans.

Lily expressed zero interest, unaware of how those brown shapes of joy tasted, or any food for that matter. She folded her arms and watched Brunel doze on his perch.

"All this talking has left me famished," said Stanley. "I'll prepare something more substantial soon."

Rose nodded, with more questions bubbling up in her mind. Later, she thought, the chocolate was too divine.

# CHAPTER TEN

The Life, Death and Spirit of Stanley Hopkins

She had seen the house before: a large Victorian, lit with the brightest Christmas lights on the street. She held a basket on her arm as she glimpsed at the wonder of an inventor's workshop; a home for a boy.

Over the frost-covered drive of fifty-one Crescent Avenue, the woman heard a man sing. She peeked through the crack of a door. The man sat in a workshop with his back to her, measuring a clock. She then placed her special delivery at the front door on a bitterly cold Christmas Eve in England, nineteen nineteen.

* * *

Day and night, Henry Hopkins crafted his magical machines. He had spent the past three decades with his hands on them. At the age of forty, he had worked alongside many greats that helped turn the tide of World War One, co-developing a new military contraption: the tank. A heavily armoured vehicle on caterpillar tracks, it provided protection from enemy fire and also carried much needed water, concealed within water tanks.

Surrounded by the history of his marvels, Henry didn't finish the cuckoo clock on the eve of Christmas, as predicted. Instead, his attention was diverted outside, where a sound of need beckoned. Upon investigation, Henry discovered a basket in which lay a baby wrapped in a blue blanket; a colour the baby's skin would have turned had Henry not heard his cry.

"Catherine! Catherine! Could you spare a moment?"

"Yes, Henry, what is the matt– oh my..."

"He was outside. Look, there's a note."

Henry took hold of the note. It read:

Please give me a life; my mother cannot.

I will be forever grateful.

PS My name is Stanley. I'm one month old today.

* * *

Aged six, Stanley watched his father tweak and maintain his beloved automobiles and gadgets, accompanied by the ticking of cuckoo clocks and their hourly chime, always on time. Henry christened them his Hopkins Hollers.

An eccentric child, Stanley detested boundaries. He dreamt, and sometimes created those dreams. It began as a part-time hobby, gathering all he could in his father's workshop. He eventually gained his very own sector: a whole six-foot radius of the shop floor he called Stanley Corp, a place where he would make _things_. It didn't matter whether his invention worked or not. The learning process made up for his mishaps. So what if he blew up the toaster? "It burnt the bread anyway," he said to his father. And shaving the cat with his Automatic Duel-motor Shaver. "Removed her fleas anyway," he told Catherine, the housekeeper. Stanley did, however, feel sorry about that, as he watched poor Penny potter about in the snow without her fur coat. He made sure she had the tastiest treats whenever he could steal them; he always cared for the vulnerable.

* * *

On Stanley's tenth birthday, his life took on a definitive direction. The first time he boarded an Avro Avian sparked his love of planes and a passion to pilot someday. From that moment, Stanley was hooked. He spent every shilling on plane merchandise. He watched _Hell's Angels_ in theatres, and posters of aircrafts covered his room like wallpaper. One poster stood out from the rest – it was of an aviator called Amelia Earhart. She was his first childhood crush.

* * *

Childhood to adulthood was a blurry merge for Stanley. He became an outsider; not one for parties, dating or the usual lifestyle of young Englishmen during the 1930s. His passion for science, engineering and aviation was always at his core.

At the age of sixteen, his hobby had turned into a full-time job and he worked alongside his father. No longer just an errand boy.

Then, aged eighteen, Stanley lived the dream. His proud father witnessed his son take to the sky in an Avro Tutor. Stanley was the captain, and he piloted the biplane with proficiency.

"Son, you flew like a Hopkins Holler!" bellowed Henry once Stanley had landed.

He removed his goggles, revealing a face covered in dirt; a sight all too familiar. "Huh?" he uttered.

"Precision, son. A Hopkins never misses a beat."

"Did you see me loop?"

His father gave Stanley a strong pat on the back along with a shoulder squeeze. "Sure did, son. _Sure_ did."

* * *

September 3, 1939. The Second World War began. Everything changed.

The Luftwaffe planes flew over the British Isles, attacking the southern defences. Squadron 94 was sent to the sky. Stanley, recruited by the Royal Air Force, flew amongst the fleet under moonlight. He shot down an enemy, then two. If not for a fellow pilot, he may have secured a hat-trick on his first sky battle.

* * *

Seated in the cockpit of his Hurricane, Stanley took to the sky for the fifth time within two weeks into a battle that raged over Calais, France. Bullets ripped through the air, rupturing his fuel tank. "Mayday! Mayday! Shot tail, going down over Calais! C'mon, _up_ , _up!_ "

The Hurricane careered towards the ground. Stanley managed to belly-flop the undercarriage onto the white sandy beach.

Upon opening his eyes, he was greeted by German voices.

* * *

As a prisoner of war, Stanley met a man at the concentration camp by the name of Douglas Bader. The pilot had lost both his legs, but before being captured he had commanded Squadron 242. Bader fought for what he believed in – freedom.

Stanley spent three months cooped up within the camp. Had it not been for the attack of British Squadron 183, he would have stayed until the war had run dry.

* * *

Within six months of Stanley leaving the camp, the British and international squadrons took to the Battle of Britain: a ferrous aerial attack by the German Luftwaffe.

Stanley flew his Hurricane and gunned down four enemies, then chased a Messerschmitt BF-110, outmaneuvering the Germans with ease. But then Stanley's brilliance fell short. One second, that's all it took to shred his left wing. Flames reflected in Stanley's eyes; he was going down, fast, and so he reached for the ejector lever for a speedy exit.

It was jammed.

Stanley's luck had gone up in smoke, and prior to his exit on Earth, he said his final words. "The holler... The holler..."

* * *

Jaded by losing in battle – letting down his country, squadron and father, Stanley walked Kiian's sectors like a lost soul. The days merged, and he searched for answers. All he could think about were his last moments on Earth, and worst of all, his father's disappointment.

Within a breath and heartbeat, the answer droned overhead. Stanley stood and gazed to the sky. He watched a delivery craft. It didn't leave the sector; no air vessel ever ventured beyond the safety of the sectors. Stanley thought about his father, and seeing him again someday. If such a day occurred, he would make him proud by flying a vessel though the spirit atmosphere, something yet to be achieved by spiritkind. He closed his eyes, smiling, before reality waded in, dragging him firmly down from his lofty ambitions. One step at a time, he thought.

His exploration took him far and wide across Kiian. The first time he set eyes upon Sector IR-294, the sight reignited the fire in his belly like no other. He was well and truly in this element, in the time when "men were men" – the golden age of the Industrial Revolution. He rejoiced at the prospect of construction within the domain of change and possibility. Stanley was home.

With the blueprints drawn, production began on the first air vessel. The initial attempt looked somewhat plane-like; it indeed flew like a plane, but remaining airborne wasn't its strength.

Excited as ever, Stanley redesigned his creation, called _Amelia Air_. It looked like a cross between a pirate vessel and a spaceship. Twin sails adorned the mast, with a long stern and two large circular engines at her side, pioneered for uniting tremendous forces within Angelo physics. A professor helped Stanley with that.

His new creation flew the sectors with grace; that was the easy part. The real challenge was to embark the spirit atmosphere.

The vast steel doors of Sector IR-294 parted, revealing the ferocity of nature. Wind speed of over ninety miles per hour blitzed through the twisting, fragmenting clouds.

Entry into the torrid environment wasn't kind to _Amelia Air_. It ripped a front panel. Gusts blasted Stanley. All he could do was try to turn her around. However, his engines weren't equipped with the Turbulent Reflectors that Stanley would invent. He was controlled by the winds and guided by the wheel he held tight.

For over twenty minutes, he piloted with his nerves in tatters. The vessel drifted towards the nearest sector like a battered ocean liner arriving at shore. With luck, he wouldn't be forced past the entrance bay, as his altitude didn't allow for such an error. Stanley's one and only chance for entering inhabitable surroundings was seconds away.

The lower half of _Amelia Air_ collided heavily with the steel doors. He had done well to glide the vessel through the entrance bay, but she had succumbed to major damage.

_Amelia Air_ began its deadly descent.

* * *

At first, Stanley thought he was looking up at Amelia Earhart, dabbing his forehead with a gentle touch. Her eyes were the most angelic he had ever witnessed; sky-blue, blazing back at him. Her hair was dark and full, tickling his chin as she learned over, calling to him with her Italian accent. "You're safe. You're safe."

"Who are...?"

"My name is Isabella. And you are?"

"I'm..." he uttered, then frowned. " _Oh dear_ ... that's not good."

* * *

Two weeks had gone within a flash for Stanley and Isabella. Tales had been shared; they knew so much about each other. And yet so many adventures remained to be discovered – and discover them they did.

Stanley became fitter, happier, though slightly forgetful, and rose to the challenge of once again embarking into the spirit atmosphere. Thus, eight months later, Isabella took to the sky with him in his new pride and joy, _Bella Air_. His re-envisioned vessel flew into the turbulent domain and withstood all the forces its gusts could muscle.

Stanley's dreams of dominating the spirit airwaves came to fruition. Within weeks he was famous and the director of Hopkins and Co. – complete with its very own tower and underground workshop.

Nothing could possibly ruin his dreams of living a prolific life.

One man, however, changed all that: Anton Arquet.

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

Stanley's Mission

Stanley and two nine-year-old girls journeyed towards their enemy – Anton Arquet. Location – Sector TU-939. Mission – retrieve the module, preferably without detection.

In the cabin, Rose lay on the bed with thoughts of home and Father. What must he be thinking? She imagined his confusion and worry. And she pictured a policeman in her house, along posters of a missing girl on lampposts. What day was it on Earth, anyway? Monday? Tuesday? The whole school must know by now.

"Girls!" shouted Stanley. "It's time!"

Rose got up from the bed and made her way to the living quarters of _Bella Air_. Stanley blinked two determined eyes and spoke with passion. "Stealthy. Nimble. Not a sound. Not even a cry of pain should you fall to the ground. We must leave no trace. Not a fingerprint or a strand of hair..." He looked at Rose, then straightened his back, arms held to his side. "Girls! _Atteeention!_ "

Lily burst out laughing.

"Attention!" he ordered. "That's when you both salute."

"Why...? You're not the boss of me," said Lily.

"Okay," said Rose, and saluted with a broad smile.

"That's right, I am your chief in command and this is my vessel – correct?" asked Stanley, sweeping his eyes over the mischievous one.

"Must I... _really?_ "

"Just do it, sis."

With reluctance, Lily raised her arm and held it loose to her forehead, rolling her eyes as she did so.

"At _ease!_ " said Stanley.

Rose broke into a smile, lowering her arm.

Lily huffed, watching him march off into the control chamber.

* * *

_Bella Air_ swayed in the sunlight, buffeted by the chaotic atmospheric air. The entrance to Sector TU-939 drifted into view. Stanley flicked a switch, causing the sector doors to part, like a giant eyelid opening after a long, sleepy night.

Through the entrance bay, the vessel proceeded inwards and descended towards an Italian-inspired environment of present-day Earth: a peaceful location, where rows upon rows of lush vineyards surrounded luxury villa estates.

Rising from below deck, Rose gasped, admiring the view of the early evening where sparkles of sunlight danced along the Riviera. "This is a beautiful place to live. How come you live where you do, Stanley?"

"Yeah, _why_ do you live in that dump?" asked Lily.

"Some of the greatest inventors and visionaries of Earth were around during the Industrial Revolution. George Stephenson, Thomas Newcomen and, of course... Brunel, Isambard, that is. Revolutionaries in an ever-changing world," he said with aplomb. "Anyway, this imbecile, Anton, chose this location because of..." He paused and gave a gentle smile.

Rose watched him in a world of his own. "Because of?"

"Because of _Isabella_."

"Who?"

"Ah, Isabella, my dear sweet _Bella_. She's my angel. Well, not technically. I don't have an angel."

"There are angels?" asked Rose.

"Oh yes, created by Ollus. Some spirits carry a gene of his. They're guardians to protect those in need. But they don't have those halos, or silly, feathered wings. But in a way, Bella is my angel, saving me from a life of misery. She's the greatest woman I've ever met, and ever will meet, probably." He leaned back against the vessel wheel, swaying from side to side. "We're perfect together. We make each other complete, like strawberries and cream, or like stars in a night sky, or like –"

"We get it," said Lily.

"Is she your wife?" asked Rose.

"Not yet."

"Why not?"

"It's complicated. There's much we need to resolve. However, true love waits. You'll learn that someday, when you grow up."

Lily extended her index finger and pointed directly at him. "I think you're a _wuss_ , and won't tell her your feelings."

"Nonsense! I've told her many times. Probably more than she wants to hear."

"She doesn't feel the same way?" asked Rose.

Stanley rolled his head from east to west with a deflated expression. "I – I don't know." He looked to the floor and bit his lower lip. "Like I said, it's complicated."

Rose tilted her head. "What's so complicated?"

Stanley sighed, turning to face the wheel and took hold of it. "The man who stole my module. The man we're travelling to visit. _He's_ the complication."

"Is he better than you?" said Lily.

"He had to die on Earth, didn't he. Coming here, thinking he's some kind of Romeo in search of his Juliet." He glanced over his shoulder. "And _no_ , he's not better."

"He loves her too?" guessed Rose.

"I suspect, though I've never heard him say it. Nah, he's probably jealous of my amazing charm, good looks, inventions and –" He caught sight of the twins looking puzzled. "He's her husband," he said, deflated, and blew out his lips. "Blast marriages. There should be a law – death equals divorce."

"He was married to her on Earth?" said Rose.

"Yes."

"So you're like a wife stealer," said Lily.

Stanley turned. "What was that?"

"I said –"

"So this module thing," interrupted Rose, "what's it all about?"

"Why, it's one of a kind. In theory, it allows teleportation from one sector to any other. Of course there're portals that do just that. However, portals cost tokens and are limited to individuals. My invention allows for a vessel and all within to travel without charge. Isabella and I long to visit every sector in one continuous voyage, for the first time in history. With this technology, we can have fuel, food and drink teleported to our exact location, so there's no need to land. She'll be ecstatic – if it works."

"Sounds complicated," said Lily.

"It is. Now, we're nearing our target, so prepare yourselves. Remember, no trace. We're invisible tonight, right?" said Stanley, nodding at his twin troops. They returned his nod. "Otherwise, this could get messy. Right. Where... to... land?"

Stanley steered _Bella Air_ over sun-glazed fields adorned by grey and white granite and a scattering of lush trees. As the vessel lowered towards the ground its landing carriage opened, then it gently touched down.

"Okay," said Stanley, "his yard is around four hundred metres southwest. We infiltrate his compound – stealthy, nimble, like a Shinobi Ninja."

The twins nodded in agreement. They had no idea what a Shinobi Ninja was, but it sounded stealthy.

"Keep your eyes to the ground, and ears peeled," informed Stanley.

"No, eyes peeled, and ears to the ground," corrected Rose.

"Right," said Stanley as he dashed away down a rocky hillside, his silent tracker in hand. The twins followed in tow as Stanley moved swiftly from tree to tree, calling out to his rear troops with hand flicks and gestures.

The rear entrance gate came into sight, revealing the expansive and no doubt expensive villa. Stanley, ever so eager, jumped to propel himself over the sandstone wall. He failed, landing on his backside. He dusted himself down and took another leap, cocking his right leg over the wall. There he hung, stuck, hugging the stone like a monkey on a broken branch.

Lily saw an opportunity. She focused on the struggling, overly dressed man and gave him a flying fling. He spiralled over the wall and hit the ground with a thud, letting out a slight whine.

"I'm okay, I'm okay. Good work," he whispered, and arrived at the gate, his expression victorious.

Lily looked down at the gate lock. It _clicked_ , and the gates parted. "Forget something?"

He looked annoyed, before reverting to Stanley 'Action Man' Hopkins. "Let's proceed, with caution."

He took out his tracker and followed the co-ordinates, heading towards a grand stone building akin to a castle. They hid behind water fountains, then crawled over the pristine inch-long grass and passed statues that led to the building entrance. Stanley gave the door a gentle tug; it was locked. "Lily?" he whispered, observing the door with interest.

Lily focused on the lock, then expressed her achievement with a broad smile.

Stanley gave her a thumbs up, opened the door and peered inside, then beckoned the twins to follow.

In the entranceway, upon a shiny tiled floor, there were antiques and statuettes in abundance, exquisitely lit for showmanship. To the left, a staircase that led to the second floor was hung with glorious oil paintings, as were the walls all around.

Stunned, Stanley froze. He stared towards one painting: a portrait of a beautiful, dark-haired woman. "You're here..." he said, stepping forward. He drifted towards the painting and stopped in front of a coffee table surrounded by luxurious, leather furniture. The twins watched, intrigued, as he knelt down and ran his hands over a silver item the size of a doormat. Not a scratch appeared on the smooth, titanium surface. "I've found you."

The twins cringed, observing an embrace of affection only Stanley could give an object. He continued to whisper to it, and gave the module thing a delicate kiss.

"He's _so_ strange," said Lily.

Rose smiled. "He's unique, I'll give him that."

Stanley gave a quick glance around while smiling. "Time to go," he whispered, unable to suppress his smirk.

_Clap!_ ... _Clap!_ ... _Clap!_ ...

"Earlier than I anticipated, but welcome, my _dear_ friend," called out from the upper balcony, male and with a French accent. He was smartly dressed with short, black, receding hair.

"Anton," said Stanley, narrowing his eyes with contempt. "I knew it was you all along. Shame you didn't possess the brain cells to actually hide it."

"Stanley, _please_ ... I wanted you to find it," he said, brandishing a silver, pen-like object. He tapped it against his chin and spoke with calmness. "I wanted to see your face."

Stanley looked at the twins. Rose looked back with the expression of someone caught stealing cookies before tea.

"You've brought guests, I see. Well, well, are you human? And a primitive. _Conjoined twins?_ My, you do have a way with outsiders, Stanley. What Isabel saw in you, I'll never know."

Lily frowned and spoke fearlessly. "Call me a primitive again and I'll –"

"Let me handle this," interrupted Stanley. "You know what? You're not worth it. Only petty people need to bicker. I came for the module. And now we're leaving."

"But, Stanley, I'm not finished," said Anton, holding out the silver device and showing his arch rival its red button on the tip. "Like I said... I wanted to see your face," he repeated, and proceeded to push the button.

Puff!

A plume of thick grey smoke billowed into Stanley's eyes, as if the module had breathed its last breath.

"No... ( _cough_ ) My baby!" Stanley clung to his defunct beloved, coughing and spluttering over it.

" _Perfect_ ... that's just how I imagined it, no, _dreamt_ it," said Anton, grinning without guilt, only pleasure.

" _You_ ... ( _cough_ ) son of a –"

Bang!

The entrance doors parted and three large men dressed in black suits hurried in, heading towards the visitors.

"Please escort Mr Hopkins and his friends to the gate," said Anton, then laughed.

"You've not heard the last of me!" cried Stanley, continuing to hug the module while two mammoth men hauled him to the door. Rose swiftly followed them outside to avoid inevitable harassment.

Stanley's feet dragged over the lawn to the gate, where they gave him a forceful shove. Rose dashed to his side as the entrance slammed shut.

He sat on his bottom and held the module with both hands, then gave it a gentle shake, listening to it rattle. Debris fell from the air vents. The sight caused Stanley to whimper, then mutter to it; an apology perhaps, thought Rose. He appeared as a man who had lost a battle, thus losing the war, and now he sat, sentenced to death, the lack of a sharp implement the only thing preventing him from suicide.

"Make another one. Can't you do that?" asked Rose.

Stanley raised his head with bitterness. "You have no idea. Years. Planning. Oh _dear_ God – all in my journal..."

"Sorry to hear that," said Rose in her most comforting tone. "But you got it back. Okay, it may not work, but –" She paused, witnessing her words tread over his fragile state.

"What Rose is trying to say," said Lily, "is we must now leave to find our mother. That was the deal."

Stanley didn't appear to hear a word. Instead, he curled over and continued to mumble to his titanium; _another treasure of the tower_ , thought Rose.

Lily scrunched her face, preparing to erupt. "You're pathetic. Now, _get_ up. We must find our mother, right now!" Barely able to look at him, she huffed, then focused her attention on his junk.

The module stopped smouldering. The pieces that had fallen out began to roll up Stanley's leg. Within seconds all were inside the case. He gave it a shake. There was no rattle.

"There," said Lily. "Happy now?"

"Wow, sis," said Rose. "Wait, I don't feel anything."

Stanley stood and looked at his saviour. "You ... you did it. Why, Lily... you _beauty!_ " He jumped to his feet and danced on the spot in sheer delight. "Wanted to see my face, did you? Well, see this." He bent over and shook his buttocks in the direction of Anton's villa while staring between his legs.

" _Stanley_ ," said Rose with urgency as the surge of a mighty migraine smothered her thoughts.

He stood straight, composing himself. "We will find your mother – _after_ I test the module."

"What?" said Lily, frowning.

"We'll search high and low for her. Wherever she may be, we'll meet and greet your wonderful, _wonderful_ mother," he said, jumping up and down like a child at Christmas.

He then galloped back to _Bella Air_ , laughing, having a pretend conversation with Anton. Lily surrendered her anger, chuckling at his joyous ranting, while Rose staggered behind him, recovering from her sister's new triumphant endeavour.

* * *

Like a tailored suit, the module fitted into place. After a tinker with levers, knobs and switches, the time had arrived to stop talking and begin teleporting.

"So we can travel anywhere?" asked Rose.

" _Precisely_."

"Then if we want to," said Lily, "we can travel to Mother's sector right now?"

"Yeah... well, no. I'm afraid not."

"Why not?" asked the twins together.

Stanley strolled around the control chamber, gesturing with passionate hands. "In order to teleport, _Bella Air_ must have pre-inhabited the location and stored the longitude and latitude. Therefore, we can only travel to a vicinity already established." He began tweaking a dial, following his notes with precision. "Now, current co-ordinates set. Destination co-ordinates primed. All seems to be in check. Girls... prepare to teleport."

He took a deep breath and gripped the lever, one pull away from elation or utter despair. The pull produced a throbbing charge of electric currents and sounds so alien and loud that Rose held her breath. Then all was over, within a flash.

The sight through the windows defined the result: the tower, in all its dishevelled glory, was below the vessel.

"I did it," he said, stepping towards the view.

"It worked!" said Rose. "Congratulations."

"Well done," said Lily, almost impressed.

At the window he seemed to ponder the meaning of this enlightenment, as if his destiny had been reached.

"Stanley ... are you okay?" asked Rose, stepping towards him as he stared through the window. "What's wrong? You did it."

"My father would have liked to have seen this. Now... there's somebody waiting for our splendid presence this _very_ moment."

"Mother?" said Rose, beaming.

"No... Isabella."

"But you said –"

"I know, I know. However, this is important."

Lily's jaw dropped, while Rose's face fell.

" _But_ , so is finding your mother," he added with urgency. "One visit, that's all. Isabella must know that I, Stanley Hopkins, invented a teleporter with no restrictions. We can traverse the spirit world, branching out our very own network for interplanetary travel, and beyond!"

Stanley took hold of the lever and gave it a pull. Another flash and they were back in Sector TU-939 at their precise co-ordinate of departure. He brandished his timekeeper and flipped the lid, revealing an image of beauty. "Isabella... here I come."

# CHAPTER TWELVE

Pledging Love

The fiery sun replacement was sunk halfway below the horizon of TU-939, casting a red tinge over the Italian sector. The twins and Stanley drifted on autopilot in _Bella Air_ above the lakes, towns and villas.

"Not long now, sis," she said, admiring the feats of ingenuity from the vessel's edge. "Maybe we should get some flowers, you know, for Mum. We could ask Stanley for some chocolates – do you think she likes chocolates? Lily... you listening?"

"I _don't_ know," she snapped. "I don't know what chocolate tastes like, or what flowers smell like. I don't know Mum."

Rose looked to her side. "Sure, but –"

"I just want this to end. The sooner I'm free, the better."

"I understand, sis. I just –"

"No, you don't. You never will."

Rose collected her sorrowful thoughts. " _Fine_ ," she said, and remained quiet, not giving away her teary eyes.

* * *

Seated in his most treasured rocking chair within the living quarters, Stanley cheerfully whistled, polishing a glass lens with warm breath and silk cloth. The invention, christened Tommy Transformo, was named after the Thompson sub-machine gun, as the device also featured a large circular drum. However, bullets were not included.

He took hold of the smudge-free lens by the edge and slid the glass onto the end of the barrel; imperative that such a lens be spotless, or the consequences could be troublesome.

A sound emitted, a short beep, causing Stanley to rise from his chair and activated a screen mounted on the wall. Text read: _Incoming_ – _5598_ – _NY-334_. White hair emerged on screen, along with a crinkly forehead.

"Greetings, Pei, how are you?" asked Stanley.

" _Ahh_ ... there you are," said Pei, framing himself into shot. "The girls arrive, yes?"

"Indeed."

"Ha-ha, you go find Mother, yes?"

"On our way. How are the tests coming along? Have you found the reversal codes yet?"

"Only two days! Not ready yet," snapped Pei, glancing to his side in horror. "No chewing wires, Dribble Holy!"

Stanley winced, observing Pei remove the bunny from the spaghetti of dangling cables. "When you have something, let me know. I accidentally transformed my umbrella into a mop."

"There, you safe now," said Pei, facing the screen with the rabbit in his arms. "Ha-ha, silly Stanley, you're too careless. You'll transform yourself someday."

"Speak soon, Pei. And I _want_ results."

"Yes, yes, and you tell the result of twins!"

"If you insist..."

"Say bye bye, Dribble Holly, bye bye," said Pei, waving the bunny's drenched paw.

Stanley switched off the screen and raised an eyebrow, observing the Tommy Transformo.

* * *

Rose watched Stanley pacing to and fro on deck, brandishing an object that closely resembled a bazooka. At the vessel's edge, he proceeded to aim at a bird, posed in a hunter's position, ready to fire his weapon at innocents in flight.

"Stanley!" cried Rose.

Before her voice could be acknowledged, he had pulled the trigger. The sound was barely heard.

" _Oh_ , forgive me, Rose, it's not as it seems," said Stanley, turning to face the twins as the bird continued its solo voyage.

"What is it?" asked Rose, stepping closer, while Lily took little interest, humming to herself.

"Take a guess." He leaned forward. "Here, feel the weight."

Rose took hold of the device. It sank in her arms. "Some kind of weapon? No, a miniaturiser?"

Lily twisted her neck and glanced over Rose's shoulder. "A peeping-tom telescope for what's-her-face."

" _No_ ... but I like your idea. I'll store that one for –" Stanley lifted his top hat and scratched his head. " _Hmm_ , erase that. Well, good efforts; your imaginations are in good shape. However, it's better than all those. Allow me to demonstrate."

He entered the kitchen, rummaged through a cupboard and brought out an egg. On deck, he aimed the Tommy Transformo at the egg shell and squeezed the trigger. A red beam hit the surface, fusing over it. He then searched a net hung on the vessel's edge. He took out a golf club and a golf ball, along with a tee. Aiming the device at the ball, he pressed down on the trigger, calibrated the settings and then shot it again. The tee was set down on deck and he carefully positioned the egg on top. Finally he recalibrated and shot the egg with his baffling bazooka.

"Now watch closely," said Stanley. He loosened his grip and shuffled his feet, eyeing the egg, then drew back the club. He held the pose for a second before swinging through and _tinged_ the egg off deck, following the strike through like a pro. "Fore!" he shouted, observing the egg launch into the distance and disappear amongst treetops.

"You turned an egg into a golf ball," said Lily.

"And..." uttered Stanley, taking the golf ball into his clenched fist. He tossed it into air and caught it, then drew back his arm, as a pitcher would prepare to ball out a batter, and threw it directly at Rose's head. She grimaced, waiting for the pain to strike, but the ball shattered into fragments, its contents oozing down Rose's face and dripping onto her wellies.

Lily didn't see the impact, though she heard it and imagined what had happened. "Egg on your face! Egg on your face!" she cried in fits of laughter.

"That's not funny, Stanley," said Rose, withholding a smile.

"Sorry, but you wanted to know," he said, handing Rose a hanky. "It's still a prototype, capable of interchanging properties. I've just started to gather biological material. Brunel's DNA is stored. I shot a rat the other day at the yard. _Vile_ things. Maybe I'll turned the next one into an egg."

"Can we transform?" asked Lily.

"Why, that would be far too dangerous. Though, perhaps..." he said, appearing to know more than he was willing to share.

* * *

_Bella Air_ coasted over crops, hills and descended towards a quaint village, twenty-two kilometres adrift of Anton's Riviera retreat. They landed amid a sleepy, moonlit landscape.

Inside the living quarters, the twins watched their pilot brandish a key and stand in front of a painting hung on the wall. The picture featured a clutter of stacked money safes. He inserted the key into one of them, opening the entire painting. He then reached inside, taking a handful of silver tokens, before locking the secretive safe.

Stanley then shimmered towards a wicker basket, where he reached for a green bottle and gave himself multiple squirts, similar to the smell of polish, which invaded Rose's nostrils.

Radiating with pride, he stood admiring his mirrored self. He wet the tips of his thumb and finger, twanging his moustache ends into a flourishing curl. He then combed back his sleek, monochrome hair, before donning his pristine top hat, slanted at ten degrees. "How do I look, girls?" he asked, polishing his medals to a sparkle.

"Handsome," said Rose, a sharp tingle of fragrance at the back of her throat. "She'll be putty in your ( _cough_ ) hands," she added, a phrase her father used when he spoke of dating her mother.

Lily made a sound. She was looking for trouble.

Stanley gave his eyebrow a lift. "Lily... I know you have a comment to make. So spit it out."

She glanced in his direction. "Your boots are too pointy, your hair is too long, you're far too skinny. Oh, and from Rose's reaction, you stink."

Stanley took a step towards her. "Well, if I need another judgement call, I know who _not_ to ask," he said, and gave his top hat a tug. "Let's go."

* * *

Stanley and the twins wandered through the stone built streets of a town situated within Tuscan-inspired hills. Some inhabitants caught a glimpse and stopped in their tracks, unable to divert their eyes, whereas others made their way indoors.

The three climbed up narrow cobbled paths, sheltered by three-storey stone buildings. Each home was lavished with lush flowers, with the occasional glimpse of postcard vistas beyond.

Stanley moved as if listening to music. What kind of tunes, Rose hadn't a clue, though his feet and hips were full of rhythm.

He stopped to lean against a lamppost. "See the house with the terracotta window frames?" he said, giddy with excitement. "That's where she lives." He took a deep breath. "C'mon, let me introduce you both."

He dashed ahead, racing up a dozen steps to arrive at Isabella's front door. Rose followed closely behind and was intrigued by the small front garden filled with cacti and blossoming petals.

He paused before knocking, then peeked through a window. A large bouquet of orchids lay on the kitchen table, and there was no sign of anyone. He gave a sinister gaze, irritated at something. " _Nonsense_ ," he said, and began to climb the wall lattice, clinging onto the ivory that covered her home like a green gown.

"Careful," whispered Rose, watching Stanley 'Action Man' Hopkins back on mission. "See anything?"

He didn't reply, but peered through the window. His expression told of horror. Within a blink of an eye, his grip loosened and he fell from the window. Rose could only watch as he plummeted to the ground. As did Lily, having forgot her ability.

Thud!

With legs reaching for the sky, Stanley squirmed within a flattened, spiky Golden Ball cactus. His squeal could have woken the mice deep in the burrows of the nearby meadows.

The bedroom window opened. " _Stanley_ , what are you doing here? You spying on me?" said the woman in her Italian accent.

" _Ah!_ I was just, well... _Ah!_ " he babbled, clambering from his landing pad in considerable discomfort. "I had to see you, right away! I finished it. It _works_."

"Oh, Stanley..." she said with compassion.

He stood as if he had been brutally attacked by a porcupine. Lily took her opportunity to help him by plucking out the spikes from a distance. "We can travel _alllll_ over the world, just like _weeee_ dreamt of."

"Stanley..." she said softly. "I never wanted you to find out this way. I've met someone. I love him very much, and he loves me," she said, sounding confident and meaning every word.

"You can't," said Stanley, "He's... he's... who the _hell_ is he?"

She continued in her unflustered tone. "He's gentle, kind, honest, and comes without any boyish, egotistic competitiveness to get in the way."

Stanley's arms flunked by his side. He stood motionless. "But... everything we've been through, just gone, like that?"

"No, Stanley. What we had was special. I'll never, _ever_ forget that. Only now I've –"

"Please..."

"I've moved on. I'm so sorry, it's for the best. You'll understand, in time."

His head followed his slumped arms. He looked up at her once more, opening his mouth to speak, but the window closed, followed by the curtains.

"Sorry to hear that, Stanley," said Rose.

"What's that phrase?" said Lily. "Oh I know: there's plenty more fish in the sea!"

Stanley said nothing and walked back the way they came, dragging every step, while Lily plucked out the cactus spikes.

* * *

Returned to _Bella Air_ , the twins witnessed a hollow man. Stanley didn't whisper a word, though he failed to withhold his grief. Without hesitation, he reached for his healing potion.

Rose shook her head in disapproval. "I know it's not the best of times. But we can't have a drunken pilot tomorrow."

"Yeah, pull yourself together," said Lily.

"Go to bed, you'll feel better in the morning," insisted Rose, which was something her father would say to her whenever she was upset.

She pulled him away from the liquor stash, and led him to his cabin. He sat on his bed, po-faced, staring at the wall.

"Goodnight, Stanley," said Rose. "See you in the morning, for our big day. And thank you, for everything."

"Niiiighht, Stttaaanley," yawned Lily.

"Night..." said the broken man, barley waving a finger.

Rose closed the door and turned off all the oil lamps throughout _Bella Air_. She then entered her cabin and slumped onto the bed, remembering to lie on her side for Lily's sake. With the compass held close to her face, she stared at her mother's portrait. The arrow twitched a millimetre.

"Lily," said Rose.

"Huh?"

"What do you think Mum will say when we meet her?"

She didn't reply at first, then she spoke in a drained voice. "I guess she'll be happy to see us."

"I think it will be the greatest day of my life." She lowered her eyelids, imagining the first glimpse of green eyes, and envisioned her mother's elated expression, overcome with joy, just like Stanley mere moments ago. "It's really sad that Isabella doesn't want to be with Stanley. He's a good man, with a good heart. He deserves better." Rose lifted her head from the pillow. "Lily... you awake?"

No reply.

"Night, sis," she added, closing her eyes, ready to dream.

* * *

Rose woke to a sound. She strained to open her eyes and saw light coming from outside the cabin. Sounds of a melody played; the kind of song someone with a broken heart might listen to.

"Lily..." said Rose, forcing herself up and glancing behind. "Sis... I'm getting up."

"Go to sleep..." she mumbled, ignoring the song.

"It's Stanley, we should check on him," she said, placing her feet onto the chilled floor and made her exit.

Half asleep, Rose made her way towards the sound of music. The slow tempo of 'Pledging My Love' played, accompanied by a faint _hiss_ and _crackle_.

She stepped down and into the living quarters to see Stanley seated in his beloved rocking chair, which was repositioned in the centre of the room. He faced away from her, arms wafting from both sides of the chair, as if conducting the song. One hand held a bottle, and the other a glass, half full of golden liquor. However, what caught Rose's attention was the contraption placed upon his head. Steel arms rotated around his face, with pictures on display at the end of each one.

"Stanley... _Stanley_ ," said Rose, standing in front of the drunken captain. "You'll be in no fit state to pilot. Listen to me, Stanley, _listen_." She snatched the bottle from his grasp.

"Hey, Rosie... look what I made," he slurred, indicating to the rotating helmet. Six photos of Isabella spun clockwise. "Do you think she'll like it?"

"I don't think she cares," said Rose, bluntly.

The song came to an end.

"Again, Brunel!" ordered Stanley.

" _Pheeeew! Again! Again!_ " screeched Brunel, perched on the record player's arm. He flapped his wings and lifted the needle off the vinyl, then plonked it back down at the start of the song.

Rose sank her head into her hands. "I trusted you. I believed you could help us." She gave him a look of disappointment. "Now look at you, you're pathetic. You _don't_ deserve her."

Her words were heard. Rose knew from his change of expression.

"I'm sorry, Rose. I'm not myself. I'm lost... like never before."

She took the glass from his hand and placed in down with the bottle. She then held out the compass and said, "Stanley, you're better than this. So for me, Lily, and our mother, please stop drinking. We're all counting on you."

He twitched his moustache and looked directly at her. "You... and Lily are the best thing to happen to me," he garbled. "I'll not let any of you down," he added with sincerity.

"Thank you. That means everything," said Rose, then leaned forward and gave him a hug.

"Sis..." mumbled Lily, "don't go there... go back," she continued, head drooped, lost in Lily land.

"Let's go," said Rose. "Brunel, turn it off, please." She took hold of his mechanical hat and put it on the floor, then pulled Stanley up to his staggering feet.

Brunel placed a foot onto the on/off switch and gave it a push.

"Thanks," she said.

" _Amnesh drunk! Amnesh drunk! Oh boy!_ "

Rose and Stanley weaved towards his cabin, colliding with furniture along the way.

"I'll feel better in the worning, don't you morry."

Rose knew from her father's experience with alcohol that feeling better in the morning wasn't likely. But she nodded anyway.

"I shall pilot _Bel_ – _Bella_ ... Oh, Bella," said Stanley, leaning on the cabin doorframe for support. He slumped onto the bed as his head hit the pillow like a brick down a well. Rose gently closed his door and turned off all the lights – again.

"Night, Brunel," she whispered.

" _Pheeeww! Nighty night!_ "

Rose returned to her bed. Within seconds of her head reaching the pillow, she finally resumed her dreaming.

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Reunion

Within the darkened cabin, Rose witnessed a slice of sunlight, revealing specks of dust in the air. And she was instantly aware of her jeopardy: pressure on her waist, her hands fixed, feet too, pinned together without an inch to move apart. She lifted her head to seek answers.

"Shane, please –"

" _Shhh_ ..." he interrupted, "my dearest petal. And how are you?"

He was sat on the chair in the far corner, rolling a cigarette, and gave her a grin.

"Get out!" cried Lily.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he said, smirking, then tapped the cigarette on a weapon – a gun? "Now, listen, I've never erased a little girl in all my years. And I don't want to start today. Not with my favourite twins in the _whole wide world_."

"Just leave us alone," Lily shouted.

"Now, now, Lily, I hear your frustration, but you must understand our dilemma," he said, and placed the cigarette in his mouth. "Cosy little hideaway ye got here, by the way. Good job we have eyes and ears in this sector. Otherwise, we may not have found ye. Plus, leaving the door unlocked like that, well, saved me waking ye."

Rose could barely swallow as her mouth was so dry. She gazed around the cabin, and another man stepped through the opened door. It was Shane's sinister sibling, grinning with joy and malice.

"He's still out," said Niall. "In a right state he is."

"You tie him up?" asked Shane.

"Aye, good and proper. He's in the chair." Niall handed a roll of black tape to his brother.

Shane looked at Rose. "What have you done to the man?"

"Leave _,_ " ordered Lily. "Before I get _really_ angry."

"Well now. What makes you think you're the boss of me?" said Shane, standing up and leaning over the twins with an expression of superiority. "They'll be here soon. I can hear them. And this time I ain't budging. Our life depends on this catch." He moved around the bed and sat down, far closer than Rose would have preferred. The smell of cigarette smoke was intoxicating, causing her to grimace as he learned closer, staring at her with intensity, and said, "I grovelled, Rose, like never before, and that's saying something. You see, the Govern don't take kindly to those who waste their time. I wasted their time, Rose."

He took a long drag of the cigarette and blew the smoke directly into her face. She held her breath and watched the vapours drift away.

Niall began to chew loudly and activated his weapon, which made a short, sharp _buzz_. "You made a fool of us," he said. "Nobody makes a fool of the Brady brothers."

"A-men to that, brother," said Shane. "Just as well we took photos of your pretty selves – as proof and that. Otherwise, we'd probably be devoured by now," he added, poised to take another drag. "I'm guessing you wish that were true."

Rose felt tears welling up. "Please, Shane, _don't_ do this. We can help you escape from the Govern."

Shane wailed with laughter. "You want to help us escape, do ye? Escape from all the pleasures that await us after handing you two over? Now, why would we want to do that? There's a lot of tokens to be earned today. And so much more that you'll never know, or understand."

"But Lily, she can do more than move things. She... she can fix, mend anything you have!"

Shane huffed. "Nah... you're pulling a fast one. Nice try."

"It's true, she can, can't you?"

"That's right. And maybe tomorrow, even more."

Shane stood. "You _girls_ ... why, you're special," he said, and stepped around the bed, closing in on Lily with a conspiring expression. "Okay... show me. Show me what you're made of. Then I'll decide."

"I need something to show you _with_."

He had a think. "Ni, your watch."

"It's broken."

Shane gave his brother an irritable glance and simply held out his hand. Niall reached for his watch, placing the silent, silver time-keeper into Shane's palm. "Now... make it sing once more."

Lily squinted her eyes, focusing on the static hands. She slowed her breathing.

_Tick_ , _tick_ , _tick_ ...

"Well, well, well. Your watch is alive, Ni," said Shane, before chuckling with disbelief.

"See, she can," said Rose. "We must be able to help you somehow. Be worth more to you than having us –"

"Maybe I need more. Want do you think, Ni? You think she should grovel for her sister? Because I sure do. So let's hear it."

Rose looked around the room.

Shane held the ticking watch. "Tick, tick, tick-tock twins..."

" _Stanley!_ " shouted Rose.

He sighed. "What a pity. Well, save your breath. There's nothing you can do to change your fate. So let's not hear another peep from either of you."

Shane tore off a strip of thick black tape and smothered Rose's mouth. As he fixed the end over her cheek he gently stroked her face with the back of his hand. She breathed heavily, watching his every move.

A _thud_ came from the living quarters. Shane turned to his brother. "Ni."

"I'm on it," said Niall, leaving the room.

Shane walked over to the door, closed it and locked it. Having removed the key, he made his way over to the chair and set it down, before sitting on it. He then placed the cigarette in his mouth and reached his hands around the back of his head. As he leaned backwards in the chair the tip of the cigarette pointed up, the end glowing bright yellow. He stared at them with smugness.

_Rose_ , said Lily in her mind, _we must find a way_ – _there's always a way_.

Rose agreed, without showing it.

_I want to try something_. _If you hear me, make a sound._

She whimpered.

Shane smirked, causing wrinkles to engrave on his face.

Rose then felt the tape vibrate. A stretching, tearing sound ensued, followed by a _snap_. The breakage was heard by all within the room. At that precise moment, the cigarette Shane kept poised between his lips departed, turned in the air and struck the bare skin of his right cheek. Shane launched himself from his seat in raucous distress.

Lily unfastened the rope tying Rose down and threw it across the room. "Now, Rose."

The door was a leap away. She jumped towards their escape as the key, once sat upon by Shane, was propelled through the air. It clanged at the key hole, jostling to enter. Rose gripped it and fed the key inward; instantly, it turned within the lock. She yanked down on the handle, then swung the door open and dashed through, turning to close it. But the door slammed shut without the slightest touch.

Shane banged and yelled for his brother. The key departed the lock and _clanged_ to the ground, then slid underneath the door and hit Rose's foot.

She picked it up, but then the sensation began. A ferocious surge of sensual thorns bombarded her mind and body. She held out her hands as she fell, bashing her knees, elbows and head.

Niall edged slowly towards them, pointing his weapon. "Stay where you are!" he ordered, and stepped closer.

"Ni!" shouted Shane. "Don't let them get away."

"Sis," whispered Lily, "can you hear me?"

Rose lifted her head and began to crawl, reaching for the lowest step that led to the upper deck.

"Stay there," said Niall. "I will use this. You try me, _I will_."

Rose believed him, though only because of what his brother continued to bellow through the door – banging, thumping, yelling. He may even break through.

"Give me the key," demanded Niall, taking another step closer.

" _Back off!_ _Back off! Raaaaw!_ " squawked Brunel.

"Shut it!" shouted Niall.

" _Shut it! Shut it! Pheeeew!_ "

"No... _you_." He pointed the weapon directly at Brunel.

" _Nooooo!_ " Lily forced the gun to the ground. Niall fought her control, at Rose's expense. He pulled Lily's push, followed by a downward heave. No matter, he gripped with both hands as she fought with thought, aware of her sister's lapsing state.

Rose stopped moving, Lily noticed, and abandoned her battle with Niall to concentrate on another. He made caterpillar movements towards the control chamber.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ try that again. You hear?" said Niall.

"What's going on, Ni?"

"It's okay. The primitive just tried a fast one. She won't try it again. Now hand over the key, or you're history."

Clunk!

Niall collapsed into a heap, dropping the weapon to the floor.

Relief shone over Lily's face. Above the slumped man stood Stanley, fire extinguisher held aloft, breathing heavily. He dropped the canister, and grabbed his head with a groan.

"Niall... _Niall!_ Speak up!"

Stanley took a hold of Rose and swung her over his shoulder, only to stagger into the wall, bumping her head. "Sorry," he said, swaying as if the vessel were sailing upon a stormy sea.

"Are you in any state to pilot?" asked Lily.

He entered the control chamber and turned in circles. " _Hmm_ ... why of course," he said in a deep voice, blinking his eyes. "Rose, can you stand?"

" _Huh_ ... I think so."

"Think? That's good enough," he said, plonking her down. With both knees buckling, she reached for the control deck for support. He then placed the lever into flight mode, creating a deep rumble of energy, and held his forehead.

Shane continued to barge at the cabin door, the sound of splitting wood followed. He shouted for his brother, who replied that he was okay.

_Bleep_ ... _bleep_ ... _bleep_ ... emitted the radar.

Through the window, the treetops drifted afar as _Bella Air_ raised higher over the Italian sector. Stanley gripped the wheel and spun it full-circle in a hurry. The vessel leaned sharply, and her nose pointed towards the nearest entrance bay.

"What's going on?" said Stanley. "Fuel, it's... depleting." He gazed at the radar. "It's no use. The Govern –"

"Can't we teleport?" said Rose, in a panic.

"Of _course_." He switched on the co-ordinates, entered the code for their position, then held the lever to transport them. A pull came to nothing but a flashing red light. " _Nonsense_ , I didn't recharge..." He flipped the battery charger and faced the twins in despair. "It'll be hours before it's ready. All right, grab on to something. And hold tight."

"What are you going to do?" asked Rose.

"Just hold on."

With a grip on the wheel, Stanley spun a whole rotation and then continued to spin.

The vessel tilted; her insides rocked as she rolled upside down and back again.

"You okay, Rose?" asked Stanley.

"Yes!" she cried, eyes shut, head down, while _Bella Air_ continued to flip over and over.

* * *

Shane held the steel mast on deck as he watched the Govern back away from the vessel, readying themselves for another attempt to land.

Niall gripped the netting at the vessel's edge as _Bella Air_ rolled the opposite way for the fifth time, catching Niall off-guard. He slid, grabbing on to the opposite netting: a loose grip.

Shane witnessed Niall part from the vessel and descend towards a deadly impact. But the ground wasn't to take Niall's second life. A Govern loomed beneath and swept upwards, engulfing the existence of Shane's beloved brother in one devouring swoop. He witnessed the entire event during a _Bella Air_ roll. He could only watch – unable to form a single word.

* * *

Stanley stopped rolling the vessel, over seventeen kilometres above ground. "Not far to go," he assured, looking through the periscope, fearing the worst. He activated the doors and observed the entrance bay opening.

"Hurry," said Rose.

The doors parted and _Bella Air_ abandoned the sector, perilously low on fuel. The location reader displayed _Sector:_ _OI-377_. Stanley had little choice but to point the vessel into its midst. He waited and watched with stern eyes for the sector to emerge, glancing now and again at the radar.

Fifteen minutes felt more like fifteen hours, but the sector finally came into view. The bay doors parted and swallowed the vessel whole. The Govern didn't pursue.

He steered _Bella Air_ steadily through the bay and out into darkness. They then plummeted faster and faster towards what appeared to be a lush tropical forest. He looked at the fuel reader. "Brace yourself... she's all out. We're going down. Steady now... _steady!_ "

_Bella Air_ clipped the highest reaching branches and bashed through the foliage, causing damage to the mast and undercarriage. The vessel ploughed into the earthy ground and buried itself in the soil. The duel engines wound down, emitting a low-pitched drone, while debris fell all around.

"My best yet," said Stanley, dusting his jacket down. He observed the radar; it was working, yet made no sound.

"Nice crash," said Lily, on the floor. "What'd reckon, sis? Sis...?"

"Rose?" said Stanley, "wake up, we made it." He stepped beside her and knelt, listening for her breath. He heard it.

"What's wrong with her, Stanley?"

"She must have taken a knock to the head." He gently placed her into the recovery position. "Keep talking to her. I'll be back."

Stanley opened the control chamber door, holding out his trusty fire extinguisher. His heart sank as he saw the shattered picture frames all over the floor. There was no sight, or sound, of the brothers.

" _Amnesh crash! Amnesh crash! Pheeeeeew! Hat-trick!_ " said Brunel, with puffed out feathers.

He acknowledged Brunel with a nod, and cautiously stepped through _Bella Air_ to reach the top deck, then was greeted by an unexpected sight. Three hairy creatures squatted on the vessel's bow, spears in hand, their white eyes reflecting the moonlight as they scouted with great interest.

Stanley retreated deeper into the shadows and gave himself a moment to consider what they might be and what they were searching for.

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Burrow Bandits

Rose opened her eyes to view familiar surroundings. Her bedroom was lit by moonlight. She lay under her duvet, the slightest breeze drifting over her cheek.

Something moved in the shadows. She blinked, only to discover Shane stood inches away from the bed, hands in pockets and stared at her. Behind him, Niall leaned against the window sill, rolling a cigarette with both hands.

"It's time, Rose," said Shane.

The shadowy figure in the corner shook and gasped. Its glossy black tentacles emerged, reflecting the silver light like a mirror. The Govern moved forwards like it had in the flicker book. With the sound of a broken windpipe, it breathed heavily, reaching the end of the bed. Unable to move, Rose observed the creature loosen its wings that wrapped its body and unraveled its tentacles. Three of them slowly extended towards her. All she could do was shut her eyes and wait to be devoured.

Her eyes opened.

Rose expected to see the Govern preparing to consume her. Instead, she was confronted by a close-up of monochrome lips beneath a bushy moustache. "Rose..." said the lips in an eerie, yet familiar voice. "Rose, wake up."

Her eyes opened.

Rose's vision encompassed Stanley's face, consumed with worry, and all in glorious colour.

"That's my girl. Can you stand?"

"Welcome back to the real world, sis," said Lily quietly.

She pushed herself up and rubbed the bump on her head. "What happened? And why are you whispering?" she whispered.

"We landed in a forest of the tropical variety, and you took a nasty bang to the head. And... we have company."

"Govern?" asked Rose, eager for a comforting answer.

"No."

"Shane? Niall?"

Stanley shook his head. " _Shhhhh_ ... Keep your voice down, we don't –" The sound of movement on the upper deck interrupted him. He gave an inquisitive look at the ceiling, listening to the footsteps. "Stay behind me."

He led the way up the stairs, brandishing the fire extinguisher, while Rose gripped his jacket, peeking around the side. Brunel sat perched on his shoulder and bopped his head.

"Wait," said Stanley, "I'll take it from here." He exited the kitchen and inched his way along the darkened deck, surrounded by overhanging tropical leaves, some the size of Rose. He then shuffled his feet to reach the mast, stopped and turned to face the twins, whispering, "I think they've –"

Thud!

Brunel flew for safety as a sharp spear made an impression on Stanley's left buttock. " _Aghh!_ What is this!" he yelped. "Who... What are you?"

Appearing from the port and starboard of _Bella Air_ , two creatures of similar stature and frightfulness made their way on deck. They stood on two feet, listened with large protruding ears, smelt with a small snout and observed with yellow circular eyes with black pupils. Their dark grey clothing was tattered and featured a series of white numbers. Beneath their clothes jutted black and grey fur, though the hairs were far shorter than the large bushy tail that waved from side to side. The two held spears directed at Stanley, and gazed with menace.

" _Ah!_ What is the meaning of this!" wept Stanley.

"Don't hurt him," said Rose. "Sis, _don't_ let them."

"You, girl, come out from the shadows," said the one edging the spear tip closer to Stanley's tail bone. The creature stood slightly shorter than Stanley, but its voice was commanding. What was also distinguishing was his head of hair, styled into a Mohican.

Rose shuffled her way along deck, while Lily twisted herself to gain a better view.

"That's far enough. My, my, you're quite something," said the Mohawk creature.

"Why are you here?" asked the other critter. His voice was tranquil, and he too featured a hair style: a spiky trim.

"Chased by Govern! Out of fuel! Crashed!" said Stanley, wincing on every word.

"You girl, and the primitive, what's your story?" asked the Mohican one.

"I'll tell you if you let Stanley go," said Rose.

"They'll let him go, sis. They don't know what I'm capable of – not _yet_."

The creature began to ease the tip away, and Stanley's expression spoke volumes.

"Fine. Come to our burrow. You can tell us all there," said the Mohican creature in a friendly tone. "Food and drink awaits us, eh, guys?"

"Yeah, sure," said the spiky haired one.

"Why not," rasped the third. His hair was braided.

"I'm Mohawk,' said the Mohican creature. "We mean you no harm," he said, pointing the spear to the deck. "That's Spike and Braid. There're more of us here... in this perilous prison of ours," he added, observing his surroundings.

"What are your names?" asked Braid.

Stanley blew out his cheeks with relief and beckoned the twins to come forward. "My name is Stanley Hopkins. Rose, here, is human, and Lily... well, you know. And up there is my parrot. Say hello, Brunel."

" _Hello! Pheeeeew! Hello!_ "

Mohawk nodded. "Nice to meet you all. Follow us."

Stanley held out his arm, preventing Rose from following. "How can we trust you?"

Mohawk turned. "You can't. But what choice do you have? Anyhow, I've seen your fuselage. And we have fuel," he said, climbing down and out of sight.

Stanley sighed. "Brunel! Come, we're leaving." The parrot came swooping down from safety, landing on his shoulder. "Some help _you_ were..."

" _Amnesh scared! Pheeeew! Oh boy!_ "

The twins, Stanley and Brunel abandoned _Bella Air_ and caught up with the critters. Barely thirty yards from the vessel, Stanley glanced back. "What the... ?"

They all turned to view the scene that had befuddled Stanley.

"A cage, but how?" asked Rose, bemused as she observed steel bars, inches apart, encaging _Bella Air_.

"Now that's magic. Is this _your_ work?" asked Lily.

Mohawk shook his head. "We'll explain everything. But no, that is most certainly not of our work." He sighed, then turned and continued to walk deeper into the forest.

* * *

Stanley and the twins walked behind the creatures with wariness. They witnessed Mohawk follow a trail of white feathers, every fifty or so paces.

Over a small peak, they arrived within a secluded setting where a variety of plantation featured. Mohawk and Braid waited as Spike lifted a circular lid from the ground made from leathery leaves. A withered rope ladder protruded from the edges of the hole. Stanley and the twins peered down into a dark pit where a dot of yellow light shone.

"See you at the bottom," said Mohawk.

"Hold tight as you go down," said Spike.

"After you," said Braid, gesturing his long, bony, black hand.

One by one they placed their feet into footholds and climbed down. The air became dank, and the light, weak.

Stanley counted to himself. "Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty- _centipede!_ " With one hand holding his weight, he scrambled for the next foothold, hugging the rope. Two deep breaths later he continued the descent, accompanied by joyous giggles from above.

The bottom of the pit featured lanterns, revealing a cavern filled with timber slats. The creatures walked ahead through a dingy corridor of wood, rock and bare soil. They began to bicker about waking the rest of the gang. What became apparent was the authority of Mohawk; a strong voice amongst the group.

"Like I said, the others will know soon enough," said Mohawk, clutching the shoulders of Spike and Braid as they strolled towards an entrance.

The wooden door featured a small rectangle, enough space for a pair of eyes to ogle those on the opposite side. Upon arriving, the rectangle slid open and two sharp, eagle-like eyes stared out.

"Password," said the door creature in a soft tone.

"What?" said Mohawk.

"You know, _the_ password."

"Look, Curls, everything's cool," said Mohawk. He paused. "All right, now what was it? _Ah_ yes... Elvis is in the building."

The door creature gave Stanley and the twins another fleeting look. "Well, I had to make sure. It's not every day we have visitors."

"You're right, Curls, as always," said Mohawk, proceeding into a surprisingly large and inviting cavern. Sheets of cloth featuring sunny landscape paintings hung from wooden beams. Sculptures of people made of timber and stone were situated amongst lit candles. Not a grand palace by any means. Nonetheless, it looked homely.

"Welcome to our abode," said Mohawk. "It's home... for now. Mind you, I've been saying that for the last two years."

"You've lived here for two years, amongst all the creepy crawlies?" asked Stanley as he investigated a colourful painted portrait of the creatures.

Mohawk nodded. "All twelve of us have dwelled here."

"Erm... maybe not twelve," said another creature – intelligent sounding and calm. "Probably eleven of us now," he added. The spoken one appeared from a burrowed den five feet high in the wall. The creature swung his skinny, black, furry legs over the edge and sat, holding a hand-size paper aeroplane.

"What are talking about, Quiff, why eleven?" asked Mohawk.

"Biggs didn't come back last night," he said, running his thin fingers through his large, wave-like hair. "He left after dinner. I was told not to say anything. Methinks the growl got him."

"The _what!_ " cried Stanley. "There's a... growl out there?"

"What's a growl, Stanley?" asked Rose anxiously.

"I have no idea, but it sounds hideous."

"You don't want to know, trust me," said Quiff, then threw the paper plane. It swooped up and glided down to Rose's wellies. "Well, in any case, nice to finally see some new faces. It's been a while, see."

Mohawk sighed. "What did I recently say to you all? We need everybody here. Out there we're only pawns for his pecking. Biggs knows better than this. It's not like him."

"I guess there's a breaking point for us all. Biggs's came yesterday," said Spike, taking a seat on a wooden bench made from a tree trunk.

"Who's Biggs?" asked Stanley.

"Tour manager. Well, he _was_ ," said Mohawk. "Before Biggs, Archie went missing – our lighting engineer. He's been gone weeks now. Shame... nobody lit the stage like Arch."

Stanley pulled a face of puzzlement, echoed by the twins.

"I gather it's you that woke us up. But with what?" asked Quiff.

"My vessel, _Bella Air_ ," said Stanley.

"Any good, Mo?" said Quiff.

"Not quite, _he_ already knows. It's securely behind bars."

Stanley moved behind decorated wooden pillars featuring photos of musicians playing their instruments. "May I ask a question," he said, "that's not to cause offence in any way – merely address your current situation?"

"What the hell are we?" guessed Spike.

Stanley nodded slowly.

"I was coming round to that," said Mohawk. "I'm surprised you didn't ask earlier. We're a band of bandits. There're five of us in the band, though we also have another seven stationed here – six if Biggs doesn't return. That's Quiff up there." The bandit in question raised a hand and stretched out his claws in a Mexican wave-like fashion. One of his fingers was noticeably longer than the rest. "He plays bass. Curly plays keys. Braid plays drums. Spike plays lead guitar, and I..." He delved into a top pocket with his slender fingers and withdrew a silver item. "I sing lead and play the occasional harmonica." He played a selection of notes. "Together... we're _The Ayes_ ," he concluded, and took a bow while Spike played a flourish on his guitar.

" _The Ayes_ ..." said Stanley. "Yes, you do look like the Madagascan aye-aye. The Judge made you this way, I take it. Why were you sent here to be punished?"

Mohawk sighed deeply. "I'm no murderer, but I've broken a few laws in my time, as we all have," he said, swiping his hand through the air to nodding heads. "We're here for our 'criminal indecencies on Earth', as the Judge put it. To be punished for our petty crimes: stealing, trespassing, vandalism – you know, the kind you'd get a slapped wrist for back on Earth. Here, though, we're at the mercy of Kiian."

Stanley tilted his head and looked at them all with inquisitiveness. "Your band on Earth was called _The Ayes_ , and now... ?"

"That's right," said Mohawk.

Stanley stroked his moustache. "Maybe Kiian _does_ have a sense of humour."

"Gross..." said Lily.

Rose winced, hoping her sister's reaction wasn't _too_ offensive.

"I couldn't live looking like that," Lily added.

"You get used to it," said Mohawk.

Stanley began to walk with curiosity. "So, you – people," he said, choosing his words carefully, "have lived here for the last _two_ years, and you all play in a band?"

"Correct," said Mohawk, throwing a squidgy substance into his mouth and chewing it.

Stanley clutched his chin and paced around. "How did you end up like this? I mean, there are protocols for these establishments."

Mohawk gulped his grub and spoke with a serious tone. "This sector ain't right. We should have been granted permission to leave months ago."

"Why don't you try to escape?" asked Stanley.

A bellow of laughs surrounded the visitors. Mohawk spoke louder. "We tried... and then we tried many more times."

"What's preventing you?" asked Lily.

" _Huh_ , not what – who," said Spike, sitting up and stretching his hairy, bony arms.

"Anthony Orwell," said Mohawk. "He controls this sector; he calls it Orwellville." He moved towards a torn hung blanket with a masked face painted upon it. "Or, as he likes to be known, simply Mr Orwell. He owns everything, including us, and now you."

Stanley stepped closer, analysing the shredded blanket. "Complete sector control is forbidden for Earth spirits. How is this possible? Surly the Govern know."

"We suspect, and they allow it," said Mohawk. "We've tried everything to escape. We're lucky if we return alive. The man's psychotic." He stepped towards the drum set. "Tell them your Orwell treat."

Braid held a drumstick in his right hand, spinning the other slowly in his left. He eyed Stanley lazily. "I must have trekked what, twenty, twenty-five miles northwest. I came to a clearing in the forest and couldn't believe my eyes: I'd finally found others, just like us. Trouble is... it was Spike. I was _right_ back here," he said, shaking his head. "I didn't recognise the place I call home. The man's a flippin' loon."

Mohawk waved his spindly index finger and spoke potently. "He changes the sector, you see. Everything and anything can move. Forest paths become streams. Hills become swamps. Find yourself a nice tree to sit on and contemplate, only for it to vanish like the lives we pretend to live."

"So are there others here?" asked Rose.

"Who knows," said Mohawk. "I've only ever seen one other chap. He sounded desperate – a voice of a lost soul. His name was... Kane, something Kane. Before I could make any headway, he was gone."

"The sentencing continues," said Stanley, "and I've seen prisoner air vessels travel within this district. I'd be surprised if there aren't new arrivals."

Mohawk shortly paused to compose himself. "Alone or not, we're unable to leave. However, my dear voyagers, your vessel may change all that, as we have the fuel you need," he said and grinned, placing his hands together as if praying, then slid his fingers together and briefly waved them like wings. "If you can remove those bars, what do you say we catch a ride out of here?"

Stanley smiled back and nodded. "As soon as possible. We're in search of someone," he said, turning to face the twins. "Rose and Lily's mother."

"She can separate us. Well, we think she can," said Rose.

" _Awww_ ... that's sweet," said Curly, welling up, wrapping her thick black hair around her finger.

Mohawk stepped closer to the twins. "And I'm guessing that's why the Govern were snapping at your heels. You're not supposed to be here, are you?"

Rose shook her head, while Lily looked around and focused her eyes on Braid's drumsticks; she snatched them from his grasp. She then beat the drum, followed by strumming Spike's stings and plucking Quiff's bass, conducting her own jam session.

The bandits stared, utterly bewitched.

"That's... quite a talent you have there, Lily," said Mohawk amongst a barrel of banter from the bandits. "Truly, I've _never_ seen the likes of you two."

Rose anticipated the aftermath. However, she didn't flinch.

"We can take him," said Lily, confidently. "Where can we find this Mr Orwell?"

Mohawk smiled. " _Oh_ ... you'll get your chance, little spirit. He knows you're here, and everyone gets invited to the mansion – at least once. But I warn you, he doesn't play fair."

"I hope your magic can help," said Spike. "He likes magic."

Stanley hummed a thought. "Ownership of sector control _is_ extraordinary, not to mention unstable. Have you not tried talking to him, making a deal?"

Mohawk turned and walked around, speaking woefully. "Like I said, we've tried everything. He simply doesn't listen, or care. He just keeps playing silly games, conducting us like puppets. He calls us his pets – his Burrow Bandits."

Lily huffed and narrowed her eyes. "Then we don't go. We break through the bars and –"

"If you don't go," interrupted Spike in a tired voice, "there may not even be a vessel."

"Spike's right," said Mohawk. "Our best bet is for you to go and accept his invitation while we sit tight and prepare the fuel. So... are you in, or not?"

"We're in," said Lily without hesitation.

"We can do this, right?" uttered Rose.

"Let's do it," said Stanley.

Mohawk stood on his tree trunk stool and spoke with pride. "Then it's settled. Let's put on a show tonight. Let's celebrate this moment in time."

* * *

Stanley and the twins walked through a short tunnel and arrived in a cosy grotto where the bandits were gathered on stage. The platform was littered with instruments and wires. Others came to join the gathering, bringing food and drink; they too appeared just like _The Ayes_ , only without distinguishing hairstyles. They introduced themselves to the newcomers and sat together while the band members prepared themselves.

"This is our latest," said Mohawk into a microphone. "This one is called... 'Lunar of Loneliness'. A one, a two, a one, two, three..."

Spike gently strummed his guitar in an eerie rhythm. The drums beat to a military march. The bass boomed into a brooding melody, while Mohawk swayed to the sounds with his eyes closed and held the microphone. He began to sing.

Stanley tapped his feet, Brunel bopped his head and the twins stared in amazement. Mohawk had a voice of wisdom; he sung with his soul, and all listened to every lyric.

The final chord was struck, and Mohawk took a bow to rapturous applause. "Thank you," he said, brandishing his harmonica. "This one's an oldie. I'm going to dedicate this to Rose, Lily and Stanley.

" _Pweeeeew! To Amnesh! To Amnesh!_ " screeched Brunel.

"And of course... Brunel," added Mohawk. It's called 'Prophets', and goes like this..."

_The Ayes_ played for over an hour, though the time passed without a moment of clock checking. The burrow erupted with applause after each and every song and the band basked in their audience's appreciation. Even the high decibels were tolerated by Stanley, though he seemed wary of Curly's fluttering eyelashes.

Rose was enthralled by the show and enjoyed sampling the cuisine, which tasted better than it looked.

Lily remained quiet, watching and listening to songs written by dreamers who dared to dream of freedom. Her attention was momentarily diverted when she observed a large rat in the storage compartment above Stanley's head, sniffing his scent. Lily couldn't help herself and watched closely. She gasped. The rat moved left, right and left again. Lily wished the rat to leap, and it did so, causing Stanley to leap too.

* * *

A bandit waited within the treetops above the burrow. Like clockwork, the invitation fell through the muggy air and landed. He climbed down from the tree observatory to search the ground. And there, amongst the pininana and canna flora, lay a golden envelope. On the front it read: _Mr S. Hopkins_.

* * *

"It's here," cried a voice. "Mr Hopkins, it's for you." The bandit handed over a golden envelope as the burrow fell silent.

"Thank you," said Stanley. He opened it, cleared his throat and read aloud:

_Dear Stanley_ ,

_It is my pleasure to welcome you_ , _the twins and Brunel to Orwellville_. _I hope your stay is joyous and awe-inspiring_.

_You are invited to join me at the mansion, whereby you will experience the treasures that await you_. _We will share pastimes and present times_ , _and relish the future_. _Please attend at nine o'clock_ , _sector time_.

_Sincerely_ ,

_Mr Orwell_.

"Well," said Stanley, addressing the twins, "he certainly sounds like a jolly nice chap."

The bandits remained mute.

"Nine o'clock," he added, "I was hoping for daylight hours."

"Daylight? We haven't seen daylight for months," said Mohawk. "I doubt the arrival of guests will entice Orwell to raise the sun."

"That leaves us how long?" asked Stanley.

"Less than half an hour," said Mohawk. "Enough time for one last song." The bandits returned to their instruments. "Farewell and happy returns to our dear new friends. It's called 'Freedom'. Goodnight."

The burrow became mesmerised by the delicate harmony and inspiring lyrics; a perfect finale before the twins' next voyage, to once again enter the unknown.

# CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Life, Death and Spirit of Anthony and Charles Orwell

Anthony would never forget the first time he encountered yellow metal, on 8 June 1917.

On a semi-deserted ranch, Anthony, aged eleven, was feeding the cattle their daily grub when his father, and sole guardian, strolled up from the deep valley – a distant figure shimmering in the blazing midday heat. During the last few strides, his expression hinted at the extraordinary.

"Son, stop feeding and follow me," he said, then headed towards a barn.

Anthony placed down the bucket of feed and stepped into the shade of the building with curious thoughts.

His father knelt down to his son's level. He placed his grubby hand into his pocket, then brought out a clenched fist. "Son, I want you to know," he said, placing his other hand on Anthony's shoulder, "that what I hold here will change our lives forever, and for the better."

Anthony's curiosity gave way to a rush of excitement. What could possibly be grasped within one man's hand that could change lives?

"Hold out your hand, son."

He did as he was told, and his father slowly unclenched his fist over Anthony's palm. Surrounded by the dirt it came from, he observed a yellow stone.

"Gold, son. _Pure_ gold. Our gold," he said, rolling another nugget in his own palm. "This is for your eyes only. With more of these, we will live like Tudor kings. Say nothing of this to anyone, you hear?"

Dazzled by the glistening nugget, Anthony almost forgot to reply. He finally nodded, and was rocked by his father's loving hand ruffling his sun-bleached hair.

"As you were. I'll be a while longer. Gonna dig me up some more of these yellow stones."

Anthony watched his father leave in search of their fortune, laid deep within the rock veins of California, United States of America.

* * *

The gold came out slowly, one hundred ounces per week. A year later, the mine gave more than two thousand ounces per month. One mine to begin with, then five, stretching from the foot of Battle Mountain to the peak of Devil's Gate. All became the land of Orwell, renamed Orwell Valley.

* * *

After the discovery of gold, Anthony led a sheltered childhood. He knew much about the world and why he was privileged, whereas others weren't. Educated at home by his ever-present father, Charles Orwell, Anthony experienced far more than his peers.

Many would say Anthony grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth. This was true, although Anthony's spoon was gold. He became known as the rich kid, the boy with yellow blood, the golden boy. He always thought his upbringing shouldn't be the cause for name-calling. After all, the young Mr Orwell hadn't asked for gold; he was given it, in abundance.

Motherless due to disease, Anthony witnessed women come and go from the mansion. It appeared no woman was good enough for Anthony's father. He spoke of living like a king, and said that some day he would find his queen.

Amid the Great Depression of the 1920s, where money circulated like water in a frozen pipe, people desperately drifted in search of work, whereas the Orwells lived a comfortable life. Drinks were provided by the finest vineyards. A banquet of food graced their dining table, surrounded by obedient servants waiting on their masters. Anthony's father loved the power. So much so, he reminded his son at every opportunity. "Too little gravy, you say? Then click your fingers and they will obey."

Barely in his teens, Anthony wrapped gold in paper: gifts for those he felt drawn to. Upon discovering what lay within, his father asked, "Why gold, son?"

"Isn't that what girls like?" said Anthony.

"Son, at your age, girls don't care for gold. That's for our living, not for giving. How about flowers, or candy – all girls like candy, son."

* * *

With an ever-growing empire, their gold mines spread throughout the west of America. The Orwells became recognised far and wide. For Anthony's father, fame was a by-product of his work. However, he kept a secret, who arrived at the mansion: Anthony's half-brother, Ethan.

Aged nineteen, poor, malnourished and desperate for work, Ethan became the third member of the Orwell gold rush.

Then, one still night, Ethan awoke in one of the twelve bedrooms. Alerted by a sound, he searched the mansion, only to become the target of thieves out for Orwells' golden loot. While defending their property, Ethan was struck on the head by a crowbar and bashed into a coma.

He lay in a pool of blood, while Anthony's father sat by his side and gathered his thoughts.

* * *

Anthony would never forget the day America shook. He was in his late teens, out in a goldmine like old times.

"Hand over the pick, son," said Charles.

"How much farther d'you reckon?" asked Anthony.

Charles gripped the pickaxe with both hands and steadied himself for the first swing of the afternoon. "Soon, son. She'll deliver." He swung the axe into the rock and pulled it out, discovering a sparkling tip. After he examined the metal head in the sunlight, he let out a gasp of laughter.

"Soon, huh?" said Anthony, admiring their newfound site.

A moment of peace and blissful discovery was broken by handfuls of dirt falling from above. A deep rumble vibrated beneath their feet and evolved into a rampant shake. Before they had time to exit the mine, it was too late. Wooden beams above splinted and snapped, causing a ton of earth to plummet. They groaned and spluttered before only the patter of rock and settling dirt could be heard.

Anthony opened his eyes to darkness. With a face of muck, he could hardly breathe, and his throat yearned for water.

Scraping through the soil and yellow stones, Anthony called out to his father. If he had survived, thought Anthony, then there was a chance his father had too. When he saw the hand within the dirt he hoped for a glimmer of life. He held it tight, chanting for him to be alive, and scraping at the soil.

Anthony witnessed his worst fear.

Out of the mine, he sat at the entrance until sunset. There he contemplated life without his guardian, his only friend.

* * *

Aged twenty, Anthony took full control of his father's empire. He soon became aware of the hostility surrounding him that he had been sheltered from: those who discussed illegal activities over a game of poker; the kind of characters many wished to have no business with; men in pinstriped suits, notorious for organised crime; the mobsters of Chicago.

Anthony did the unthinkable. He joined the family.

"Gentleman," said Mr Capone. "I would like to introduce you to our new member: the son of the great Charles Orwell. Please welcome, Anthony 'Golden Boy' Orwell."

* * *

On 14 February 1929, the day that became known for the Valentine's Day Massacre, Anthony prayed.

He arrived at his destination within a police marked vehicle. He was dressed as a police officer, along with his colleague and close friend Kane. Behind them were two other members dressed in regular clothing.

The four ambushed a garage in which a deal was taking place, a deal that Anthony and Co. had set up. A blaze of gun fire ripped through the interior, taking down all six members of the rival gang. Posing as police officers catching the bad guys, Anthony and Kane then escorted their two colleagues in plain dress to their police vehicle. Sirens blazing, they drove away from the scene: another victory for the police in the eyes of the public.

" _Yeah!_ " shouted Kane, racing through red lights. "This is it, Golden Boy. Capone's gonna move us up for this. Just you wait."

Anthony remained calm. He simply tossed his first golden nugget into the air and caught it, thinking of his father.

Business was good, and control of Chicago's organised crime lay in their bloody hands. Anthony withheld his elation, but that was his way. He knew all too well how highs can implode.

* * *

While the world was at war, Anthony remained in fruitful spirits. Their crimes continued, and Anthony was in his prime. He moved up the ranks, given privileges by Mr Capone himself, the kind only ever given to those most worthy.

But it's all too easy for a mobster to fall foul – misled and ultimately deceived by a man you would call a brother. And Anthony's supposed friend Kane abandoned him to make his own escape on a bitterly cold night while on the job.

The police sirens encompassed the warehouse; the raid was quick and brutal. Like Ethan, Anthony lay in pool of his own liquid. He beckoned Kane for help, and their eyes met for the last time. He then watched Kane disappear through the window, leaving him for the police. Accepting the inevitable, he held out his golden nugget, observing it through his Earth eyes for the final time.

* * *

Charles relished the prospect of running his own sector on Kiian. So much so, he applied to be in charge of the day-to-day running of Sector SR-377: a sector to house those to be punished under the jurisdiction of the Judge. With ample leadership and prowess while building his golden empire, Charles had all the attributes of a man to control such a sector, and Judge Kiian knew this within a glance.

The thought of punishing and torturing criminals would break down even the toughest of minds – eventually. Charles cringed at the prospect at first; but in time he became immune, as if those living within the sector weren't human spirits – indeed, most didn't look human, thanks to the Judge's Soul Reflection program.

Like a golden mine concealing its treasure, Charles took full control of the sector. In came those to be punished, and out went those fortunate enough to outlive their sentence. He relished every new day a criminal entered his domain; some would say too much.

In almost eight years in power, little, if anything, broke the monotony of the endless grind of the regime, until the unexpected. Charles discovered that he wasn't the only Orwell in SR-377.

Only by name did Charles recognise his own flesh and blood. Anthony's sight had been re-imagined; his eyes glowed golden and dazzled those who dared to stare.

To breach the rules of the Govern is like signing a certificate to be devoured. Charles knew this as Anthony's punishment was due. He hovered his shaking hand over the switch to cause his son pain ranging from a sharp shock to beyond many can tolerate. Part one of their weekly punishment would activate nerves and moisten palms. Part two, however, he couldn't bear to contemplate.

Charles took hold of a microphone to speak directly to his son in jail. "The Schedule of Justice... is cancelled," he said. He then looked to his advisor, who stood with an expression of regret. "Reeves... bring me my son."

"Sir, may I suggest –"

"Do it. At once."

"If you insist, sir."

The next man to appear in front of Charles was Anthony. He stared with bright, golden eyes. "Father... "

"Welcome, son. Welcome home."

* * *

Twenty-two hours later.

"This is our _empire!_ " bellowed Anthony's father towards the swarming Govern. "Make your time count, son!" he added, aware of his impending death. "Revel in your time!"

"Revel in my... ?" Anthony was unable to divert his gaze from the devouring Govern. To witness his forever loved father die once – atrocious. To see him die a second was inconceivable.

* * *

Anthony naturally took the reins from his father, for the second time in his life. He thought it was his duty to take over, and hoped that the Govern wouldn't intervene; difficult to prevent given that the Judge decided who was empowered and who devoured.

The visit soon came.

The Judge, appearing as Anthony's father, took one glance at the eyes he had imposed and that was enough to know that Sector SR-377 was in faithful hands. Because of his father's legacy, Anthony was to take full control of an institution. From that day renamed OI-377, Anthony ruled his own institution.

# CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Invitation to Mr Orwell's

Stanley and the twins departed the burrow, mulling over their newfound friends. Rose looked towards the enigmatic hill far in the distance where a mansion awaited their presence.

The three hiked along a winding path through the dense tropical forest of Orwellville. They trudged under lush green leaves, some as large as Stanley. Vibrant hues surrounded them – apricot, turquoise and cherry coloured flora, all in full bloom. Some plants featured teeth primed for snapping and devouring. Multi-coloured frogs hopped and croaked amongst their rainbow sanctuary, and sailed upon the largest lily pads ever conceived. Beyond them, cascading back-lit mini waterfalls produced a lavish stage for happy koi as they swam in idyllic heated ponds.

The climb through the intricate plant life seemed to sap Stanley's energy. However, Rose seemed to float without a huff, comfortably at ease with the rollercoaster terrain.

"Stanley, do you want to stop?" asked Rose.

"Why... you tired?" he asked, huffing and puffing.

"No, not at all. In fact it's easy. Ever since I came to Kiian, I've felt lighter."

"Indeed, the gravity is lighter than Earth's. Though soon enough, it becomes the norm; just you wait."

Lily watched dots of green light dance around in the night. "How much farther? And what are all these lights?"

"Fireflies," said Stanley. "And I have _no_ idea how far. Rose?"

"I've lost sight of the mansion; it's hard to tell."

"When we do eventually arrive," said Stanley, "let me do the talking. I know this Orwell type."

Lily rolled her eyes and didn't backchat. Instead, she hummed a tune of The Ayes. Above them Brunel swooped through the treetops. Better that, she thought, than ride the Stanley Hopkins' vomit tour.

Rose then paused, observing a tree. Thick roots curved along the ground. She began climbing the trunk to gain a better view.

"Careful, mind your step," said Stanley, hands on hips.

A faint sound of wind breezed through the humid air while Rose reached for a foothold. It sounded like the breeze spoke. She listened:

" _Cooomme_ ... _cloooossser_."

The air settled. Rose questioned her hearing, though didn't wish to raise alarm. "I can see the rooftop from here," she said, stretching onto her tiptoes, holding the tree trunk with both hands. "Not much farther, I think."

" _Good_ ," said Lily. "Waiting is for wimps, as is _moaning_ ," she added, peering down at Stanley.

Onward they travelled. They went up and down, snaking along paths which appeared to echo their surroundings. The plantation, along with the sounds of hidden creatures, was infused with an otherworldly atmosphere.

Their attention was pricked by a deep voice booming around them. "Follow the pecking peacock."

And then, like magic, they witnessed a peacock peck the ground ahead. Its large tail was fanned and awash with lively colour. They followed, winding along the branching paths, and crossed a stream over stepping stones while the peacock pecked.

Over a crest, they arrived at a stone bridge featuring vast arches that stood for what seemed like a mile down, deep into a valley; so deep, the stone faded to black.

"Fifteen century, that bridge," said Stanley, leaning against a tree, dabbing the perspiration from his face. "Now, let me go first. Make sure it's safe and all."

Stanley walked on, and so Rose followed closely, moving like a robotic toy, refusing to look over the edge.

As the opposite side neared, she saw a series of stone steps with bamboo at either side. Each stalk was the size of a tree trunk, and the steps curled upwards ever so steeply.

Brunel flew above, appearing right at home in Orwellville. He glided through the treetops and entered the bamboo climb. The structure carved up through the mountainous terrain and disappeared into the drifting mist.

The ascent was time-consuming. They passed small bamboo huts situated amongst tropical palm trees. Each hut appeared to be a watch tower, unmanned apart from small golden gnomes that looked over the valley.

At the top, Rose examined the imposing mansion. The many roofs pointed like arrowheads. Beneath, set in white walls between black beams, three rows of tall rectangular windows featured a lattice design: diamond shapes.

She watched the peacock peck the ground within an enclosed tropical courtyard, no bigger than a tennis court. A fountain stood in the middle, where a statue of a man held a pickaxe in one hand and a golden nugget in the other. Ten paces ahead, double doors were lit and inviting. She looked over her shoulder to see Stanley dragging his feet, while Brunel swooped beneath the over-hanging palm trees and landed on his shoulder. Stanley then nodded, so Rose stepped to the door, taking hold of a golden fist, and knocked twice.

A voice, deep as before, said, "Puppets, Aries, you are my candy fairies. Please enter. _We_ look forward to your company."

Stanley made a face and gave his limbs a shake before entering, followed closely by Rose.

* * *

The interior of the main entrance was filled with flamed candles, paintings, stone pillars, dark-stained panelling and drapes of rich fabrics. The white ceiling was carved with flora detail, from which hung a sparkling chandelier. To the right, double doors concealed the luxuries beyond. To the left, an open-plan living room with the largest furniture Rose had ever seen. Ahead, a grand staircase featured a golden banister.

"Mr Orwell..." said Stanley, "where should we go?"

No response.

"Maybe this is the game the bandits were talking about," said Rose. "First we must seek?"

They roamed, investigating the double doors which revealed yet another dazzling sight. The dining room featured a table the length of five elephants, head to tail. By the far wall, a grandfather clock _tick-tocked_ , breaking the eerie ambiance.

"He's not here. Where shall we go now, Stanley?" asked Rose.

"Keep searching, I guess. Maybe we'll find the kitchen," he said, picking at the leftovers in his teeth. "Those bandits have lost their taste buds."

He headed for the opposite dark-stained doors featuring shiny golden handles. Once through, they closed behind him with a sharp click.

Rose quickened her pace in Stanley's direction. She held the door handle and gave it a twist, then peeked through the crack before gently pushing wider. There was no sign of Stanley, or anybody. She stepped into a wooden-panelled corridor with mounted candles on either side. Only the occasional arch broke up the length that stretched beyond a two-minute trek. "Stanley... where are you?" she called.

"He might have... run to the other door," said Lily.

Rose began to imagine Stanley running; from what, she dreaded to think.

With caution, she walked along the colossal corridor, but something wasn't right. The door at the far end continued to appear as a tiny speck in the distance.

"Move quicker," ordered Lily, observing the door they had entered becoming smaller.

Rose quickened her pace, which rapidly turned into a sprint. Faster she ran, passing the arches and candles over and over again. She let out a sudden gasp and stopped. The far door remained a dot in the distance, and the door they had entered from was just as diminutive.

She fell to her knees and sat on the stone floor beneath flickering light. "I think we're trapped," she said, breathing deeply. "I think we should go back."

Lily frowned. "Wait till I get my mind on him, I'll –"

"I'm going back. Stanley is probably waiting for us at the entrance," she said, standing. She soon began to sprint. Her heart beat faster as she sank deeper into despair. Yet again, the door remained static; a small speck of an exit lingering far out of reach. "We really are trapped, sis. What can we do? It's _too_ confined here."

"Calm down," said Lily. "Next you'll think the walls are going to close together."

Rose clenched her teeth. Her eyes were wide open. Unable to bear it, she slumped to the ground and buried her head in her arms. "Get me out, get me out, get me out, get me out, get me out..." she muttered, faster and faster, eyes closed tight and shaking her head. "Get me out, get me out, get me out, get me out, get me –"

" _Shut up!_ " exploded Lily. Her voice echoed through the endless corridor. "You call this _trapped?_ You have _noooooo ideeaaa!_ " she screamed at the top of her voice.

A moment of poise ensued, where only the whisper of breath and the flickering flames could be heard.

* * *

Rose's phobia eventually subsided. She raised her head from her arms and opened her eyes. Her focus was at first blurred, then restored as she observed an oddity: subtle and hardly legible, she studied etched letters on a wooded panel, then moved for a closer inspection.

"What are you staring at?" asked Lily softly.

"Sdra-wrof, dee-corp, ot, sdraw-kcab, ev-om," said Rose as precisely as she could. "What does that mean?"

"Have you lost the plot? What are you rambling on about?"

"There, look," said Rose, turning to her side and pointed.

"Is that even a language?" asked Lily.

Rose shook her head, trying to figure out the nonsense. "A puzzle? I don't know, sis." She went over the letters one by one, then gasped. "Wait a minute, ot, could be... _to_ , you think?" She began looking through the rest carefully. "Dee-corp, that's... p-r-o-c-eed – _proceed!_ "

"Okay, smarty, work out the rest."

"F-o-r-wards, proceed, to, b-a-c-kwards, m-ove... It's all broken. It makes no sense."

Lily perked up. "Move the words around, try that."

"Proceed, to, move, forwards, backwards...?"

"No wait," said Lily, "move backwards to proceed forwards! That _must_ be it!" she added, pleased with her conquest.

"That still doesn't make much sense. But..." Rose stood and faced the entrance she had come through. One leg reached back and she took her first step, followed by her other foot.

Lily, for the first time, was moving forwards. It felt odd, but right; so much so that her face broke into a smile and she said, "I think it's working. _Yes_ , it's working. Keep going, you're doing it."

Rose was brimming with joy too, though she didn't look back, just in case their progression was broken. After thirty-six paces, Rose began to wobble in her strides.

"Closer... not far to go," assured Lily. "Okay, a little closer, and... stop," she added, admiring the previously evasive exit.

Rose clenched her fist with accomplishment and placed her hand behind, searching for a handle; not wanting to break their progress, she took no chances.

"Up, up a bit, a bit more," said Lily.

Rose grasped the handle and gave it a twist. It _clicked_ open. She continued to walk backwards through the door, just in case, then turned to view her new surroundings.

The door closed behind as she ventured into a cosy theatre venue. A dozen rows of red-cushioned seats featured in a semi-circle. Each seat was numbered with golden thread. At the front of stage was a house which reminded her of the Punch and Judy show she had seen on Scarborough beach.

Rose headed towards the front row while the lights dimmed and a merry tune played; pleasant enough, but nevertheless creepy in such circumstances.

She and Lily watched two puppets appear in the house; not Punch or Judy, but puppets that looked like the Burrow Bandits.

"Well, hello, angels..." said the puppet on the right in a squeaky voice. "We've been expecting you, haven't we?"

" _Oh yes_ ... the twins, Rose and Lily, are _very special girls_. And special girls deserve special treats," squeaked the left puppet.

"Like chocolates, you mean?" asked the other.

"Oh no, much richer and more succulent."

"How about candy floss?"

"No... life."

"Oh, of _course_. I love to save lives. It makes me feel so holy."

Rose winced, wondering what may happen and who, or what, controlled the puppets, if anyone at all.

Lily frowned, tiring of this farce, and felt the urge to do something about it with haste.

"The best of three questions is the winner," said the left puppet. "Let's start the show nice and easy."

It pressed a switch. The red curtains behind the house parted to reveal a projected screen. On it was a Burrow Bandit sitting in the moonlight. He sprang to his feet and scrambled up the sides of a deep ditch, but he failed to scale the earthen walls. He slumped to the ground, placing his head into his hands, rocking back and forth.

"The bandit's in trouble, the bandit's in a muddle. Get the question right, and free Archie tonight!" said the right puppet. "The five members of The Ayes are?"

Rose took little time for contemplation. She spoke clearly. "Mohawk, Spike, Braid, Curly and Quiff."

"You... are... _correct_ ," said the left puppet. "I hope you enjoyed their show – we sure did."

The twins gave a sigh of relief and watched the screen as a rope ladder appeared in a blink of an eye. Archie took hold and climbed towards the surface. He expressed relief, and dashed beyond the trees and out of sight.

Their elation soon depleted upon witnessing another Burrow Bandit in distress, standing on a tree stump with his hands tied behind his back and a noose around his neck.

"Question two. How many bandits currently reside in Orwellville?" asked the right puppet. Both brandished two cards on sticks which read: _Fifty-two_ – _One hundred and eighty_ – _Thirteen_ – _Two thousand and six_.

"Which is it, which is it? Decide to save a bandit," said the two puppets in harmony.

"We know this," said Rose. "Mohawk said there were eleven, but including Archie and Biggs, then the answer is thirteen."

"Right, if you're sure," said Lily.

"Thirteen," confirmed Rose.

The puppets lowered their cards. "The number of Burrow Bandits currently residing in Orwellville is... thirteen!"

" _Yes!_ " cried the twins.

"However... that is not the question," said the right puppet.

"What?" uttered Rose.

"The number of bandits within Orwellville, including our beloved burrowers', is two thousand and six."

"That's a trick question!" screamed Lily. "You evil monster!"

"Say bye bye, Biggs – see you in another life," said the left puppet, waving his woollen hands.

The twins winced and watched the screen to see the tree stump vanish. Biggs fell.

Rose looked away in horror.

"Stop it! Stop it _now!_ " ordered Lily.

"That's a tie," said the left puppet. "One a piece. Next point wins."

"Wins what?" said Rose.

"We just win. You win life."

"Final question!" announced the left puppet, revealing another Burrow Bandit on show. "Get it wrong, and Spike gets flung."

On screen, Spike sat within the treetops. He looked out, perched on a branch, over a seventy-foot drop.

"Stop this..." pleaded Rose. "Please, stop this."

Lily took a deep breath. "You'll regret this, Orwell. You'll be sorry you _ever_ invited us."

# CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Orwell Night Show

"Question three," said the elated left puppet. "Recite the first line of The Ayes song 'Freedom'."

Rose played the intro in her head.

Lily hummed it.

"Was it 'Meet my... maker'?" asked Rose.

"Quiet, I'm thinking."

"No, wait. I know this. I remember thinking about it when they played it."

"You're absolutely sure?" said Lily.

"Yes. It's 'Forever in the Realm of the Black Rose...'"

" _Oh_ , that line."

The puppet paused. "You are... _correct_."

The lights brightened, the puppets descended, and no more bandits' lives resting on their whims.

Rose dashed to the door with _Exit_ lit above, and hesitated. She opened it while wincing, and her face dropped as she witnessed yet another epic corridor. Soon enough, she hopped like a rabbit and jumped with arms and legs stretched out all the way to the opposite door. The writing on the wall said it all:

pmuj rats poh poh poh

* * *

Rose looked at the stone steps before her, barely five-foot wide and curved down to the left. Two wall-mounted candles lit the passage at either side.

She began to walk down. Candles lit spontaneously as she stepped parallel to them, and instantly went out the moment she had passed. Step after step, the descent became all too familiar.

"This is far too long," said Rose.

"Like the corridors," said Lily. "Look for some nonsense."

During their search, mirrors appeared around the corner. A large selection featured on the inner wall, all framed in gold.

"This is different. We must be making progress," said Rose, moving step by step, candle after candle, mirror after mirror. "Wait a second, we passed this one before, and this one."

" _Great_ ... we're going in circles now."

Rose dashed down the steps in the hope her fears were untrue. Each mirror repeated like a continuous loop of Soul Reflection.

"Ha-ha-ha-ha..." cackled a faint voice.

"Not again," said Rose, feeling the walls leaning closer as a faint breeze of tepid air tickled her neck.

"Know your horoscopes?" boomed the voice. "Speak of one at a time, and receive a lifeline."

"Horoscopes?" uttered Lily.

"Speak of one at a time, and receive a lifeline?" repeated Rose, trying to decipher the riddle.

"Look, _creep_. You don't know who you're messing with!"

There was no response.

Rose sighed. "Look at every mirror, there must be something."

Their search covered multiple loops before one mirror, smaller than the others and at eye level, triggered an idea. It featured four spaces on all corners of the frame. There were two carved creatures made of gold: a bull in the top right corner, and a fish in the bottom left. The other two corners appeared to be missing something.

Rose continued down the steps, passively lighting the way as she went. The same mirror appeared again; there was only one creature, a bull.

"This might be it," said Rose. "Look, these animals change every time we see this mirror. And horoscopes feature animals."

"So...?"

"So I suppose one is the first. And bull, that's... Taurus."

"Right," said Lily, none the wiser.

Rose stared into the mirror and spoke clearly at her own reflection. "Taurus." The tight spiralling corridor become less dark as two more candles lit up ahead. Rose gasped.

Further down, the twins passed the mirror of four creatures, followed by the mirror of three. Finally, Rose stood in front of the mirror featuring a bull and a fish. "Pisces," she said, igniting another row of candles.

"Leo," said Rose, at the third mirror.

"Scorpio," she declared, at the fourth and final mirror.

The lit candles were unseen. She hurried down the steps, now completely bathed with flamed light. Like a mirage, a door appeared at the base of the spiral. Rose gripped the handle, fearing their next task.

* * *

Another mystery door opened, revealing the outside world of Orwellville – an enclosed tropical courtyard featuring a fountain where an oval of water sprayed beneath a stone parrot. Its wings, at least twice the size of Brunel's, were outstretched and lit by a changing hue every few seconds.

The door closed behind as Rose stepped down to follow a cobbled path. It led through a tropical canopy, where tall plants released a smell of rotting eggs. Others looked capable of swallowing Rose's head. She held her breath and quickened her pace beyond bushes with thorns the size of fingers.

_Rumble_ ... _!_

Rose stopped to listen.

Black clouds rolled overhead, and she assumed Orwell had planned it.

"Thunder," said Lily. "I think we're in for a downpour."

A faint patter in the distance suggested Lily may be right. It appeared the rain had started ahead. Rose stepped upon a short wall and glanced into the distance. As she did so, all preconceptions dissolved. No rain poured. Instead, a murky white veil plummeted from the black sky, moving closer, swiftly becoming denser. Before Rose could understand what was falling she was bombarded with pink and white marshmallows. They rolled off the rooftops and thumped through the trees, dancing across the pebbles.

"Candy for my captives..." bellowed Orwell amid the thunder. " _All_ girls like candy."

Crash! _Crash!_ Rumble! _Rumble!_

"Run, Rose!" cried Lily.

The floor became swamped with sugary sweets, causing a slippery sprint. Rose arrived at a fork in the path and hesitated. Even though the marshmallows were soft and probably yummy, they hit with tremendous force, and she felt every impact.

"There, over there!" said Lily, pointing.

Rose dashed to what appeared to be a storm shelter. There she pulled on the handle, prising open the doors while the marshmallows flowed and rolled, forming pink and white streams.

Inside, she caught her breath. The outside bombardment soon eased, and the last few reached the ground, trickling amongst the blanket of candy.

"I never want to see marshmallows ever again," said Rose, raking a handful out from her hair, followed by closing the doors.

The interior was dingy, dank and familiar; a replica of the bandits' burrow. The décor was not only eerie, but haunting. Rose stepped over the soil-covered floor to see photos of their entire evening on the walls of the burrow.

Rose searched for a clue as to what may be in store for her and Lily. In the centre of the burrow, tree stumps were placed in between two wooden pillars. A table stood adjacent, on which two televisions displayed a snowy picture and emitted a faint _hiss_.

"Take a seat. Rest your feet, for you're in for a treat," said Orwell.

She headed towards the seats, on which blueprints lay. The paper appeared to be outside plans of Orwellville. She sat at an angle, giving her and Lily a view of the flickering screen. A black and white image of Stanley appeared on one. He sat on his bottom in the bamboo maze, ankle deep in marshmallows.

" _Stanley!_ " shouted Rose. "Don't you hurt him, please."

"I don't hurt people, Rose. I present possibilities..." he said with a touch of wickedness, "which may, or may not, harm. Now, my tremendous twins, watch closely."

Orwell demonstrated his magic by adjusting the bamboo maze. A parting emerged opposite Stanley. That alone sent horrid thoughts rippling through Rose's mind. However, it was what came out that terrified her.

On all fours, a black-haired beast entered the maze. Its mane was like a lion's. A horn protruded from its forehead, and its white, beady eyes caused light trails to linger on screen.

"Speak to him if you desire. Ike and I will watch and admire."

" _Aah-ahh!_ " screeched another; a monkey, perhaps.

Rose knelt at the foot of the screen, eyes glued to the unfolding event. "Stanley, you need to get out. A beast is in there. It's coming for you. Get moving, quick!"

Stanley sprang into the air like a jack-in-a-box. He stood poised, eyeing all directions, and settled for one way, the way of the beast.

"Wait! Stop! Not that way!" screamed Rose.

Stanley shouted something. His cries were unheard by the twins, but his frantic actions spoke louder.

Staring at the blueprints of the maze, she ran her finger from the opening to Stanley. "Okay... turn around, go straight, then left." Stanley did just that in a fit of panic. "Oh no! I mean right, that was my left, go right!"

The beast changed direction too, sniffing the humid air.

"Go left, then left again, then right, quickly, it's gaining!"

Stanley glanced behind to witness the creature giving chase. His pace stepped up with a shot of adrenaline, forcing Rose to quicken her direction calls. "Straight, right, right, left."

Lily tried to get a better view. "Get a _move_ on, you fool!"

He galloped through the exit as if he were running the Olympic hundred-metre final. The black tyrant raged forth and continued to chase. The exit, however, ceased to be. The beast stopped, drooling for its escaped supper.

Stanley didn't so much drool, but panted on all fours just as well before collapsing onto his back where he took deep, life cherishing breaths.

"Bravo... bravo... You three are much fun," said Orwell as his slow clapping echoed throughout the sector.

"I've had enough of you!" screamed Lily. "Just you wait till we find you, then you'll be –"

"Your manners are inadequate. You should pay more attention to your sister. She knows how to conduct herself amongst gods."

Rose's eyes beamed beneath a frown, and she spoke to the ceiling, calmly. "You've had your fun, Orwell. Now let us go. We need to be leaving now. We need to find our mother."

"But where's the fun in that? No... we're not finished. Our adventures have only just begun."

Rose gave herself a moment to think, remembering Lily's words from earlier _: there's always a way_.

"Hello, there," said Orwell. "Another captive to join our party. I think you'll enjoy this."

The twins stared at the screen. A man sprinted, glancing behind him. His movement resembled Stanley's frightened effort. He also appeared familiar, and soon enough, the man came into focus. Shane ran from a similar beast that had chased Stanley, perhaps even bigger and more vicious.

"I know you don't care for this man. From your reaction alone, you _despise_ him. Why I'm not sure – I do wonder..."

Shane came to a sudden halt. He stood on the edge of a deep, treacherous pit filled with arm-length spikes that would tear him apart, just like the beast, given the chance.

"You're evil," said Rose.

The beast stopped and strolled from side to side, as if waiting for a signal.

"You can save him," said Orwell. "That is, if you wish to. I can create a bridge. One push of a button, he needn't be mutton. You have one minute to decide."

Time ticked, and Rose did not give an answer.

Twenty seconds and counting, yet she remained tight-lipped, watching the screen intensely. Shane's face was an image of terror; the kind of torment he took great pleasure in.

Thirty-five seconds.

The beast continued to stalk its prey, closing in, relishing the prospect of a paw-licking feast.

"Fifty-five... fifty-six... fifty-seven... fifty-eight..."

"Make a bridge," said Rose firmly.

"Rose!" snapped Lily. "He wants us gone – the Govern, remember!"

"No, it's the right thing to do. Make it."

A stone bridge appeared, and Shane dashed over it while the beast gave a mighty roar.

"Good having power, isn't it?" said Orwell. "To take or give a life. It's what I live for. It made me the man I am today."

Rose stood. "You call yourself a man? I call you a _coward_."

"And I call you a flaming, rotten, dirty piece of –"

Chssss!

A sound from the second screen interrupted Lily.

"You're right. We've played enough," said Orwell, a voice without godly proportion; it came from the television speakers.

Within a dimly lit room, Orwell sat on grand throne, lit by moonlight from behind. He was dressed in black with an abundance of jewels and wore a white frilly ruff around his neck and cuffs. His elbows rested on the armrests while he spread his white-gloved fingertips over the tabletop.

A monkey, two-foot tall, climbed from behind the throne and down Orwell's arm to sit on the table. Its clothes matched Orwell's. The most striking feature of both were their faces, or lack of. They both wore shiny white masks, but Orwell's eye sockets shone two beams of light into the camera lens.

"I'm sorry we never got properly acquainted. Both Ike and I sincerely hope you've grown from your experiences. However... I'll be greeted by many other guests, maybe better mannered ones, so I must make way for my next _dreamers_ and _screamers_. I'm afraid there isn't room for you here any more. I do hope you understand: your time is at hand."

Ike displayed his teeth and stared closely into the lens, rocking the camera with excitement. " _Eeeek! Ah-ah!_ "

Rose slowly shook her head. She grimaced helplessly at the second TV screen. The picture displayed was rendered in high contrast, with the centre in focus surrounded by blurred edges. The view was of vertical bars close to the ground that gently swayed, as if they were seeing through the eyes of another being.

Orwell placed his hand on a switch and gave it a flick. The bars rose, and the image moved forward, step by step. Orwell's shiny mask filled the picture. "It's time for you to meet our guests," he said. "Go play. Show them what it means to be alive today..."

The image swayed from left to right, inches from the ground. It hurried through the door and down the corridor to reach the grand stairs, pausing for a moment, before racing down.

"It's coming for us," uttered Rose.

"Orwell, tell it to stop," ordered Lily.

Nothing.

Orwell sat still, hands clenched, staring into the camera.

# CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Mastermind

Something was on the move. Rose frantically searched the burrow for another exit and kept an eye out for weapons. She gave a sudden glance at the television, watching the image display the last step of the grand staircase, followed by the main entrance doors. Clearly, whatever it was knew where to go, and did so, quickening its pace. It dashed through the courtyard, leaping over a wall twice the size of Rose. Wooden doors appeared, the kind used for storm shelters.

"It's here," said Rose, backing up into the far corner.

"Give me a better view," said Lily. Rose did just that.

The servant of Orwell breathed deeply and gurgled saliva. Claws scraped against the timber. All sounds were muted for a brief moment, followed by an almighty crash.

The wooden doors shattered and the hairy beast entered, sniffing the air. It featured a sculpted gold helmet, perfectly shaped to fit its snout and two horns. Two bright golden eye sockets lit the steps as it hunted a scent.

"Think fast," said Rose, unsure which way to run and how to bypass the beast to flee outside.

Lily focused her mind, but nothing came: no sensation or control. The creature appeared to be immune from Lily's mind grasp. The rat in the burrow had been easy prey by comparison. "I don't get it, why can't I?"

Rose dashed to the opposite side, encouraging the beast's hunger to feast. It gave chase and leapt, swiping through Lily and within a finger's reach of Rose's spine. It slid on the dirt and staggered into a wooden pillar, snapping it in half. Off balance, the creature shook it mane and began to regain its composure, targeting its fodder once more.

During the dodge, Lily managed to see the helmet, including the brackets that fitted the gold to its snout. _Keep dodging_ , Rose, she said in her mind. _Keep your distance!_

A smell lingered in the air, reminding Rose of a rotting compost heap. She braced herself and pushed off with her feet, sprinting towards a wooden pillar, keeping it between them and their approaching ravenous mauler.

Lily seized her opportunity, focusing on one of the golden straps. It swung open, flapping as the creature made another swipe at Rose, carving through strands of hair, then stretched for another razor-sharp slash. Rose dodged for her life, and the beast engraved the stone wall, sharpening its claws.

Lily caused the second strap to fall loose while Rose scrambled up the steps, hopped through the entrance and rushed outside.

It followed.

From behind leaves and branches, Rose watched the helmet sway. The creature rose onto its hind legs and sniffed the air.

The third and final strap swung open; now only gravity held the helmet in place. Lily raised it off to a roar of disapproval. It fell onto the ground with a _clunk_ , rolling amongst the marshmallows.

_Hurry_ , _sis_ , said Rose in her mind, with her eyes shut and fists clenched.

She delved into the beast's mind, which she could grasp like a ball; the tighter the grip, the greater the control.

The growls came to an abrupt end, replaced by noisy breathing. Then the beast bowed its head, subdued, as if greeting its master.

Rose peeked and saw the beast retreat. "You did it," she said quietly, not wanting to break her sister's concentration, who began to display her influence by moving the beast back from where it came.

Back inside the burrow, Rose viewed the screens. The left one displayed the creature making its way through the courtyard. The right displayed Orwell gripping the table edge, leaning forward, while Ike cried out to his master.

Over the wall, through the entrance and into the mansion, Lily remembered the way. The door the beast had roamed from was closed. There was a short run-up, but enough for a creature of its stature and strength to overcome the obstacle. It leapt and pounded on the door; the timber fractured and splinted as it came crashing through. The night air swept over the beast's mane as Orwell fled out of the window across the rooftops, gone from sight and into the night.

Ike leapt onto the windowsill, holding a thin golden tube in his tiny hands, and gave a shriek. Then he too abandoned the room.

The door to the creature's abode, a den filled with carcasses and raw meat, remained open. The beast rose onto its back legs and leant over the table. It lifted its hefty paw, dragging the switch downwards. Within seconds, it had dashed inside the den before the bars shut with a clunk.

Rose sighed with admiration. "Well done," she said. "Sis... can you hear me? Can – _ah!_ " she gasped, clutching her head.

"Told you, _Mister_. Don't mess with me," said Lily, arriving back into her own elated mind.

Rose took three deep, soothing breaths before standing upright, slightly off balance. "That must be the control centre. We must be able to free _Bella Air_ – somehow," she said, and made her way outside, following the deep paw prints.

* * *

Orwell's throne featured at the far end of a grand room. The interior housed the largest table ever seen, awash with grids, numerals and letters. The entire room was engulfed in controls, switches and levers, most of which were coated with gold.

"How do you think we remove the bars?" asked Rose.

"How should I know?" said Lily. "But I know a man that might."

"I hope he's okay. We should get –"

"Out of here?" said a familiar voice. Stanley stepped from the roof and through the window.

" _Stanley!_ " cried Rose.

"Yes, quite. I think I'm ready to leave, how about you?" he asked, dusting off a collection of leaves and twigs.

Growl!

"Jeez-ahoy!" yelped Stanley, darting behind the throne.

"It's all right, Stanley, we trapped it," said Rose.

" _I_ ... trapped it," corrected Lily.

"Of course," he said, standing tall, "I knew that. Good work, girls, _good_ work. Only, I've seen enough of them to last a lifetime. No, make that two."

Brunel came flying through the window to land on Stanley's shoulder. " _Pheeeeew! Time to go! Time to go!_ "

"Where the _bloody_ hell have you been?" he grumbled. "Some help _you_ were."

Brunel bopped his head and fluttered his feathers. " _Amnesh alive! Amnesh alive! Pheeeeew! Good work!_ "

"You'd better believe it," he said, hands on hips. "Takes more than a rotten, breathy mutt to bring down the Hopkins. Now... not a moment to waste – _Bella Air_ awaits!"

"We can't," said Lily. "The vessel's surrounded by bars, _remember?_ "

" _Bella's_ behin–? Ah yes, of course, and they shall be removed." With his fingertips he roamed the tabletop, proceeding to tinker with switches, reconfiguring and muttering to himself. "Latitude... Longitude... Material... Set to remove, and... hey presto!"

"You did it?" asked Rose.

"Well, yes... probably."

"Probably?" said Lily. "I thought you knew this stuff."

"I do, but you never know with this place. Right, let's get out of here," he said, and leaned out of the window. " _Bella Air_ will fly tonight, I can feel it. If she isn't free I'll... I'll..." Stanley froze. " _Bella_ ... she's up – she's _airborne!_ " he bellowed, grasping the brim of his hat with both hands. "Those dirty, filthy, no good –"

"Stanley!" cried Rose and leapt in front of him, tugging his jacket. "We have to go somewhere they can see us. They won't leave without us. I know it."

"Right. Then let's hurry, this way." He placed his right foot onto the window ledge, but couldn't proceed for the black tentacles that reached inwards. The Govern slid through the window, narrowly missing Stanley's nostrils as he instinctively dropped to the ground. "Run!" he shouted, scrambling to his feet and led Rose through the shattered door.

Lily watched their formidable foe slither inside. Her attention was brought to the splinted wood, which she rejoined; like magic, the entrance became intact, without a scratch, and slammed shut behind her and locked.

Down the grand staircase they scrambled, towards the main entrance. Lily shut and locked this door too as they fled out of Orwell's mansion of malice.

While sprinting, Rose glanced at the night sky, witnessing the vessel flicker in and out of sight through the tree branches. As she descended the stone steps behind Stanley, she gritted her teeth, adjusting her balance so she wouldn't fall flat on her face. The steps seemed to never end.

"Over the bridge, quickly," said Stanley.

On the other side, the vessel hovered, moving towards a hilltop. Stanley led the way up the slippery grassy bank. Suddenly, surrounded by thick vegetation and sheltered from the preying Govern, his mouth gasped open.

"What are you waiting for?" asked Rose. "What's the matter?"

He gripped his thigh.

"What is _that?_ " cried Rose, seeing a golden dart embedded in his flesh.

"Keep moving," said Stanley. "Follow... Brunel to the top, they may..." He paused, appearing to force his eyes open. "They may see us there..." he slurred.

The peak of the hill was a short sprint away. The twins listened to the droning of _Bella Air_ overhead while Stanley watched the ground.

"Rose!" shouted a bandit. "Take the ladder!"

The rope ladder drifted over a steep drop. Rose was torn between their lifeline and Stanley. Worse was what landed directly between them and _Bella Air_. It remained poised, almost too still, as if waiting for its prey to commit to their fatal action.

Stanley leaned on a tree for support, hands reaching towards Rose, shooing her away from the devourer. "We must – go back," he said finally. "Find another way."

"We can't, look," said Lily, observing more Govern gliding along the terrain like black ghosts.

He pushed himself from the tree trunk, took hold of Rose's shoulders and forced out, "Lil– can you do any–thing?" He dropped to one knee.

"I'll try." She stared at nearest one, but not an ounce of grasp came to her; as if there wasn't a soul to inhabit.

Without warning, a gift from a god blessed their entrapment. The Govern at the hilltop became caged behind steel bars. The echo of their haunting cries spread throughout the forest; they appeared to be calling out to each other. The jailed one pressed against the bars and stretched, straining further and further to take hold of Rose, to no avail.

Stanley stumbled up the hill with the twins in tow, and proceeded around the cage to the vessel's ladder with two metres of cliff edge to spare. He then used his frail strength to hoist Rose onto the ladder, before joining her, dangling, and fought to hang on; but not enough. His grip loosened. He fell.

With her mind, Lily gripped Stanley by his waist in mid-air. He flopped, limply, over the fifty-foot drop and was lifted towards the vessel's edge, where bandits' arms reached out. Spike took hold, dragging him on board.

Once the twins were on deck, a plethora of cages sprang up and caught Governs left, right and centre. Their screeches were high pitched and animalistic. Lily questioned who was in the control room, making it happen.

"Stanley, wake up. _Stanley!_ " said Rose.

"Mo," said Spike. "I think he's poisoned."

"Take the wheel, Braid." Mohawk dashed away from his captain duties and knelt at Stanley's side. He examined the dart, then pulled it out. Worried onlookers winced, adverting their eyes from the dripping blood. The dart was placed under his ultra-sensitive nostrils. He sniffed once, twice, three times. "Tranquiliser. He'll be fine," said Mohawk, clutching Rose's shoulder. "Let him sleep it off. Curls, dress the wound."

"Sure."

Rose exhaled with a smile.

"Now let's get out of this _mess_ ," declared Spike.

"Good job, you guys," said Lily.

Mohawk nodded before explaining: "We had to board and take flight the moment the bars were removed. The Govern had spotted us. I hope we didn't scare you too much," he said, and observed his merry bandits. "Now catch your breath, everyone, we're out of here," he added to a grand cheer, while Stanley gave a reassuring snore.

"We made it, sis," said Rose softly.

"Yes..." she replied. "Now, wasn't there someone to visit?"

Rose smiled and slowed her breathing to a moderate level.

Lily looked out to the sky as the black clouds began to disperse. Then she noticed something else, a blackness that didn't disappear: it thickened.

"Govern! Dead ahead," bellowed Quiff, high up on the mast.

Rose jumped to her feet and raced to the vessel's edge. A mass of black engulfed the skyline.

"What now, Mo!" urged Spike.

"I..."

"I know!" said Lily, with eyes baring down upon her. "Rose, let's teleport. Stanley charged the teleport!"

"Right." Rose sprinted to the control chamber lever and she, Lily and Mohawk went down below deck.

"I hope you know what you're doing," said Mohawk, steadying the wheel and observing the threat through the scope.

"I hope so too," said Rose. "The co-ordinates first – right, sis?"

"Yes, they should still be stored there."

Rose pressed the switch. Silence. "Nothing..." she uttered.

"Try again," said Mohawk.

"Wait, we also need our co-ordinates," said Rose.

"Try it," said Lily.

"This one, I think." Rose pressed a button and a set of numbers flickered into view on the dashboard.

"Quickly!" cried a voice on deck. "Whatever you're doing, make it happen fast!"

"Rose," said Mohawk calmly, making brief eye contact. "Now would be a good time."

She gripped the lever and pulled it.

The sound of teleportation swamped _Bella Air_ , followed by a dazzling flash, and within an instant they all floated above Stanley's tower.

Those on board exhaled in one momentous breath, apart from Stanley, who continued his blissful blackout.

"Well done!" cried Mohawk, holding Rose's cheeks within his sweaty palms. "What a team we make. _What a team!_ "

# CHAPTER NINETEEN

A Freedom Farewell

"Stanley! You have a visitor," said a soft, angelic voice.

"Who is it?" asked Stanley, stepping towards _Bella Air_ on a peaceful day in the Italian sector of Tuscany, TU-939.

"A surprise," said Isabella, on deck.

"But –"

She smiled at him.

Stanley gave her an inquisitive gaze. "Where?"

"Waiting for you down below."

He climbed upon deck and moved down into the interior towards the living quarters, pondering his guest.

Sitting in the rocking chair, a man smoked a pipe. He parted it from his lips, blowing a puff of smoke, and said simply, "Son."

"I didn't know you –"

"Died? Yes, my time came."

"How?" asked Stanley, moving closer, inspecting his father's deeper winkles.

"Old age, son – finally let me go. I left behind my wife and two grown children. I've told them all about you. _My_ ... what an impression this would make," he said, looking around. "You build her yourself?"

"Designed – I had a hand putting her together."

"Truly magnificent. I'm proud of you, son. And so is your mother."

"Mother?"

"I tracked her down, son. I thought you should meet her."

"I'm not sure –"

"Come now, Stanley, your own flesh and blood."

"Stanley!" shouted Isabella. "Your dinner is ready. I made your favourite."

"Stanley...?" said Curly. "He's waking, Mo."

"Wakey, wakey," said Mohawk, puffing on a fat cigar. "He'll be all right, eh, Stanley?" He turned to Curly. "Go fetch a glass of water. Our heroic captain must have a quencher."

"Sure thing."

"What happened?" asked Stanley, staring at the familiar ceiling of his cabin.

"You took a jab of dreaming juice. You're quite the conversationalist."

He smiled and thought about his dream for a moment. "How are the twins?"

"Just fine. They're worried about you, though. You mean a lot to them."

"Where are we?"

"About two or three kilometres from your tower."

"Huh, is that so? And where are we heading?"

"Somewhere – anywhere." Mohawk couldn't speak without grinning. "We got out. We got _out_ ," he repeated. "I still find it hard to believe. Thank you, captain."

Stanley smiled back, then frowned, straining his abdomen as he sat up. "I need to take the twins to their mother."

"Of course, and we intend to be out of your way. Only, we need your guidance. You know these sectors like nobody else – so say the twins."

"I see. And they're right." He moved his leg, only to grimace while clutching his thigh.

"Careful. It'll be sore for a while."

"Here you go," said Curly, handing over a glass of water with a twinkle in her eye.

"Thanks. You look different; you changed your hair?"

Curly looked at the floor, smiling. "It's nothing really, I just tied it up." She smiled and laughed nervously. "I'll leave you to it," she said, then departed the cabin.

Mohawk raised his eyebrows, smirking at Stanley.

"She's not my type," he said.

"I didn't say anything."

Stanley then hobbled to his feet and buttoned up his jacket. "What kind of place are you looking for?"

"Now you're talking," said Mohawk. He wrapped his hand around his valiant hero's shoulder as he walked, and Stanley limped, towards ravenous banter.

* * *

Voices raged amongst the bandits. The twins happily watched their friends' joy over their new freedom.

"A toast to all lost souls," said Spike. "May they rejoice in their third life, and may it be a merry one." He lifted his glass of Stanley's liquor.

"Amen!" cheered the bandits.

"Amen," said Rose.

Mohawk entered the living quarters and announced, "Our captain has awoken."

"Hey, it's Limpy!" bellowed Braid.

" _Stanley!_ " cried Rose, and stood, spilling Brunel off her lap as she dashed to embrace him.

"Careful now, watch the hip, _watch_ the hip."

" _Pheeeew! Limpy's back! Limpy's Back!_ " welcomed Brunel.

"Glad you're okay," said Rose.

"That was one trip to remember... eh, Stanley?" said Lily.

"How can I possibly forget? Marshmallows will never be the same again."

Curly gave Mohawk a glass of whisky. "Thanks, Curls," he said. He held out the glass in front. "Of course, none of this would have happened had our voyagers not crashed on our doorstep."

Stanley raised his eyebrows and nodded.

"Everybody," said Mo, "three cheers for our saviours. Hip, hip!"

"Hurrah!"

"Hip, hip!"

"Hurrah!"

" _Hip_ , _hip!_ "

" _Hurrah!_ "

Mohawk then turned to Stanley during the applause and spoke quietly. "As long as we have privacy and a good selection of food and drink. Maybe a remote village – sacred perhaps. Somewhere filled with wildlife and –" He looked deeply into Stanley's eyes. "No controlling _freaks_ , okay?" he said through gritted teeth.

He nodded. "I've got it covered, leave it to me. It's en route, and we should arrive in a few hours," he said, then limped away to enter the control chamber.

"Aye-aye, captain," said Mohawk with a salute.

* * *

The twins and a selection of bandits sat in a cosy gathering in the living quarters. Archie arrived after topping up his drink to hear Spike's tale by the record player.

"...and that's how I saved her life – by my own flatulence, no less," he said, explaining to the twins how he had saved his girlfriend by passing wind, which intrigued and repulsed the girls in equal measure.

"So because you farted on planes," said Lily, "she wouldn't travel with you. And because she wasn't there _that_ day, she didn't –"

"That's the way I look at it," said Spike.

"What caused the plane to crash?" asked Rose.

"Struck by lightning, or something," said Braid. "Though others call it Kiian's finger – _zap!_ " He darted his elongated digit through the air to laughter. "Brought down the entire band and crew. Earth was well and truly robbed of greatness."

"You better believe it," said Curly. "We would have hit the big time – right guys?"

" _Aye!_ "

* * *

After over four and a half hours of flight, _Bella Air_ entered Sector FT-450. The landscape was inspired by the Himalayas. The Yellow River wound through mountainous terrain that faded into the horizon.

The bandits beamed with awe as they looked over the vessel's edge to see a Tibetan village. It was filled with ancient shrines and temples where monks prayed.

_Bella Air_ gently touched down amid a new variety of trees, bushes and flora, all emitting an array of scents; none of the tropical variety, and without changing on a daily basis.

Mohawk examined his new home, breathing in the air and feeling the habitat between his toes. "Well... this is truly special, Stanley. We can't thank you enough. Is there anything you'd like in return?"

Stanley sighed, scratching his chin, then shook his head. "Anyway, we'd have remained stranded had you not found us. You've done quite enough."

"Then, for now, farewell," said Mohawk, holding out his claw.

Stanley shook his hand. "Good luck to you all," he said, and saluted.

The bandits said their farewells. Curly in particular waved with vigour and blew a kiss, which Stanley caught, smiling, and then hastily climbed on deck.

"Rose... Lily... you two are quite something," said Mohawk.

"Tell me something I _don't_ know," said Lily.

"Yeah, you're not so bad yourself," said Rose. "Take care, Mo, _all_ of you. It was great to meet you." She gave Mohawk a peck on his furry cheek, then boarded _Bella Air_.

"Good luck finding your mother," Mo said. "May your greatest wishes come true." He then took in a deep breath while many sparkly eyes observed the twins on deck. "I'm going to write a song about this."

"Really?" said Rose. "We'd be honoured. Take care everyone!"

As the bandits and the twins continued to wave, Stanley gave his final salute before _Bella Air_ departed the ground.

"Next stop," he said, "Sector BL-903. A mother awaits..."

Rose could only hope he was right, as their destination seemed to fluctuate, and so did the Governs' reach.

# CHAPTER TWENTY

The Life, Death and Spirit of Violet Ashworth

Violet lay cosy in bed while her mother, seated by her side, read softy. "'Little Red Riding Hood, hearing the big voice of the Wolf, was at first afraid; but –'"

"Bed, Ivy. Big day tomorrow," said Violet's father, passing the bedroom door.

"Coming!"

"Does Dad have his interview tomorrow?" asked Violet.

"Yes, an important interview."

"Will we be moving?"

"If he's offered the job, yes. We'll live in a bigger house. And your bedroom will be big enough for _ballet_."

Violet imagined a bedroom where she could perform a pirouette without a care of crashing into anything. She glanced at the book resting on her mother's lap. "Can you finish the story?"

"Of course." She coughed to clear her throat and continued to read. "'And, saying these words, the wicked Wolf fell upon Little Red Riding Hood, and ate her all up.'"

" _Ah!_ " gasped Violet. "That's not a happy ending."

"No, sweetheart. Not all stories have a happy ending. I'll read a _happier_ one next time. Now, c'mon, time to sleep."

"Night," said Violet, and was kissed by her mother. She then turned on her side, hoping to dream without wicked wolves.

* * *

Violet rejoiced at being outdoors and amongst the greenery of the Yorkshire Dales. The idea of moving away didn't sit well with her; not that it mattered. They arrived at a new house in Hampshire, and Violet could perform more than a pirouette.

* * *

Thirteen years later: 18 June 1940.

"What General Weygand has called the Battle of France is over: the Battle of Britain is about to begin," stated the prime minister of England, Winston Churchill.

Aged seventeen, Violet lay on her bed, hands clenched together, and listened intently to the radio:

"Let us therefore brace ourselves to our duty and so bear ourselves that, if the British Empire and its Commonwealth last for a thousand years, men will still say: 'This was their finest hour.'"

Violet heard a voice through her opened bedroom window. She turned off the radio and looked out into the early evening. A young man stood casually by the front garden fence. He wore a dark brown jacket along with scruffy looking navy jeans. His name was George; a charming eighteen-year-old carpenter she'd met a few weeks before the war was announced.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Just a minute." Violet closed the window, smiling, then made her way downstairs. She made a final glance in the mirror, adjusting her flowery dress and brushing her blonde tresses.

Outside, George had disappeared, until a bicycle wheel rolled from behind a rose bush. Not just any old bicycle: it featured two handlebars, two seats, and two pairs of peddles. He patted the rear seat.

"We're going on that?" she said in excitement.

"Hold on tight, sweet cheeks. We're going for a ride you'll never forget."

* * *

Violet and George cycled along deserted streets and under a canal bridge into open fields. Their surroundings were peaceful, as if a war didn't exist. But such pleasing thoughts were soon ravaged as they came upon the remains of a Spitfire in a ditch, left to rust. Violet closed her eyes, pretending she hadn't seen the image of warfare.

Along the empty street they passed the grocery store where Violet's mother used to shop, then almost collided with a telegram boy on his bicycle. Within minutes they crossed the cricket pitch, _closed until further notice_. They peddled beyond the church, under the railway bridge and coasted down the steep path towards the train station.

With the railway in sight, George said, "Pit stop!" then guided the bicycle into a park and stopped underneath a beech tree.

"Do you reckon we'll be alright 'ere?" asked Violet.

George paused and scouted their surroundings. "Yeah, we'll be fine. There's a shelter behind the station – should we need it."

"Right, that's good to know."

The sun sank beyond nearby housing until only a faint glimmer of light remained in the cloudless sky. Violet and George lay on the grass and chatted, sharing their war stories; conflicts that had stirred Violet's concerns for over a year. Enough time to see, hear and experience events like never before.

Thirty-four minutes were soon chatted away. Darkness surrounded them now, though their eyes were much accustomed. Beyond the station, two great beams of light shone skyward, catching their attention.

Their voices quietened to a whisper, until a sound came from afar, an engine, causing George to rise and step from under the tree. He searched the sky, as frantic as the light beams. The siren of war loomed and cried out to alert the masses.

"We'd better go, quick!" said George.

Violet nodded and took hold of the bicycle.

"Leave it, we're better on foot."

The approaching sound grew louder and deeper. The sirens boomed of terror, though didn't overpower the drone of the fighter plane.

George gripped Violet's hand. Together they raced up a path and over the hill towards shelter. Their pace quickened into a full sprint; Violet had no choice since George held her hand so tight.

Then her worse fear was happening; an impact, so violent the vibrations could be felt in her chest as she slumped to the ground. Explosions lit nearby buildings. Flames flickered over chimney pots. The sound of the engine continued its menace, louder, nearer, directly overhead.

It all happened in a flash.

George embraced Violet with both arms as the horrifying whistles of war descended to destroy and extinguish. They held their breath together as they felt earth bombarding them.

"Let's go!" shouted George, standing and pulled Violet to her feet. They scrambled up the bank towards refuge.

Inside the dimly lit shelter, George stared anxiously at Violet, who echoed his expression. Both were drenched in mud. "That was too close," said George, holding her close, letting out a sigh of relief. She joined him and gripped his mud-soaked jacket, elated to be doing so.

* * *

The following day, Violet and George recited their tale to astonished friends. The event remained in Violet's thoughts the whole day; just what kind of debris had almost hit them?

She met with George after their daily wartime duties, and headed back towards the field. Along the way, buildings displayed gaping holes, still smouldering from their charred insides. They witnessed a disfigured bicycle clinging to a lamppost; the kind a telegram boy would ride, alongside a dark stain on the pavement. Violet hoped her initial thoughts were untrue, as they walked amongst the devastation.

Once in the park, they closed in on their exact position of the previous evening. Footprints remained, and a few strides away a steel fin protruded from the soft earth, attached to what could have, and should have, ended both their lives: a bomb, inactivate for reasons Violet couldn't fathom.

* * *

Britain endured worse. They called it _The Blitz_ : a continuous attack of air strikes bombarded the streets, housing and people of Britain. Like a never-ending nightmare, Violet could only hope for the finale: something, anything, to lift the anxiety over the constant lingering threat of death.

The day for hope arrived on 8 May 1945. Named VE Day, those alive witnessed cheers and celebrations never seen before.

Violet and George walked through the streets of joy. Postures of elation joined blossoming smiles after every turn. "Good morning, sir!" cheered George, pleased to see an elderly man and his wife, hand in hand, dancing.

"Yes, young man – isn't it!" The man's arms waved with vigour, as if he had shed twenty years.

The centre of town only heightened the importance of the day the war ended, and freedom conquered uncertainty. Flags, banners and confetti flowed through the air to the sound of church bells. If only more days were this liberating, thought Violet.

VE Day wasn't just a special day for Britain and the world, but a personal turning point for Violet. Amongst the celebrations, George revealed a ring, his late grandmother's. He held it in front of her while he knelt. "Will you –"

"Yes!" she cried before he could ask.

* * *

During post-war Britain, many rebuilt their lives and surroundings. A _make do and mend_ philosophy was cast over war-torn lives. The rubble was cleared, the deceased were buried, and a new era begun.

Within three months of proposing, Violet and George became husband and wife. Family and friends helped with the catering and venue. Violet's dress was simple, and no fancy car or carriage brought her to the church. However, none of the materialistic tradition mattered: Violet was more than grateful that their town church remained standing.

George continued his craft as a carpenter, while Violet worked at the local post office and helped out at school as a part-time teacher, where her father was headmaster. They made do with their earnings. Times were fraught with difficulty. However, without the sounds of screaming and the tearing bombs falling from the sky, and without the uncertainty of not knowing whether life on Earth would seize to be, they were free.

Three years later, the horrors of war seemed like another lifetime; a thought Violet would ponder in their home garden, surrounded by vibrant flora. Occasionally, she would retreat into her very own tree house, built in the forest by her husband's hands.

* * *

A bright spring morning shone as Violet dashed into the greenhouse. She shared news with George that would later spread like a hurricane amongst family and friends; news regarding Violet and George's first child.

* * *

Eight months and two weeks later.

Violet knew what had begun, and most certainly at the wrong time. At a fraction past three o'clock in the morning, the streets of Britain were covered in a blanket of knee-deep snow. George ploughed his VW Beetle through the treacherous blizzard – the worst to hit Britain in decades.

"Short breaths. Remember what the midwife told you," said George.

"Hurry, please hurry," she said as calmly as she could, staring nervously through the windscreen at a white world while the wipers fought the bombardment of snowflakes.

The Beetle battled, until the rear tyres slid and sank into a snow-covered ditch. The engine revved while the tyres spun. George got out and pushed with all his might.

" _George!_ "

At three forty in the morning, Violet gave birth to twins on the backseat of the Beetle; girls, who came together as one. Within a minute, they were motherless.

* * *

Bewildered, anxious and deeply sorry for those left behind, Violet managed to find comfort in Kiian in a sector inspired by British countryside.

The very moment she could return to Earth, she did. The need to know what had happened to her daughters was overwhelming. She was informed of the rarity of seeing loved ones, but her hopes remained high. But Violet walked the entire village to find not a soul in sight. None the wiser, she felt lost, though she would never give up searching for the truth.

* * *

Every year, Violet returned to Earth in the hope of seeing her family. After five years, her greatest wish finally came true: the sight of her daughter and husband – together.

At first elated, she soon feared for her second child whom she had seen moments before passing on. No longer conjoined, she assumed her daughter was either alive and hadn't been seen, or had succumbed to death; perhaps living as a primitive, or an orphan in Kiian?

Violet searched every orphanage and nursery possible. She filed for a missing girl, just in case. But her despair and anxiety would often triumph – nobody had seen, heard of or known of Lily's existence.

She explored other work to ease her continual search, and the spirit world offered many opportunities.

While seated in a sunny green park of Sector BL-903, she remembered the war while watching a young boy on a bicycle. She thought about how lives were lost, and how many would have discovered Kiian. The boy on a bicycle reminded her of the telegram boy who may or may not have died. _Maybe he lives close by?_

Within six months, Violet became president for the _Federation of War Victims_ , a role with much responsibility and rewards. For her efforts and good will, she was granted permission by the authorities of BL-903 to devise twenty acres of land to her own liking.

# CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Mother

_Bella Air_ speared through the vast churning clouds. Flashes illuminated the storm-ridden hills of industrial by-products.

A day of travel had passed since leaving the bandits. The twins rested within the living quarters, where Rose imagined the next phase of the journey while Lily thoughtfully rocked them both in the rocking chair, watching Brunel doze on the armrest. The ambience was peaceful.

Rose continued her routine of watching the compass arrow; every twitch, every flick, caused a stir in her belly. Each hour of travel granted further flutters, until Sector BL-903 drifted into view. The arrow didn't twitch – it shook. The destination _was_ real, and Rose couldn't take her eyes away from the sector that contained Mother.

Once entered, flying beneath the clouds, the setting of quintessential British landscape spread all around. There were gliding finches, dashing sparrows and rabbits taking cover down burrows. Cottage houses blew smoke from their chimney pots. Cyclists rode over a stone bridge, and people conversed in their lush green gardens.

_Bella Air_ touched down amid the evening sunset. Elongated shadows cast over the freshly cut grass of a deserted park. Swings, slides and a rocking horse were a stone's throw away.

"Stanley, it's so... like home," said Rose, and walked down the steps into the familiar, smelling the grassy air. She glanced at the arrow; it pointed northeast and shook with excitement, just like Rose. She then noticed something, and investigated.

"Brunel! You stay here, and no messing," ordered Stanley.

" _Pheeeew! No messing! No messing! Okay, Limpy!_ "

He then retracted the steps into place. "You ready? Girls?"

Rose stood in front of a wooden fence at the rear of a garden. She stared, admiring a particular flower in full bloom; not just any flower, but a rose; and not just any rose – a black rose, amongst reds.

"Ah, I see you have discovered a gem amongst our sectors. Well now, let me see," said Stanley, peering behind the twins.

"How come this rose is black?" asked Rose.

"A rather odd, nevertheless splendid fault, only to exist due to malfunctions. You... do know about malfunctions, don't you?"

Rose nodded.

"Right, of _course_ you do. Now, these kind of malfunctions are merely aesthetic – purely a pigment imperfection."

"The Realm of the Black Rose, right, sis?" said Lily.

"Yeah." Rose smiled, touching the unique flower with her hand.

"One of the first aesthetic malfunctions to be witnessed. It's said to be good luck should you find one," said Stanley, having a chuckle to himself.

"Let's take some for Mum," said Lily.

"But that's stealing," said Rose, wishing her conscience was more mischievous.

Stanley swept his eyes over the fence. "Yes... but I don't see anyone to catch us. I doubt they'll miss a few roses – eh, Rose?"

"I guess not." She reached down to the roots and plucked a selection, then arranged them into a neat bouquet.

"So... are you ready?"

"We are," said Rose, assuming Lily felt the same.

"Let's go," she confirmed.

Down the field they joined a path and followed it, which led them to a series of steep steps overlooking a stone-built village. Rose held the compass in her hand and glanced at it every minute or so. Closer and closer, the arrow reassured them that they were travelling in the right direction.

Over a river bridge they passed cottage houses, submerged in ivy, and where hanging baskets dripped water.

Stanley and the twins soon arrived at a quiet street; their whereabouts struck the twins like a pinprick. "This is _our_ street," said Rose, bewildered.

"Well, well, well – isn't this curious. Maybe a neighbour of yours has authority here. _Maybe_ your mother..."

Rose couldn't help but smile at the prospect.

"Many have re-creations of their previous houses and streets. Some go beyond that, creating a whole town."

"Down there, that's Mrs Hemingway's house," said Rose, referring to an old friend of the family who had passed away when Rose was six. "I wonder if she lives there. She used to babysit me."

"Later. Let's keep moving," said Stanley.

Rose walked along the street, admiring the scenery, while motorists slowed, eyeballing the three. Residents stood at their windows, watching them go by with intrigue and reservation.

"Look, look!" cried Rose, running ahead.

Lily desperately tried to see, with little success. "Home? You see home?"

"Yes... we're home," she said, with a mighty spring in her step, swooping down the street. She passed the local news shop, and sprinted beyond the post office, then dashed alongside houses – all so well known she could have arrived home blindfolded.

"Rose! _Rose!_ Slow down!" shouted Stanley, hobbling along and holding his thigh in discomfort.

She couldn't persuade her legs to slow down, as the house where her mother resided was merely seconds away; the compass confirmed it, and Rose's smile was fixed.

Having come to an abrupt halt, Lily ordered her to turn for a better view. A moment of silence fell upon them as they both stared at the twin house. The flowers spread throughout the front garden were different in type, but the cherry blossom tree was positioned adjacent to the window with precision.

"Let's knock," said Lily.

Rose opened the small gate and walked amongst the fallen petals of blue orchids and white tulips. She looked at the windows to observe any movement from inside.

Stanley came, huffing, and said, "You shouldn't go... off like that. This your house, then?"

"Yes," said Rose, turning to face him and back towards the front door. "It's perfect."

"Let's knock already," repeated Lily.

Rose took a step closer, then another. She stood in front of the door and wondered what her first words should be. She gave three considerable knocks. Nothing shimmered though the frosted glass of the door. She knocked four times.

Nothing.

Rose turned to Stanley. "Maybe she's in the garden. She wouldn't be able to hear us," she said with a worried expression.

Stanley stepped up and took hold of the door handle. He gave it a turn. The door opened.

Her jaw dropped. The re-creation of their home was impeccable: the shape of the stairs, the door arch leading into the kitchen, even the bumpy white plastered ceiling featured.

"Hello, Mrs Ashworth!" shouted Stanley. "Is anybody there?"

Rose glanced ahead at the kitchen. "Hello," she said, softly.

"Mrs Ashworth, we come with great urgency!" said Stanley.

Nothing. Not even a creak in the floorboards.

The living room door was slightly ajar. Stanley pushed gently and looked inside. He froze, watching. "Rose... Lily," he uttered and gave a hand gesture, beckoning the twins closer.

Rose moved swiftly towards him, with her eyes wide open – _was it really her?_

Stanley pushed the door open, revealing a woman curled up on the sofa with her hands held together by her chest. She looked just like the picture, but perhaps a little older.

"Sis... ?" said Lily. Rose immediately turned and gave her sister a better view; a sight greater than any dream.

Rose proceeded further into the living room, noticing the opened book that lay face down by her mother's side. She then watched her within touching distance, while Stanley stayed back.

"Mum..." said Rose, softly, kneeling down to look at her mother's peaceful expression. "Mum, it's Rose. Mum..." She gently rocked her mother's shoulder.

Violet's eyes opened, and her startled expression gave way to one of sheer wonderment. "It can't be..." she said. "It _can't_ be..." she repeated, noticing Stanley at the door.

"Mum... it's Rose –"

" _And_ Lily."

Rose handed her the flowers. Violet took the bouquet as she gasped a breath. Her expression was overcome with bliss. She sat up, sustaining eye contact with them both, and examined each girl in detail. "My Rose... and my Lily..." she uttered, while tears welled up in her eyes. She raised her hands and embraced Rose, then reached towards Lily.

"Wait!" shouted Stanley. "Your touch may separate them."

Violet's hand froze. "I'm sorry, who are –"

"My name is Stanley Hopkins. I happened to stumble into your daughters' journey."

"I can't believe it. How? I have so many questions." She released a laugh of disbelief.

Stanley straightened himself, adjusting his top hat as he approached. "All will be revealed shortly, though time is not a luxury we have."

Rose looked directly into her mother eyes. "I read out a spell, then I discovered Lily, and we came here to find you. We think you can separate us – a professor said so."

"My goodness... have you being judged? I mean –"

"No," said Rose. "But we have been chased. The Govern have come close, and two others were after us, but –"

" _No_ match for us," butted in Lily.

"Oh my... what have I put you through?"

"It's okay, Mum," assured Rose, "it's not your fault. We would never blame you."

"I've waited for this," said Lily.

Violet looked at her faint daughter. "All this time?"

"Yes."

Violet shook her head. "I never once gave up on you."

"Good. And you now owe me and Rose nine birthday presents, plus Christmas."

"Yes..." She let out a smiling sigh, glancing at them both. "Absolutely. You know, Rose, the first time I saw you was when you and your father were at the tree house on your fifth birthday."

"Really... when I was five?"

"I could see you, because that's what you wanted. There had been a huge snowfall, and you had been sledging, or were about to. He told you about me, and why he had built the tree house. I just wanted to hold you so much." She smiled. "And from then on, I've seen you on every visit, once a year, every year."

"At the tree house?"

"No, the cemetery."

"Oh yes... of course."

"You never saw me?" asked Lily in a quiet voice.

"No, sweetheart. I painted that portrait of Rose, and filed for a missing girl." She pointed to the framed watercolour painting of her daughter. "Nobody I spoke to ever contemplated... _this_."

"We can be together now, can't we?" asked Lily.

"I hope so." She reached out, and before she realised what she was doing it, her hand gently drifted through Lily's arm.

"Mum!" cried the twins.

As if burnt, she retracted her hand.

"It didn't work?" uttered Lily, daunted.

"Then Pei's prediction wasn't correct," said Stanley.

"Please _don't_ say that," said Lily.

"However... we're within a sector. It may be interfering with your connection."

"Yes... Pei said something like that," said Rose.

Stanley looked at Violet. "I have an air vessel. We can fly out into the atmosphere. I'm sure we'll have a much greater chance of separation."

"You mean leave, right now?" she asked, looking back and forth at all three.

Stanley gave the Ashworths a serious look. "Soon – _very_ soon. I'm afraid we're all in danger. The longer we leave it, the more chance of being found."

"By Govern?" asked Violet.

"Yes. And we've had more than enough encounters."

Rose's expression indicated her agreement.

Violet nodded. "I guess we can talk on the way, if that's okay."

"That sounds like a grand idea," said Stanley.

Violet stood, followed by her daughter. With her hand held out, she brushed Rose's hair that partially covered her eyes. "This is the greatest day of my life. I wished for this moment for –" Tears rolled down her cheeks as she cupped Rose's chin and gave a joyous chuckle.

Her mother's tearful, elated expression then dissolved, replaced by a stare. The roses loosened within her grasp and fell to the floor. Mother then placed her other palm over Rose's heart, staring through her, as if all her emotions had died.

"Mum?" said Rose.

"What's going on? Sis, what's happening?"

"Step away," said Stanley.

Rose felt a jolt in her heart. A cold, vibrating sensation flowed through her entire body. The cause of this simply stared without emotion, haunting her bewildered daughter.

# CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Alone

" _Rose!_ " shouted Stanley, stepping towards her.

Violet glanced at his approach. Her stare was no longer blank, but frowning. Her look propelled Stanley through the open door to impact with the staircase banister, where he slumped to the floor.

"Mum! What are you _doing!_ " screamed Lily. She saw Rose's head droop, while her body remained static. "Stop this _now!_ " she ordered, to no avail.

Lily took a deep breath, shut her eyes and clenched her fists to the point of shaking. A sudden gust of wind rushed through the house. The living room became animated with energy as framed photos swayed on the wall and plant pots toppled over. She focused deeper, harder than ever before; so deep, she delved into her sibling's body and into her soul.

A black substance oozed like tar. Lily began to force it away, discovering her ability to manipulate and overpower whatever _it_ may be, and she did so with aplomb: she pushed, pulled and blocked, anything to prevent the assault.

The matter returned.

She fought for dominance, though she couldn't destroy the blackness, only delay it. She targeted the largest orb of matter and squeezed it, tighter and tighter – so tight, the substance exploded. A vast amount spewed forth, becoming a breeze to control. Lily targeted another, and eradicated it too, creating another blizzard of black. Bit by bit, Lily destroyed the matter.

Like an army outnumbered and out-gunned, the last of the black orbs retreated and departed.

Mother collapsed on the sofa. She didn't move.

Rose fell to her knees, her arms and neck limp. She breathed deeply, as though she had held her greatest breath.

"Sis, speak to me!"

With what seemed like her entire energy, Rose forced out, "Wha– happened?"

"Something attacked us – something attacked Mum."

"Mum?" she said, bewildered, as though the last hour had all been a delusion.

Lily looked towards her mother and watched her rest. To her left, Stanley was still and silent. "Sis, can you stand?"

Rose placed a hand on the carpet and pushed with all her strength, only to slump to the floor. Another attempt saw her crouch, then wobble to her feet, steadying herself with the sofa. "What attacked us?"

"I don't know. Nothing I've ever seen before," said Lily. "Try to wake Stanley."

She took a step forward, testing her footsteps before continuing. She then knelt by Stanley's side, rocking him. He didn't move of his own accord, nor did he flutter an eyelash. More forceful rocking did little to accomplish his revival.

A shadow intruded the hallway. Lily saw a dark figure rise outside the door, the only obstacle between them and it. That door remained unlocked; with haste, Lily locked it.

The Govern pulled down the handle and peered through the frosted glass pane. It moved away. Seconds later a mighty crash came from the living room.

Rose scrambled to her feet and dashed to the back door, rattling the handle. " _Sis?_ "

_Click_.

She swung the door open and raced into the twilight garden, almost identical to hers back home. She then passed the vegetable patch and ran towards the forest where the fence was far from rotten. Rose clambered over it, not taking her time as she was always told.

Lily watched the approaching Govern. It slivered along the ground on its tentacles, appearing to float without effort.

"Rose, remember what Stanley told us?"

"Yes... _yes_ , I remember."

She sprinted, noticing the tree house, free of rot. At the top of the hill, Rose looked with relief; the lake, too, featured. She ran, not looking back, but knowing all too well what lurked behind.

Along the lake edge, another hopeful search came to fruition. A two-metre-long wooden raft bobbed up and down, tied with rope to a wooden stump. She stepped onto the centre of the raft, adjusting her balance with her arms.

Lily caused the rope to vibrate. It began to uncoil, releasing them from its mooring.

Rose then used her hands as peddles and splashed the cool water surface; a hopeful deterrent for their nemesis.

The Govern glided from out of the shadows to arrive at the lake edge. It gave a hideous, high-pitched screech and leapt into the air. It flapped its wings with force, heading back towards the house. Others followed and took flight, echoing its torturous cries.

She stopped her paddling and took deep breaths. Two swans came towards the raft, drifting along on the calm water. The sunset illuminated the lake with an orange tinge as the raft gently bobbed. The sound of birds tweeted, whooped and whistled, just like they did on Earth.

After ten minutes of circling, Rose peered into the water, staring at her sister's vague reflection in the ripples. "We have to go back. I'm tired of running, sis. I just want this to be over."

"It will be soon. I know it will," said Lily. She paused. "I thought I'd lost you back there."

"I owe you one, sis," said Rose, watching Lily's refection break into a smile. "Let's go." She placed her hands into the water and steered the raft towards shore, eyeing the land for anything that prowled.

The moon shone in the dark sky as she headed back though the forest, creating an experience of déjà-vu like never before. She stepped as gently as she could, making the slightest of sounds possible. Every crunch, crack or rustle jolted her senses like a needle on a polygraph. She knew that at any moment she could be face to face with the faceless Govern.

Arriving at the fence, Rose climbed over. She forced herself to walk along the path, looking for the tiniest of movements within the cottage.

At the porch door she reached for the handle with hesitation. Her hand lowered to Sophie's cat flap. She pushed it open. Nothing could be seen except the porch interior, cluttered with pottery, so she turned the door handle and proceeded inside.

Beyond the porch and into the kitchen, Rose peeked down the hallway towards the front door. Stanley was nowhere to be seen. Moving into the living room, she viewed the empty sofa where Mother had last lain. The house seemed soulless.

" _Bella Air_ ," whispered Lily. "Stanley may have gone back. He might have taken Mum there."

"Okay," said Rose, holding up the compass to observe the needle twitch – ever so faintly.

* * *

Rose retraced her steps, picking up her pace as she did so. Over the stone bridge, she scaled the winding path and up the hill. As she neared the crest, _Bella Air's_ mast could be seen – though it didn't point skyward, it leant. Through the trees, Rose observed the vessel, a ruin, a broken and abandoned sight, once the glorious _Bella Air_.

She dashed to gain a clearer view, only to witness further devastation. It had been broken into two, meticulously destroyed with great intent of her never reaching the sky again.

"Stanley! yelled Rose. "Mum!"

Birds replied with song, and the sails flapped in the breeze.

"How can we...?" said Rose, surveying the wreckage.

"Check inside. We'd better make sure," said Lily.

Rose clambered onto the shattered deck. She squeezed through the interior, scrambling over and under the remains, looking in every room, all of which were in the same sorry state. The rocking chair, pictures and the cuckoo clock were all broken, the latter spilling out a book titled 'Stanley Hopkins II'.

"They're not here. How do we search for them now?"

"Portals?"

"But Stanley told us not to."

She turned over fallen furniture; some she lifted with ease, whereas others were too heavy. She then entered the control chamber, crunching over shattered glass. The room appeared worse than the rest of the vessel, but it was the feathers that caught her eye. In shock and with sudden awareness, she covered her mouth with both hands and held her breath.

Underneath a pile of clutter, a grey wing was spread. Rose pulled the dismantled machinery aside. Brunel didn't flutter, nor make a sound. One wing looked broken, while the other was tucked away. She gently lifted his limp body into her cupped hands. "Wake up, Brunel," she said. "Say something, won't you?"

Silence.

"Sis..." said Lily, "is he... really?"

Rose stood and climbed out of the control chamber to observe his peaceful appearance in the moonlight. She began to sniffle.

"We should bury him," said Lily softly.

"I don't want to."

"Neither do I. But we have to."

She weaved through the jagged metal and abandoned _Bella Air_ , then walked beyond a number of trees to a spot in the shadow of moonlight.

Brunel was lowered to the ground. Rose then dug a hole big enough of his body, then she placed him into the earth. "I hope you had a wonderful life. And have a happy next one."

"Wait," said Lily, "I should at least try."

Rose looked into Brunel's lifeless eyes. She nodded and gave her sister a better view.

Lily took in a deep breath and gazed into Brunel's soul. Her fists began to shake. She breathed nosily for over twenty seconds, searching and searching.

She stopped.

"Anything?"

"No, nothing..." she said, quietly. "His soul's gone."

Rose took a handful of soil and filled the grave, until not a feather could be seen. She patted it down and placed a buttercup on top, which she had plucked from the grass nearby. "Rest in peace, Brunel. And thank you."

"Bye," said Lily. "We may have lost you – but not _Bella Air_."

"What?" said Rose, wiping tears from her eyes.

"I can do it – I _know_ I can."

"But – look at the _size_ of it. You've never done anything like that," she said, worried for Lily, and herself.

"I'm stronger now. I don't need to take your strength so much. We have to try – we don't have much choice."

Rose stepped out from under the trees and looked towards the epic feat ahead. She glanced at the stars and said a quick plea to herself, then said, "Whatever happens, no regrets?"

"No regrets," said Lily.

"I'm ready when you are."

Lily took a deep breath.

The surrounding landscape awoke, as if a storm had arrived. The trees rustled with a violent shake. Rose's uniform flapped; she steadied her footing. Grass cuttings swept and spiralled like mini tornados. _Bella Air_ groaned, creaked, rattled and rumbled. The sails unfolded and the mast straightened. Plates clanged and glasses clattered. Ropes tightened and twanged into knots. Windows became windows. Chairs became chairs. The two halves met and healed, like a skin wound – only rapidly.

The gusts withdrew. The leaves settled and the grass fell.

Rose slumped to the ground.

All was quiet.

"Rose..." said Lily, softly. "Wake up. We did it. We did it."

She heard Lily's voice, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't move a muscle. Her heart fought to beat. Her entire body seemed to have shut down, which it almost had.

"Say something, sis. Anything."

"W– wel... done," she said, without moving her lips.

That's all Lily needed to hear. No more words were shared. She waited, and waited, until her sister was ready to rise again.

# CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

A Twin Voyage

The sails of _Bella Air_ flapped in the morning breeze of Sector BL-903. The sun awoke for its timely rise and sat on the horizon, while the twins lay still on the grassy hilltop.

Rose opened her eyes for the first time since Lily had begun rebuilding their hopes. A sleep of nine hours and forty-three minutes had finally revitalised her strength.

"Sis?"

"Oh... morning," said Lily. "Can you stand?"

"I think so," she said, and wobbled to her feet, dusting the dirt off her hands while admiring the triumph. "Wow... good job."

"Yeah, sapped your energy pretty good, huh?"

Rose couldn't help but smile. "You did – the works."

She then held the compass closely to her face. The arrow didn't twitch, flick or jitter. It pointed southwest, while the dials displayed a distance further than ever.

With her limbs shaken, she stepped towards the vessel, rubbing her aching neck. The entrance steps flowed open. "Thanks, sis," she said, and boarded.

Lily unlocked the door of _Bella Air_. Rose paused, noticing a bird flying low and landing on the mast, the exact perching spot Brunel would choose. She watched it bop its head for a moment while Lily took care of the entrance steps. Rose then entered the kitchen and headed down below.

Within the control chamber, she browsed the jungle of dials, switches and levers, dismayed. "I wish Stanley were here. Where are you?" she whispered, lowering her head.

"We _can_ do this – I believe in you," said Lily.

Rose looked at the maze of controls and gizmos. "I know he presses this one here. I guess that's the engines," she said, hovering her hand over the lever. "Here goes..." She bit her lower lip, and pushed the lever forward. A deep rumble ignited, then ceased. She looked puzzled.

With a curious glint in her eye, Lily got an idea. "Fuel – I _bet_ fuel needs activating."

"Yeah..." Rose searched for the elusive switch she knew Stanley had used.

"The switch up there," said Lily, pointing. "I remember him using that before take-off."

On her tip-toes, Rose stretched her arm. "Sis?" she asked.

Lily pulled with thought, turning the red light to green.

Rose then pushed the flight lever. The same rumble vibrated the floor, followed by deep humming in motion, gathering pace with every second. "Okay... now for take-off," she said with dread, and held the wheel tight, pulling it towards her. The vessel briefly departed the ground, before plummeting with a hefty thud.

"More power!" shouted Lily.

Rose pushed the lever a further four inches, creating a boom from the engines. Lift-off was slow, but steady. _Bella Air_ climbed higher and higher. Rose spun the wheel, turning the vessel in the direction of the nearest exit point: southwest, seventeen point four kilometres away, as described by the dashboard dials.

The thrust lever to her side rested at neutral. She placed her hand over the handle and pushed forward to ten, twenty, thirty, forty; _Bella Air_ bowed her nose above the treetops and was propelled through the sky, gaining a velocity.

"Yes!" cried Rose.

" _Woooo-hooo!_ " screamed Lily. "Great job, sis."

"Thanks," she said, and thought of Stanley, by her side, saluting.

* * *

Twenty-five minutes of flight had churned Rose's anxiety and now the next challenge drew near. She viewed the entrance bay, beyond which lay the hell of Kiian.

"We can do this. Take it steady," said Lily.

Watching the exit open, Rose's grip on the wheel tightened and her eyes widened. _Bella Air_ was surrounded by rotating lights.

" _Nothing_ can stop us," said Lily, oozing determination.

Rose flicked another switch. The steel creaked open while she steadied her feet firmly on the floor. The parting doors revealed the howling winds and the sunlit clouds.

She fought to steady the vessel, which rocked as if it had been hit by a gigantic ocean wave. Its force was much more robust than she remembered, and the pounding threw her off balance, but managed to prevent her head from impacting a lever.

Lily steadied the wheel from afar, while Rose stabled herself, and soon returned as captain. She concentrated on the front nose, adjusting the vessel to the dipping and rising within the sector stream. A quick glance at the compass revealed southwest – the only direction in which she wished to travel.

* * *

Day two.

The twins flew over Sector EE-848. The information on the dashboard described an Egyptian-inspired land. Rose imagined the great pyramids and ancient pharaohs. A world full of mummies, and where tales of Tutankhamen were retold.

* * *

Day three.

Curious, Rose thought about the sector below. Those within KA-283 lived as knights, congregating at the round table. They rode their mighty steeds through enchanted forests, where princesses lived in tall towers and witches roamed haunted hills.

* * *

Later.

The twins had no choice but to visit Sector QV-381: the fuel gauge read two nudges to empty.

Rose took hold of the lever, and up they went to the top deck. She returned to the wheel and prepared to land for the first time.

"You managed take-off, so you can land," said Lily with sureness. "Take your time, and you _won't_ mess up."

"I'll do my best. But where?"

" _Hmm_ ..." Lily observed the sunlit grass beneath. "There, down there, next to that... enormous tent?"

"Looks like some kind of circus," said Rose, pulling down the thrust lever, lowering the landing carriage and easing _Bella Air_ down. The vessel hovered with a slight wobble above the field, then clobbered the ground.

Rose finally exhaled. "Could have been worse," she said.

"A little more practice, sis – you're only human."

After Rose departed _Bella Air_ , the local folks began to gather, as if an alien had landed. The residents were dressed in multicoloured garments and had decorated faces. Three approached the twins, speaking in tandem, as if rehearsed:

"You should join us," said a lady. She was ever so thin, and wore skin-tight clothes. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until she stretched her leg over her head as easily as Rose could reach out her hand.

"You'll fit right in, you two," said another. He was a funny looking chap with a mammoth round face; by far the largest mug the twins had ever seen.

"You can earn a decent bob here," said the third. His face was barely visible beneath tattoos and pierced flesh.

Rose presumed they were performance artists – of some variety. She looked at the bendy lady and politely declined her offer, then brandished a handful of tokens which Lily had successfully accessed on _Bella Air_.

With the exchange complete, Rose retreated back onboard with the fuel. The vessel rose to the sky, entering the brutal force of Kiian, continuing the journey with gusto.

* * *

Day four.

_Bella Air_ soared over those within Sector HH-344. According to the history information, many residents there had starred on the silver screen: Richard Burton, Clark Gable and O'Sullivan; greats roamed the Hollywood hills of lucrative luxuries featuring film stock, props and décor from a golden era.

* * *

Later.

Beyond Kiian's equator, the twins passed over Sector MS-673. Within this treacherous landscape were poisonous plantations and physically challenged critters, in search of inquisitive adventurers, no doubt. Some inhabitants were Earthly, others alien, but most were mutations – none of which Rose wished to befriend.

* * *

Day five.

The second fuel stop forced their descent into Sector AI-792. _Bella Air_ drifted through the night sky of nineteen-fifties Fairmount, Indiana, America. The twins' first impression was the abundance of vehicles moving below like glowing ants. Rose set her eyes on _GAS_ , displayed in glorious red neon.

After an _almost_ gentle touchdown, the twins watched vehicles with revving engines. Some drivers honked their horns while Rose made her way across the dust-swept road.

"Well now! Not every day I see the likes of you," said an American man, staring with an odd expression. "You're not from round here."

Rose hesitated, wary of strangers wanting to chat. "We need fuel – for our vessel," she said.

"For your... what now? You look too young to be pilots."

"It's a long story."

"I see. Well... you're in the right place," he said, then smiled. "Listen, I'll give you a hand with it to your ride. I would now but... we're about to race. You wanna watch?"

Rose pulled a 'no' face, and said, "We really should be –"

"Not take long, right?" said Lily.

"Heck... the way I race, I'll hit the finish line before you can say _start your engines_."

"Start your engines," said Rose.

"Oh right... I'm quick, but not that quick."

Cars beeped, along with cheers from the surrounding crowd. "Looks like we're set. You watching or what?"

"Sure," said Rose.

"Look out for the silver Porsche!" he shouted, jogging backwards.

Rose dashed to the roadside and stood alongside spectators who waved flags and drank from beer bottles.

The drivers rolled to the start line. A bullet fired released screeching tyres; a plume of smoke and dust ensued. The twins watched the silver Porsche roar into the lead, just like the driver had said, and it was soon over, with victory all his.

The Porsche pulled up to the twins. The driver smiled, then said, "Told you... Now let's fuel up."

The twins returned to _Bella Air_ with six barrels of fuel to take on deck, which Lily took care of.

" _Whoa!_ That's quite a talent you got there," said the driver.

Rose smiled at his charming face from the vessel edge. "Thanks for your help, Mr... ?"

"James... James Dean."

"Thanks, James," said Rose.

"Enjoy your racing," said Lily. "My tokens are on you."

"Oh... I intend to. Take care now, and good luck finding your mother!"

* * *

Day six.

The Napoleonic war once raged in Sector NW-219. Rose had read about the Battle of Trafalgar, where the French and Spanish vessels had targeted Her Majesty's ship. Could Admiral Lord Nelson have sailed those seas?

* * *

Later.

_Bella Air_ cruised over Sector VL-372, where the Houses of Parliament stood by the River Themes. Rose read to her dismay that Guy Fawkes did remember, remember the fifth of November. He returned for the Gunpowder Plot II; a failure which resulted in a second, torturous death.

* * *

Day seven arrived. With the absence of Stanley and Brunel, emptiness wandered _Bella Air_. With no contact from their great mentor, Rose had begun to fear the worst. His presence was never far, however: everywhere she looked reminded her of Stanley and his feathered friend.

The twins had much time to ponder their thoughts. Two reoccurred throughout their voyage. Would they find Mother and Stanley? And would Lily's most desired wish come true?

# CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

The Governor of the Govern

The arrow gave a heartening twitch. Eight days had passed since the compass had shaken within inches of its target. Rose watched it closely, admiring every flicker, and felt every vibration. The dial reassured her: 20.8 kilometres to contact.

Through the restless clouds, a sector faded into view: the exterior of LV-426. Its sector doors parted.

A bellow of bleeps confirmed what lurked within as the vessel flew into the overcast sky, which Rose observed through the scope. She witnessed a precarious ridged landscape peaked with grey spikes and hollowed black craters. Rivers of magma flowed, releasing gases into the air – so vast and thick the hazy horizon concealed what lay beyond.

There was no sign of life below. The channels of lava etched the land towards two thin, towering silhouettes. The lofty piercing spikes were revealed to be supporting a bridge, and beyond that, a ghostly structure emerged.

Rose caught a glimmer of flat land, within a tight perimeter of twisted rock spires. Easing off the throttle and hovering above dense gases, she eyed the landing zone though patches of clearer air. With caution, she kept the vessel within a safe radius.

"Steady... Keep her steady," said Lily.

"I know, I know. Just – turn that thing off."

Lily looked to the bleeping radar and flipped the switch beneath the semi-sphere. "Done."

A delicate handling of the thrust resulted in a soft landing.

The twins arrived on the upper deck. Warm air clambered over Rose's skin as she looked towards the foreboding structure. Beams of sunlight drifted across the land, as if Kiian was searching the ground for intruders. In the distance, movement caught her attention: a dark figure circled like a vulture eyeing a carcass. Another arrived, and then another. They gathered, descending one by one to the edges of the gothic bridge.

"What are they doing?" asked Rose, unable to proceed in case they charged into an onslaught.

"I have no idea. But I doubt there's any other way in."

Rose courageously abandoned _Bella Air_. She glanced from side to side. Only the slightest of twitches and ticks betrayed that the Govern were not statues. Rose looked ahead, giving quick glances at the devourers. Step by step, stride by stride, sooner than preferred, she was surrounded by them.

The lava wheezed and hissed; the heat was baking, causing Rose to sweat. Her pace doubled, and her walk turned into a dash through an opened steel gate towards an arched door with a dozen carved ridges surrounding it. More Govern rested at either side, although these appeared to be made of igneous rock.

The door featured fist-sized rivets and a knocker the size of a dustbin lid. She clenched the compass, feeling the vibrations for reassurance, then brought back the knocker and let go.

Boom!

Nothing happened. She reached to knock again, but the two doors parted, revealing a candlelit passage filled with flickering shadows. Nervously, Rose entered and the doors closed behind her with a hefty clunk.

Quietness flowed through the black stone corridor, abundant with alternative routes at either side, each long passage leading to darkness. Rose sighed, compass held to her heart, and walked ahead, overlooked by sinister carved alien creatures.

At the end of the passage was a spiral of stone steps. Music drifted down. She had heard the piano notes before, and moved towards them. "Beethoven," said Rose. " _Moonlight Sonata_ , _Number Fourteen_ – Mary has played this."

She took the last step into an extraordinary expansive chamber hall, like a gothic cathedral. She then looked at the compass. The needle pointed to the far door, thirty paces away on the left. Ahead was a throne which stood behind an impressive stone table, fit for a king. On the right, steps led to an upper balcony.

There was movement above. Govern, perched like bats, watched and waited in the dim light.

"Don't be afraid," said a voice. "Please, come forth. Let me see you – both of you."

Rose stepped over to a marble floor diagram. It was encircled with sacred shapes, and contained numbers and letter forms that made no sense.

"Come out!" screamed Lily. "Release our mother. I won't ask you again!"

Rose didn't budge. She looked around, wide eyed, and listened for a response.

A click came from a door on the upper balcony. Footsteps tapped against the stone floor; the sound was in time with the music – slow and methodical.

"Welcome home, sweethearts. You're safe now."

Rose slowly shook her head.

"Mum is safe. She's so happy to have finally met you both," said a man who sounded and appeared exactly like Rose and Lily's father. He wore his best white shirt, pin-striped trousers and polished shoes.

"Sophie, come," said the man, and clapped his hands together twice. A ringing sound emitted. "Look who it is. It's Rose and Lily. They've come to live with us." He made the final step to the ground floor, and a cat, identical to Sophie, followed and rubbed against his legs.

"Dad... you didn't –"

"Die? Yes, sweetheart."

"He's lying!" snapped Lily.

Rose glanced to her side and remembered. She looked back at the man who claimed to be her father. "Prove you're our father."

A pause. "When you were six, you slipped and fell from that climbing frame. You needed eight stitches for that cut. And remember the time I bought you the play house at Christmas? You were never out of it; Christmas Day, Boxing Day, you practically lived in there." He smiled and stepped behind the stone table where a large candlestick was situated, its flame bright. He placed a hand on the throne.

"You're lying... I _don't_ believe you," said Rose. "Stanley told us. You take the form of our most respected figure. You're the Judge, Kiian. You're not our father, as much as that cat is _not_ Sophie."

"Rose, don't be so... judgmental," said the man. "I do enjoy Beethoven's _Moonlight_. Better acoustics in here, don't you think?" he said, sitting down in the throne which was decorated with intricate spirals and alien forms. "I want you live with me, Sophie and your mother. Together – at last."

Lily took a deep breath. " _Where_ is our mother?"

"All will be revealed shortly. But it's a shame all will end so suddenly, so tragically, should you not obey me."

"Lily is capable of great things. More than you'll ever be!" said Rose, plunging into her sister's fighting spirit.

"Brave. And foolish. I feared this would happen," he said softly. "You do realise that wasn't a true testament of my strength earlier, don't you?" He placed a hand beneath the table. "Possession is draining in close proximity, never mind the other side of the world. I just thought you should know that, before you make the greatest error of your lives." His hand rose above the table, holding a shiny red and green apple.

Rose felt her throat tighten.

Lily didn't flinch, and spoke with clarity. "That was days ago. We're stronger now – stronger than ever."

"What do you want?" asked Rose.

The Judge leaned back in his throne. He tapped his fingers on the armrests, looking directly at Rose. "Do you not like my home? This can be all yours," he said, and looked at the apple. He took a bite and spoke while chewing. "I can give you anything you desire. I can separate you. I want you both to live with me as my daughters. Before, I didn't know how special you are. That's why the Govern won't attack you. I told them. You are free to live your life, here with –"

"That's not free!" yelled Lily. "And you're not _listening_. We don't care for this place, or _you_. We're leaving with our mother. Let's go, Rose."

Not wanting to let her sister down, she looked at the compass and took a step in the direction of the arrow.

"Let's see, shall we," said the Judge, adjusting his position on the throne. He took a large bite out of the apple and chewed loudly. "Say stop whenever you feel the need."

Rose continued to step forward, until Lily said, "Turn around. This is my fight."

She looked awkward and uncertain as she turned her back on Kiian. "Whatever it takes, sis," she whispered. "I'm with you all the way."

Another bite of his apple; he crunched and crunched, gazing at Lily. A sudden blast of light projected over the twins, like a solar flare over Earth. Rose scrunched her eyes tightly as the wave of heat grew hotter and brighter. But it had little effect on its target.

The light reduced in an instant.

Rose opened her eyes.

"You'd better give it up," he said.

"Not now – not ever," retorted Lily.

"You will. You must. I'm just warming up."

Lily narrowed her eyes and said, "I'm not afraid of you. _We're_ not afraid of you."

Rose remained quiet and woozy. She repositioned her feet to regain balance, fearing the notion of him 'just warming up'. She knew only too well what could happen should her sister go beyond her strength.

_Sis_ ... said Lily with her mind. _We have to get out of here_. _Step once and I'll know you understand_.

Rose took one step forward. Her heart fluttered nervously. She screamed to herself, _Be strong_ , _be brave_.

The Judge smiled. "I'm impressed by your efforts thus far. Now show me how great you really are."

Nothing visible happened. However, the stone beneath Rose's feet began to shake. Heat penetrated through her wellies.

"Quick, _move!_ " screamed Lily, but it was too late.

A ten-foot diameter of the stone floor had vanished, and she and Lily fell towards nothingness. With arms outstretched, Rose grabbed the edge of the remaining floor. She held tight, kicking her legs into a pit of black.

" _Hold on!_ " said Lily. She explored the interior with her eyes, noticing the grand table where the Judge sat. The candlestick rattled. Within a second, the ornament flew through the air and hovered above Rose. "Grab hold!"

Fearful of letting go, Rose refused for a moment. Then she forced a leap for the candlestick, making a life-saving clench. She floated over solid ground and came to rest on the floor.

"Bravo! _Bravo!_ " cheered Kiian, and gave a standing ovation.

Rose too stood, uneasy, as the floor reformed like a magical jigsaw. No mark was visible.

"You never cease to amaze me," said the Judge, holding the apple between his finger and thumb; one bite left to its core.

Lily exhaled with aggression. With her mind, she said, "Get ready, sis."

"This time... I _will_ banish you," said the Judge, sat in his chair, about to take his final bite.

The moment the words left his lips, Lily propelled the candlestick through the air with potent force. The apple departed his grasp, hitting the tabletop and tumbled onto the floor, where it settled. The Judge's mouth gaped wide open while he sat as rigid as the candlestick in his chest.

Rose saw his disturbed expression only briefly as she made a dash for the door. Lily had already unlocked it and opened it without her sister's touch.

* * *

Within the confines of gothic intricacy, Rose felt the rumble in her hands as she dashed along the corridor towards the nearest door. Lily opened it, causing a whirl of warm air to engulf her.

Hundreds of candles lit an inner courtyard. On the highest floor, Rose stepped forward. Two lower balconies surrounded the courtyard. She then lent over a stone-pillared barrier and looked below. "Mum!"

"Rose! Lily!" yelled their mother.

The ground floor of the square courtyard featured a fountain at the centre. Water ran over the centrepiece: a statue Govern.

"We're coming!" shouted Rose, looking for steps.

"Over there." Lily pointed to an open doorway to her left.

She hurried beneath the archway, down steps to the ground floor, along a corridor and into the courtyard. She sprinted to her mother's side. "Mum, you okay?" she asked, breathless.

"I knew it wasn't a dream," said Violet. "I knew it was true. But how did you –"

She was distracted by the sound of footsteps. A figure looked down on them from the third balcony.

"Sis..." said Lily. "Get ready."

"That was surprising," said the Judge in their father's voice. There was no sign of a wound on his chest. "I don't like surprises."

"You're not taking my children. Not in this life, or the next."

The Judge gave a small sigh. "Very well. Then watch them die."

"There is no death, only new beginnings," said Violet.

"If that's what you believe."

Lily unlocked the far steel door, swinging it wide open. Within a split second she made a desperate defensive surge as a volume of scorching hot particles encircled the twins. "Run, Mum!" yelled Lily. The shield momentarily shrank. Lily fought harder.

"Find the vessel! Over the bridge!" cried Rose. She noticed her mother's helplessness and unwillingness to leave. After repeated turn-backs, Mother was gone from sight.

The heated particles dispersed and the force imposed on the twins reduced to nothing.

Kiian abruptly threw down his hands in despair. "Had enough?" he said, pacing along the balcony.

Rose staggered backwards; her legs felt disconnected from her brain. Her weak hands prevented her head from clashing with the stone floor. She then fell to the ground after her arms couldn't support her weight.

"I see you've shown your best," said the Judge. "I had hoped for a better outcome than this. I thought you had more purpose."

"Get up," ordered Lily. "Make yourself get up. You can, you _know_ you can. Hear me, sis, get up and _fight!_ "

Rose heard every word. She wobbled to her feet. Somehow her inner strength took over.

The Judge began to play magic tricks. First he appeared on the opposite side of the courtyard. Then two father figures observed the twins from the third floor, followed by another on the adjacent side. Finally, all four sides were taken by his presence. He didn't relent, but continued to multiply at pace. Soon, the interior courtyard balconies were swarming with representations of Father.

_Listen to me_ , she said in her mind. _This must end_. _I know we can't take much more_.

Rose listened patiently, as if transported to another dimension where all threat had succumbed. Lily explained the task ahead. Even though Rose remained uncertain of the outcome, she heard her sister's defiant voice: full of grit and determination.

"Goodbye, Lily. Goodbye, Rose," said Kiian.

Lily began a mind-bending waltz, and delved into a Judge standing before her. With a tight grasp, she began exploring the possibilities and ventured deeper than ever. Before Kiian had time to react, she had merged one father into another. She didn't stop there: two fathers, three fathers, four fathers; Lily consumed them one by one.

"What is this?" he said. "What are you doing?"

The fathers were being dragged towards the strongest of them all, occupied by the soul of a primitive spirit. In little time, they had all but gone, bar one, and his rival.

The figure inhabited by Lily stepped towards its maker. Mere metres apart, they faced one another.

"It's over," said Lily in her father's voice.

"Yes..." said the Judge "For _you!_ "

They clashed, merging together into a spiral of dazzling white energy. Candles lifted into the air as Rose slid on her back, attempting to sink her fingers into the cracks of the stone floor. She managed to gain a grip, straining her neck to view the whirling bright light twist, bulge, fragment and explode.

Rose's nails scraped along the ground as she was hurled towards a pillar. The impact rattled her bones and she landed with a bash.

The Judge reappeared, hovering in mid-air. He looked suspicious and confused. He spoke in a distorted voice. "What is this?" Each word seemed to age his vocals. "What is happen–ing? What have you... done?"

Kiian began to dissolve, falling to the ground with both legs dispersing on impact. What little remained reached out towards the twins. First, his hand began to perish, followed by his arm and shoulders. Within seconds, his entire existence was gone.

The floor Rose lay upon began to rumble. The Judge's death was eroding the stone slabs like a black wave embracing the shore, taking everything within its path.

"Go... _go!_ " screamed Lily.

Rose had already stood on her quivering legs, and now she forced her feet to move at pace. She fled through the arched door and mounted the steps their mother had taken.

Pillars, statues and stones disappeared. Rose poured every ounce of energy into every stride, though taking great care with each step; a fall could be enough to end their journey.

Through the doorway ahead, Rose was startled; perched on the windowsill, a grey parrot fluttered its feathers and flew outside. Rose hadn't time for questions. She followed.

Whilst fleeing she glanced behind to see an uncontrollable force devouring the sector. The pace was relentless, taking the exterior stone path the twins had barely crossed. She looked ahead and saw a swarm of airborne Govern swirling like a brewing storm.

The parrot perched on a gargoyle, flashing its wings. " _Rhaaaw!_ _Rhaaaw!_ "

Rose ran towards the frantic bird, and knew exactly what to do. Through the maze of granite the parrot flew ahead, Rose chased with urgency, shifting direction in an instant through the jungle of rock: left, right, left, jumping, ducking through the unforgiving arrangement. She continued her pace, watching the parrot make quick turns to check her status.

_Bella Air_ came into view, and Rose let out a yelp of relief. "Nearly there! Mum! I see her!"

Their mother leaned with both hands at the vessel's bow. She began to beckon the girls, clapping her hands rapidly while tip toeing on the spot. "Quickly! Quickly!"

The twins departed the bridge and boarded the vessel. The parrot swooped down into the control chamber where their mother followed the twins. Rose pushed the lever into flight. The engines _boomed_ and _Bella Air_ soon lifted off the ground.

With precious seconds to spare, the rock that had supported the vessel faded to black as the force beneath rampaged on.

"Well done, sis," said Lily, and sighed. "That was too close."

"Yeah. We really did it this time, didn't we?"

Their mother's hands were shaking. She steadied herself by the door, watching her daughters in amazement.

Lily smiled at her. "We really did."

# CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Let It Be

Rose activated autopilot, before she turned to notice her mother watching in admiration.

"I remember your visit," said Violet. "Then nothing, until I woke and..."

"It's okay, mum" said Rose, "we're just happy we found you."

The parrot flew into the living quarters. Curious, Rose followed, observing it land on top of the message screen. It began to peck at buttons with its beak, then waited, bopping its head.

"Could it be..." said Rose, beginning to ponder the unthinkable.

The screen displayed a sector location and number. A familiar sight and voice appeared. "What now?" said Pei. "I'm very busy, call back – Rose... Lily, are you okay?"

"Professor, it's Brunel, he called you, but –"

" _Whoa!_ Brunel called me? He knows my number?"

"But I think," said Rose, "it _might_ be..."

" _Stanley?_ " said Lily, catching on, observing the parrot rapidly flaunt its feathers.

" _Ohhh_ ... ha-ha-ha," chuckled Pei, "Stanley, a parrot? Ha-ha. Who's a pretty boy, then – who's a _pretty boy_."

"The Transformo," said Rose. "He must have used it. Pei, can we turn him back?"

" _Ahhh_ ... I see. Just a moment." Pei searched the messy tabletop, wading through cutter and lifting Dribble Holly. "Gotcha! Now, listen very carefully. Ensure the dial on the Transformo is set to Reversal."

Rose took hold of it and searched for the dial. "Done."

"Enter the following digits: forty-six, fifty-one, sixty-six and eighty-three."

"Done."

"Now take aim, and _pull_ trigger."

Rose lined up the target in the device's iron sight and squeezed the trigger. It fired a flash of bright light. The Transformo then emitted a declining buzz as the twins and Violet could hardly believe their eyes. Sitting on the floor was none other than Stanley Hopkins in all his velvet glory.

"Well done, girls! _Well done!_ "

"Stanley!" the twins cried.

Rose dropped the Transformo onto the rocking chair and threw her arms around him, squeezing his neck and windpipe. He returned the affection, only gently.

"You two are _amazing_ ," he said. "And well done, Pei. Even though you're a housebound malfunction, I had my faith."

"Remarkable..." said Violet.

Stanley stood up and held Rose by her shoulder. "Yes, quite. But we mustn't let our guard down – _not_ yet," he said, eyeing the twins with warmth. "We could still be targeted."

"All along, you were a parrot," said Rose. "I thought you might have –" Her voice boarded on angry. "You _should_ have told us."

"I had no choice, the Govern cornered me. I had to act fast. And once transformed, I thought having feathers could be useful. Good disguise, don't you think?"

Violet stepped towards him. "Without your help, I wouldn't have made it, and neither would have my girls. Thank you."

Stanley smiled, nodding. "That's quite all right. I'm more than happy things turned out well for you – for all of us. Except..."

"Brunel," uttered Rose.

"Yes," he said. "Silly bird..."

"We buried him," said Lily.

"I know."

Violet reached out and took hold of Stanley's hand. He appeared a little wary. "My girls mean everything to me. I can't thank you enough." Whether she had forgotten, or whether it was the excitement of the moment, she reached out towards Lily.

"Wait!" said Stanley. "We're out in the open atmosphere. A touch may be all it takes."

"Not now," said Rose. "I'm not sure I'm ready – not yet."

"We need more time," said Lily.

Stanley nodded. "But we can't leave it long. In any case, we must seek refuge." He walked into the control chamber, then turned and glanced at the twins. "I know just the –"

Thud!

It dropped from the ceiling and reared its sleek, shiny black body. The Govern radar remained switched off as the twins' nemesis rose from the ground.

"Stay back!" shouted Stanley, reaching out. "Stay still!"

The Govern stayed, appearing to think.

"Oh no... please no..." said Pei helplessly.

"Wait!" urged Stanley, spreading out his hands at the devourer. The Govern turned without urgency towards him. "Your orders are over. You hear? It's _over_. Let us be, please."

It fluttered its tentacles, breathing intensely. Then, relentless, it slid towards the twins.

Violet's reaction was instinctive. She reached to protect her daughters, making contact with Rose, followed by her sister.

Lily's face became denser; colour strengthened. She held out her hands in front as they materialised and became flesh-like.

Rose's hands, however, faded. Her legs were next, then her torso. "Sis... I –"

Two words. That's all she could say within the seconds of separation.

# CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Forever L and R

Amongst the twigs, leaves and soil, Rose snapped open her eyes to glimpse the dark forest of Hampshire. "Lily!" she screamed, and glanced over her shoulder to find no sign of her.

As she stood with the moon lighting her face, her heart beating hard, she stared at the grand oak tree and touched the bark with her fingertips. It was solid. "Lily?" she uttered, and dashed into stronger moonlight; still nothing.

Rose turned to face home and did the only thing she could think of – she ran. She raced down the winding path and over the small bridge. Soon, she passed the rotting tree house to reach her back garden.

Over the fence, abrupt shock stalled her: a disturbing sight glowed. She shook her head while walking towards red embers of a dying bonfire. Her head fell into her hands as her mind overflowed with utter confusion.

She ran to the porch. The door was locked, she remembered, and looked up. Rose climbed the guttering pipe and stepped upon the porch roof. Her window was ajar. She opened it, climbed in and saw that nothing had changed, but she felt like a visitor.

The moonlight beamed into the bedroom while Rose looked out at the forest. She remembered every detail: Lily, Mother, Stanley, Brunel, the Govern...

_The Govern!_ The last vivid image of the approaching menace sent chills over her body. Without her, Lily was a regular spirit, she assumed, and not the conjoined powerhouse.

She began to rub herself warmer, then cupped her face as tears flowed. "It did happen, it did happen, it did happen," she muttered, sniffling. "Can't be have been a dream. It can't have been a dream," she continued.

Her thoughts turned to her father, sleeping peacefully in the adjacent room. She was tempted to wake him and see him again; and say what? Why would he believe her? Even Mary or Lynn wouldn't believe her; especially when all the other spells hadn't worked for them that very night.

Tickey _ticked_ , displaying two forty-eight.

Rose leaned on the windowsill and rested her tormented head on her arms, remembering. She felt like crying, but no more tears were left. Her reminiscing only increased her questions, and the answers seemed to be another galaxy away.

She closed the window and crept towards her bed, then curled around Sophie and closed her eyes.

* * *

"Sweetheart! Time to get up!" shouted her father.

Rose awoke to a sudden realisation: she was dressed in her school uniform – then the rest.

She forced herself out of bed and began to walk. With each step taken, she almost turned back. The kitchen radio was heard while she descended the stairs, along with the sound of cupboards closing and the tings of teaspoons. Soon, she arrived to see her father.

"Morning, sleepy. What time – Rose... your uniform's dirty."

She looked at her father with sorrowful eyes and dashed towards him, wrapping her arms round his waist.

"Rose... what's the matter? What's wrong?"

"Sorry," she muttered, weeping.

"Whatever for? Have you been out?"

She wouldn't release her embrace, and continued to sob into his t-shirt.

* * *

Had Rose been less upset, she may have been grounded. She didn't smile the whole day, or the following. Her constant withdrawal was no doubt worrying for her father, but she couldn't pretend all was well.

On the third day since returning from the forest, she sat at the kitchen table with her favourite hot chocolate and shortbread combination. Her father sat opposite and ran through a number of questions. Though Rose didn't speak about her concerns – what was the point?

Nights merged into day, and Rose had little time for anything but worry. She rarely ate all her meals, turning down her most cherished puddings, and woke in the night, wishing to hear Lily's voice. She watched weather broadcasts, hoping for a full moon, only to be disappointed.

Then, on the eighth day, a scattering of clouds drifted in front of a vibrant moon. By the window she waited, watching the night go by, and read _Spirit Awaken_ over and over and over again.

Another disappointing night followed, and so did another day of dread.

* * *

On the eleventh day since returning from the forest, Rose studied the moon, just shy of full. Her reading ritual began, followed by her wait.

Tickey displayed five minutes to midnight, at which time Rose's door opened, and she watched Sophie enter and greet her by the window. She stroked her gently, rocking head to head, eyes closed, listening to Sophie's deep purrs while teardrops fell.

"Rose..." said a faint male voice.

She knew the voice, and raised her head, her hair obscuring a clear view and her vision blurred with sadness.

"Greetings, Rose," said Stanley from aboard the faint, hovering, silent _Bella Air_. The vessel drifted between the neighbours' trees and came to a halt beside the porch roof.

"Rose!" cried Lily.

"Hey, sweetie!" called her mother.

"Hi–ya..." she squeaked, unable to verbalise her relief. She opened her mouth to form more words. "Sis... Mum... Stanley..." she whispered. "That _really_ you?"

The three stood like a family portrait, seeming delighted.

Rose pushed the window fully open and spoke urgently. "I wasn't sure if it was true. I thought I might have dreamt it all. The Govern... how did you escape?" she asked, wiping her cheeks and breathing through her mouth as her nose was stuffed up.

Stanley smiled with a cheeky expression and raised an eyebrow. "The Govern, you say? That horrific creature you mention is now..." He reached down and brought up a cage. "Our pet rat, Piper – named after the Pied Piper." A faint rat scrambled inside the cage, sniffing the air and clawing at the bars. "The Transformo, Rose – thankfully it was at hand," he said, glancing lovingly at Violet. "And luckily your mother is a good shot."

Rose laughed joyfully, as did the lady in question.

"As for us... we came as soon as we could – from _Angelo_. We had to wait for decent moonlight, see. And I'm glad that spell of yours continues to work."

She smiled, nodding, before another query came to her attention. "And what about Kiian?"

"Gone, sis," said Lily, in raptures, "along with the Govern."

"And hopefully for good," said Stanley. "As of now, our world is ruled by one force, and one force only – spiritkind. For how long is uncertain. But my goodness, you should have seen the streets across Angelo. Men, women and children cheered for days."

The three stepped down from the vessel and onto the porch roof. Violet stood as close to Rose as she could without entering the bedroom. "I'm sorry you had to wait, sweetie, with all that worry." She paused, looking deep into Rose's eyes. "And I'm sorry I can't be a mother for you." She then learned closer and kissed her daughter's cheek. Rose could almost feel the contact. "I will always love you," she said, hand on heart.

"You too. _All_ of you."

Her mother nodded with a smile and stepped back.

Lily stepped forward, and the twins stared at each other. "Sis," said Lily, "I've got something to tell you."

"What... ?"

"I have _feet_."

All laughed, except Lily.

"It's true, though. I can walk now. I can also smell, taste and _touch_. And I can wear whatever I want." The twins' eyes were bright with happiness before Lily's face became serious. "I'm alive, sis."

Rose reflected her sister's expression, slowly nodding her head, trying to control her breathing. Her mouth was torridly dry, and her throat gasped for water. "Lil– I'm sorry that I didn't know you were always there – all along. I wanted to tell you that, from the moment we met."

"It _was_ awful, but that's over now. I've got my life, with Mum and Stanley. But... I'm going to miss you. Well, not always, but most of the time."

"You too..."

Lily glanced behind at Stanley, then returned her gaze to Rose. "I guess this is it. Have a great time, sis."

"I will. See you soon? How about our birthday, every year?"

"I hope so. Take care of Dad, won't you. And that _flea bag_."

Rose stroked the feline in question. "I will, don't worry, I will."

"Bye, sis," said Lily, and stepped towards her mother.

Stanley wiped his eyes, then blew on his handkerchief. " _All aboard!_ " he said, showing Lily and Violet to the steps while lifting his top hat. "Madam, Miss." He followed them, retracted the steps, and then held onto another lever. "Rose, I would like to introduce you to our new, improved vessel, minus the creaky rocking chair," he said, beaming with pride, "To the _L & R!_" He pulled the lever, causing the sails to drop in silence. The letters _L & R_ were lavished upon the fluttering sail.

"Wow..." uttered Rose.

"We have our _own_ vessel, sis," said Lily. "I decided on the name. It had to be the _L & R_, and not the _R & L_," she added with a smug grin. "Just doesn't have the same ring to it."

"You're right, sis, it doesn't," Rose said cheerfully. "It's perfect. Oh, and Stanley, try looking inside the cuckoo clock. You might find your journal in there."

He smiled, nodding. "So long, Rose. You'll forever be in my heart. Only one last thing." He straightened his back, arms by his side. " _Atteeennntion!_ "

Lily immediately stood to attention. Rose did too, followed by their mother, not wanting to feel left out, Rose assumed.

" _Atttt eaaassse!_ " he ordered, and saluted.

"Another time, sis," said Lily.

"Take care, sweetie," said Mother.

"Bye," said Rose, and blew a kiss for all three as the _L & R_ swept around and drifted towards the night sky. It cruised afar, distant, and returned to the Realm of the Black Rose.

# CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

A New Master

On the night the twins were invited, Mr Orwell stood within the dense tropical forest he had once meticulously mastered. The golden mask displayed his glowing eye sockets, and with them he gazed at a full moon, while Ike clung on to his ruff.

Curious, he listened with trepidation to the sounds of a new voice; a new master, perhaps.

"You know, Mr Orwell," said an Irish voice, "I grovelled to that beastie of yours. On my hands... on my knees. I grovelled and I grovelled... and it growled and growled." His tone of voice was lowered with fatigue. "So I grovelled some more..."

Orwell didn't flinch.

The voice returned with supremacy. "Now it's your time to grovel, Mr Orwell."

#  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Writing a novel was always going to be a challenge. I'd like to thank those that have helped me along the way, from the first draft to what you hold in your hands. In order of involvement I'd like to thank Katie Barnett for her insight and help during the early stages; Doug Watts, who taught me a great deal about writing; Annette Young, for her critique and kind words; Charlie Wilson, for her excellent editing; and finally my friends and family, who always showed interest in the project and gave their encouragement.

# AUTHOR

MATTHEW THOMPSON was born in England in 1983 and is the creator of Domino Galaxy. He has previously worked in the video games industry as a game and level designer.

# EDITOR

Charlie Wilson

# COVER ARTIST

Kit Wai Lai

Please consider reviewing TWIN SPIRIT on Amazon, Goodreads and any other avenue. I look forward to reading your thoughts about the book. Thank you for your support.

– Matthew Thompson

Website: <http://dominogalaxy.crevado.com/>
