 
  1. **The Royble**

  2. E Day

  3. Copyright 2010 by E Day

  4. Smashwords Edition

#  LEGAL NOTICE

If you so much as read this book you may be sued by the whole world one billion times.

This is a free ebook and must never be sold nor lent for financial gain, either individually or within other works.

You may forward this ebook via email but it must remain in its original format, and not be used in any kind of advertising or promotion, or any other commercial activity, without the written permission of the author, and Roy's blessing.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. Roy did not really create the universe. Probably.

This book may not be printed and placed down your trousers, except to protect you from being caned at school.

© 2010 by E. Day.

# Contents

LEGAL NOTICE 2

Chapter 1. Tim meets Roy 4

Chapter 2. Genesis of Roy 9

Chapter 3. Rastas 15

Chapter 4. School 21

Chapter 5. Mungo 37

 Chapter 6. Skinheads at the Bus Station 43

Chapter 7. Silence of the Graham 47

Chapter 8. Parsons 57

Chapter 9. Gareth 209 62

Chapter 10. The Son of Roy 73

Chapter 11. Marillion of Roy 91

 Chapter 12. A bit before the Battle of Roy vs Rastas. 131

Chapter 13. Battle of Roy vs Rastas. 138

Epilogue \- Where are they now 149

Roy will return in The Rodney Code 150

You could draw a picture of something here.

##  Chapter 1. Tim meets Roy

Book Of Marillion, Chapter 1 Verse 1

In the beginning Roy created Aylesbury and the earth.

And the earth was formless, there was a darkness over the sea, and a void over the land.

And Roy said, "LET THERE BE AYLESBURY."

And Roy saw Aylesbury and saw that it was good. But Roy had already created Aylesbury in the first sentence.

And Roy said, "OH BLOODY HELL. TWO AYLESBURYS. I WONDER IF I CAN SELL ONE."

And then Roy saw that Aylesbury was also part of the earth. (The part called Aylesbury, near Tring). And thus there were now three Aylesburys.

And Roy in his mightiness was getting fed up, but then he did see the amusing side, and did create a fourth Aylesbury, for a laugh.

Four Aylesburys, and in all these Aylesburys with all their roundabouts and learner drivers, there was no one to take driving tests for those that were not very good at driving. So Roy said he would do this for anyone who asketh him, for fifty pounds. And he did put up a sign advertising his services. But there was still darkness over the earth, and no one could read Roy's sign. So Roy said, "LET THERE BE A £1000 LAMP," and there was a lamp. Roy saw the lamp, that it was quite good, but probably not worth £1000. But at least his sign was visible now: "DRIVE TESTs £50. CHEEP!"

Then Roy had a rest as he had to create Britney Spears the day after, and he didn't know much about pop music.

And the next day came. And Roy started to create Britney, but got bored and said unto Tim, "CAN I BORROWETH YOUR COPY OF LOVELY LADIES?"

And this demand did vex Tim mightily for he did not like the idea of someone looking at his porn, yet it was his lord, Roy.

And so Tim sayeth: "You can buy it off me for £2."

And Roy's face did darken, for he thought £2 a lot for rubbish like Lovely Ladies, "TIMOTHY, TWO QUID IS A LOT FOR LOVELY LADIES!"

And Tim did say, "Take it or leave it."

And Roy did think, and said "YOU CAN STUFF YOUR LOVELY LADIES." And Roy was mightily angry, but then he calmed down, and he said, "I WILL CREATE A WAY TO GET PORN FREE. AND I WILL CALL IT THE INTERNET, AND THE PORN SHALL BE MUCH BETTER THAN IN LOVELY LADIES. AND THE INTERNET WILL ALSO BE GOOD FOR BUYING BOOKS, AND STEALING BANK PASSWORDS."

And Roy did create a magical beast called the Internet that had a head of an ox, and the belly of a Commodore 64, and a tail that was a plug. And Roy did also build websites, and URLs, and porno websites that one would go to if one typeth a URL a bit wrong, or sometimes on purpose.

And when he had finished Roy smiled upon what he had done. But even though Roy had made all things, and all things were good, Roy was not pleased.

"IT'S TOO EASY DOING STUFF," thought Roy, "I KNOW I'LL SET A TASK FOR ONE OF MY CREATIONS. AND IT WILL BE A DIFFICULT TASK."

And on the third day Roy came up with a task, "I WILL MAKE ONE OF MY CREATIONS ROUND UP A GANG OF DISCIPLES TO WORSHIP ME." And this pleased Roy for his ego was mighty, "YEAH AND MAYBE THEY CAN FIGHT A BATTLE OR SOMETHING." Thoughteth Roy, getting all excited.

The first 17 years of Tim's life had left him feeling discontented. Despite a happy home and social life, he felt there was something missing, that he lacked a purpose, but he had no idea what to aim for. Perhaps when he left school things would become clearer. He hoped that would be the case, but he knew that a future at college did not appeal, nor did any careers excite him. He felt that he was just marking time, drifting along.

He was in his final year at secondary school, and had just started a part time job at a food manufacturing company, Aylesbury Dried Foods (ADF), which was not too far from Tim's house. He worked weekends and one evening a week; a significant workload for someone still at school. But Tim did not mind: for him working at ADF was a dream come true. Well it was a job with free food anyway, and he was fascinated by food: consuming several tons of it each day. He was thrilled when he got the job, but he could not have begun to realize how everything was about to change.

In his first week he had been working on the doughnut filling machine with his co-worker, Jeff. Tim idolised Jeff, as he was the only professional doughnut maker he had ever met. They soon struck up a friendship with their common interests of doughnuts, and the local football team, Aylesbury Vale. At the beginning of a Saturday shift the foreman Chris called Tim into his office.

"You don't have an office Chris," Tim told him.

"OK, well, we need privacy – let's go to the toilet."

"That's weird, but maybe he's trying to be like the Fonz. Which is also weird," thought Tim as he followed Chris with some trepidation.

"Tim you've been on doughnuts all week haven't you?"

"Yes Chris."

"And how many doughnuts have you eaten in that week?"

"Not many."

"Not many eh? Well how come production is down by 500 this week?"

"I haven't eaten 500 doughnuts this week."

"No you've had 468."

"I haven't had over 450."

"I'm not going to argue with you about it. But we can't have someone on doughnuts who is eating more than they are making. I'm going to reallocate you to bag packing."

This was dreadful news for Tim. Bag packing meant working on a production line, packing dried ready-meals into bags. He would no longer be able to eat 70 donuts a day, only a few pounds of dried curries.

"OK Chris. Can I go now?"

"Yeah after you wash your hands."

"OK."

So Tim left Chris in the lavatory, and headed off to the bag packing production line. Standing by the line was a young man whose radiant glowing skin seemed to be diffuse, much like a Star Trek energy cloud.

"Hi my name's Tim. What's yours?"

"IT'S ROY!" It was the first of many times Tim would hear that phrase.

"Hi. Chris sent me to pack bags."

"TIM: IT'S ROY!"

"Yeah I know."

"I AM YOUR FRIEND TIM!"

"Great."

"I AM THE BEST BAG PACKER ADF HAS. AT THE MOMENT. I WILL TEACH YOU TO FILL BAGS FULL OF FOOD. THEY WILL BE BRIMMING WITH FOOD. I WILL SHOW YOU MY STEREO ONE DAY. BUT FIRST I MUST SET YOU A TASK."

"Er...OK." The thought of being taught to expertly pack bags full of food was very tempting for Tim. He was so eager to learn such a skill that he would agree to do any task Roy asked.

"TIM I WANT YOU TO FIND ME 12 DISCIPLES PLUS ONE SUBSTITUTE. SO 13 DISCIPLES. AND TO WORSHIP ME AND STUFF. HERE IS MY CARD" He handed him a card, then Roy waved his magic wand and Tim fell fast asleep.

##  Chapter 2. Genesis of Roy

Book Of Rastas AD 1972, Chapter 3 Verse 7

And its name was Rastas and its name was evil. And its number was 666. Which was where it liveth. 666 Evil Road, Outskirts, Aylesbury, HP997 8BAA.

Roy, was born in Aylesbury in 1967, which is perhaps the greatest Royological Paradox. How could Roy have created the earth, even though he was only born in 1967? It is thought the earth was created by Roy 3 Billion years ago. At this time Roy's form was that of an energy cloud, like the ones in Star Trek. A Billion years later Roy created the first non-energy life forms: a cat and a sheep. Then Roy invented evolution, and new life forms arose, including dinosaurs, kelads and woodlice. Roy was very proud of his creations, particularly the dinosaurs, until one day he watched the film, "Destroy All Monsters" starring Godzilla. The film made him wary of his creations, and he decided dinosaurs were, "NOT WORTH THE BOTHER, YOU KNOW. CLEANING LITTER TRAYS AND ALL THAT." He chose to wipe them from the face of the earth, leaving a much smaller number of life forms inhabiting the planet.

Roy felt very unsettled during this time of great upheaval, and he sought some stability in his life. He achieved this by purchasing a Ford Escort XR3i. The car was loaded with features: head rests, a cassette player, red paint, and a cigarette lighter. It was Roy's pride and joy, but was difficult for him to drive in his energy cloud form. Realising his miasmic form was impractical, he turned himself into a cocoon (after eating a pickle), and metamorphosed into a human-like shape. This change meant he could drive his car at really fast speeds, and do hand brake turns and stuff. Roy now spent much time happily speeding around Aylesbury's gyratory system, yet still he felt that something was missing in his life. He grew weary of his solitary existence, and so created mankind, and women, and kids, and Surinam toads. Roy watched his creations from afar, not interacting with them because at first he was shy, then well it's a bit awkward and they probably wouldn't be interested in him anyway.

Then, about 1000 years ago Roy created some secret societies that left clues all over the place about who they are, and how they are really in control of everything, and how they will probably have a fight with Roy one day.

After that, nothing happened until 1967, when Roy decided "SOD IT. I WILL REVEAL MYSELF TO ROYKIND. BUT I DON'T WANT THEM TO KNOW HOW GREAT I AM IN CASE IT'S AGAINST THE LAW OR SOMETHING." He wanted to live amongst mortals as one of them, but a lot better. Roy chose to do this in 1967, since, having just missed England's World Cup victory, he wanted to be able to watch future England tournament victories down the pub.

He initially planned his entry into the mortal world in an appearance in Hammer Film's The Satanic Rites of Dracula. Roy altered the original screenplay to include a scene where Van Helsing uncovers a coffin containing a vampire called Roy. Roy's plan was that once people had seen him in the film, word would spread that he had always been an actor and had also appeared in Hammer's Plague of the Zombies (zombie called Roy) and Carry on Up the Khyber (soldier called Roy).

Unfortunately for Roy the production of The Satanic Rites of Dracula was delayed (it was ultimately released in 1973). It is interesting to speculate how Roy's altered version of the film would compare with the one released, and whether it would have gained more than its single Oscar win (Best Teeth).

Jettisoning the idea of an invented history as an actor, Roy decided he would become a newborn infant instead. His plan was to be born and then raised by wolves, like Mowgli from The Jungle Book.

Roy could not find any suitable wolf parents, despite searching all of Buckinghamshire so instead he chose to be raised by rabbits. He was soon matched with suitable rabbit parents by placing an ad in "Rabbit Baby Monthly". Unfortunately for Roy, 2 days after being adopted by his rabbit parents, they were found dead by their keeper Lucy Adams (age 4), who had forgotten to feed them. When Lucy went to tell her parents Roy realised he must flee, otherwise his entrance to the world might raise suspicion. The discovery of a newborn baby in a rabbit hutch might lead people to surmise that the baby was the incarnation of goodness and driving ability (a bit like foreign babies born with six heads). So Roy left Lucy's rabbit hutch disguised as a baby (which is what he was), and sneaked into Stoke Mandeville Hospital maternity ward. In the ward Roy made friends with the only other baby possessing super powers: Rastas. Rastas too was planning entry into the human world, but for altogether different reasons than Roy. Roy did not discover until later that Rastas was the most evil baby in the whole of the hospital.

Whilst waiting for suitable parents, the two babies thoroughly enjoyed their time spent hiding under a bed together, and they became firm friends. Eager to cement the friendship, Rastas convinced Roy that they should pretend to be born as twins, and Roy agreed.

They selected a childless couple: Greeta and Winston, who worked at the hospital as cleaners, often cleaning near the bed where the babies hid.

One morning, during cleaning hours, Rastas hypnotised the couple with a yoyo, and convinced them that Greeta was heavily pregnant with twins. Roy and Rastas sneaked home with them, hidden in Greeta's sweater, and that night Winston rang for an ambulance as Greeta went into pretend labour. When the ambulance arrived Rastas quickly yoyo hypnotised the crew, who rushed Greeta to the hospital. At the hospital Rastas worked furiously, hypnotising anybody he came into contact with. Fifteen minutes later, everyone was convinced Greeta had given birth to two healthy babies, Roy being pretend-born 3 minutes before his evil "twin brother" Rastas.

As soon as he was born Rastas was wrapped in a blanket and carried out of the delivery suite in the arms of a, presumably, evil nurse. The only clue to her identity was some writing on the back of her uniform glimpsed by Roy's father, Winston, who thought it said either "Jimmy" or "Brad Wesley". This was the last Roy and his family saw of Rastas until many years later. Greeta was distraught, "Bring back my evil son," she cried for months afterwards. Often she would visit newsagents to ask them if they had seen Rastas. After many years of fruitless searching she switched to bookstores, and then back to newsagents. Sadly she would never see Rastas again, as she died in 1976, during her failed attempt to win a speed eating contest.

Before her death Greeta tended to neglect Roy, consumed as she was by her grief over her missing son. But this neglect was compensated for by Winston's love of Roy. Winston doted on his son and was very proud when Roy uttered his first words at the age of one. These were "IT'S ROY!" Surprised by this, Winston sought specialist advice. He took Roy to many doctors throughout his childhood, but none were able to explain why Roy always talked in capital letters. Winston soon accepted the way that Roy spoke, and treated him like he was his own son. Which is what he was. But not really.

Because of Winston's love for him, Roy's childhood was idyllic. He loved Aylesbury, it was an exciting town to live in with a cinema, and a large ugly council building in the middle.

Testing the boundaries of Winston's love, Roy spent much of his childhood getting up to mischief. On one occasion, he fell in the Aylesbury canal after stealing a girder, and standing on top of a car. Another time he appeared as a contestant on an Indian gameshow, because of his blind girlfriend or something. And in 1977 Winston was livid when Roy bought a couple of robots and joined a band of rebels fighting an evil galactic empire, in order to install a non-elected monarch as leader of the universe. Winston was so angry he severely damaged Roy's robots especially the annoying shiny one.

Roy also caused problems at his school, Mrs Beechwood's School for Children. He would bully the other pupils and force them to play games of his own invention. One of his favourites of these games was called "Welding", where Roy would force them to weld, using the gas tungsten arc welding process. This upset many of the child welders, since it is a slower process than gas metal or flux cored arc welding. When he tired of welding he would force them to play other games, included Green Shield Stamp collecting, bathroom suite designing and crisp packet counting.

As well as the mischief, like many boys of his age Roy had a keen interest in dancing. He dreamt of one day becoming a ballet dancer or even a male stripper. Unfortunately his dreams were shattered when his application to the Royal Academy of Male Strippers was rejected. Angry Roy vowed never to dance again, and became instead an avid football fan. This love of football was shared by his father; they were both keen Spurs supporters. Often on Saturdays Roy would dress up in a Spurs hat and scarf, his mother would make him a thermos of hot cocoa, and some sandwiches with plastic filling (because she was mental), his father would take him downstairs, and they would watch Match of the Day on the television together.

Despite doing these and other activities shared by many "normal" children, it was obvious Roy was different. None of the others at school could turn into energy clouds like he could, and none of them had stereos so powerful and brilliant that they were powered by the sun. Also none of the other children shared Roy's precocious driving skills. Most did not begin to drive until they were sixteen, but Roy first passed his driving test at the age of three. He was such a great driver that he started taking other people's driving tests for £50.

At the same time as Roy developed his prodigious driving abilities, he also found out he had a propensity for packing bags full of food. At school he would impress teachers by filling very small bags with very large amounts of food. By the time he was 16 Roy was so good at bag packing, that he decided to take it up professionally. Despite his father's protestations, Roy took a job at ADF, and ffter several months of hard work, Roy realized his dream, and was put to work packing bags full of food, and soon became ADF's top bag-packer.

Despite all these amazing powers his divinity would remain a secret until 1984, 17 years after he was born, when the first mortal, Tim, would see the light of Roy's shining teeth.

##  Chapter 3. Rastas

Book of Rastas, Prince of Darkness, Chapter 3 Verse 6

And it came to pass that Rastas was banished from the kingdom of Aylesbury, and all the land around. And it was Roy's will that this came to pass. And Rastas was exiled to the nine circles of Hemel, the innermost which was the A414 wherein Rastas was encased in ice by Roy's divine ice cream van. And therein Rastas remained for all eternity, until one day that a child did ordereth a Rastas ice lolly, and a 99 please, and did unwrap Rastas and Rastas, did escape.

Rastas meanwhile was living somewhere on the very outskirts of Aylesbury – a place no one had ever been to, and returned alive, in less than 40 minutes at rush hour. Many had heard of such a place but few talked of it. It was as though the mere mention this place would bring bad luck on the speaker. It was a place of solitude, a lonely place. Those that did live there kept themselves to themselves. There were no businesses or shops there except for 5 Tescos Metros, one Tesco Extra, and 11 Tesco Expresses. And a Starbucks, a Café Nero, Café Ritazza, and 24 other coffee shops. But other than that nothing. There was little for Rastas to do in such a place but plan.

After he was born the, presumably, evil nurse had taken Rastas to 'Little Devils' a boarding school for evil infants in Great Missenden. Little Devils was housed in an ancient building in the centre of Missenden between the Caesars Palace Casino, and the Coop. Unfortunately he was expelled from the school after only two weeks, for being two weeks old. This became Rastas's greatest regret in life. In Rastas's biography, Ken Dodd wrote "Rastas never forgave Little Devils for his expulsion. He felt that the school rejected him too soon, not giving him the same chances afforded to the other children. This expulsion sowed the seeds that would turn him into the most evil being in all of Aylesbury."

Book of Roy's Escort, Chapter 7 Verse 3

And it came to pass that Roy did want to buy a car. And he sayeth unto himself "I WANTETH AN ESCORT XR3I FOR THEY ARE VERY FAST AND COOL." And Roy looked in the paper and lo there was and advert for an Escort XR3i for only £700ono. And Roy calleth the number even though Roy could have used special mind powers to communicate. And a man whose name was Kevin did answer, "I'M CALLING ABOUT YOUR ESCORT."

"Yeah?" sayeth Kevin.

"IS IT STILL FOR SALE?"

"Yeah," and Roy was mightily pleased. And he did go round and see Kevin and did buy his beautiful red escort for £675, and it did pleaseth him. And Roy droveth all over the face of his kingdom, and he did think it was good. Until it broke down whilst it raineth.

Rastas was filled with the desire for revenge. For some time now most of his waking hours had been spent hatching plots to kill Roy, and his driving test customers. He built 6 vehicles that he hoped to use to attack Roy. There was a spaceship, a rocket, a fat one with a box in it, an underwater one, and another two, but Rastas could only afford to build them 6 inches long, and they had to be piloted by puppets, so Rastas abandoned this plan and started a second project, creating a big spinning thing with a chair in the middle. The machine was designed that if he wore some national health glasses whilst sitting in the chair, he would have the brainwaves of somebody else implanted into his brain. Unfortunately for him this scheme back fired terribly: Rastas wanted to get the brainwaves of Dracula, but he mistakenly set the chair to spin backwards, thus wiping all his memory up to that point. As a result Rastas forgot about his hatred of Roy, and began a campaign of friendliness and not doing much. Concerned by this the, presumably, evil nurse began a re-education program for Rastas, to stop him straying from the path of evilness. At this time the Aylesbury Serious and Evil Crimes Agency (ASECA) started surveillance on Rastas and transcripts of surveillance tapes have recently been released under the Freedom of Information act. These tapes give an insight into Rastas's education:

Evil nurse: Have you done your homework Rastas?

Rastas: (indistinct)

EN: You must do your homework. You don't want to be like your lazy brother Roy do you?

R: I did not know I had a brother.

EN: Oh yes. Roy is his name. Are you wearing a vest?

...

EN: Rastas are you wearing a vest?

R: No mum...I mean nurse.

EN: You are right Rastas: I am not your mother.

Rastas: I know.

EN: I know you are fond of me, and think of me as your mother...

Rastas: No I don't.

EN: ...But I am just your nurse. Your real parents are dead.

Rastas: Who...who were they?

EN: Their names were Greeta, and Winston.

Rastas: What were they like?

EN: I am sorry to tell you, but they were evil people.

Rastas: Like me then? And, presumably, you?

EN: Er...no they were bad evil people. We are good evil people.

Rastas: And Roger...

EN: Roy?

Rastas: Yeah, sorry. Roy. Is he good evil or bad evil?

EN: He is the most evil creature on the earth.

Rastas: So he's good then?

EN: No he is very bad.

(excerpt from: ASECA transcript 147/33)

To further his education the nurse designed a course of 17 audio cassettes and books for Rastas. The course explained his purpose in life, taught him to achieve his potential, and earn the kind of salary that he is really worth. She sold him the course for only 3 easy payments of £29.99. Rastas devoured the course, and it fuelled his rage. He listened to the tapes over and over again, and became angrier and angrier, but he controlled his anger, and vowed to be more patient in planning his revenge on Roy, his family and all humankind.

He travelled to the east on a bus, to train under the great psychic Mystic Mog. He spent five years living in Mog's palace learning the dark arts, and £1.50 a minute psychic hotline call answering. After his apprenticeship he started his own 0900 psychic advice line, and soon was wealthy and powerful enough to create an unholy army of the dead, which he planned to unleash on an unsuspecting Aylesbury, and then claim Roy's throne. Unfortunately after extensive experimentation he abandoned the idea. He had soon discovered that dead people were ineffective as soldiers: guns would fall out of their hands, they smelt awful, and after a few weeks they would rot away and need replacing.

Rastas needed a new plan, so he decided to recruit an army of the living, and he'd chop Roy's head off with an axe, or shoot him, or something.

Rastas was pleased with this new plan, but he still had to find Roy before he could put it into action. He looked everywhere for him, even in the garden, but he could not find him after many weeks of searching. He was about to give up when he had a stroke of luck. All his scheming and hating exhausted him, and to relax he liked nothing better than watching reality TV shows, especially MasterBagPacker on BBC2. It was whilst watching the now famous episode in which Roy first appeared, that Rastas learnt of Roy's precocious career at ADF. The high level of bag packing talent on display in MasterBagPacker meant that Roy only reached the quarter finals, but his fame was cemented as the show's youngest ever contestant. Before Roy the average age of MasterBagPacker contestants was 18 years 3 months. Astonishingly Roy first appeared when he was only 17 years 6 months.

Rastas ire was fuelled greatly by Roy's celebrity. Rastas himself was an expert bag packer, and he thought it should be he, not Roy, making celebrity bag packing programmes for BBC2. Rastas had learnt basic bag packing from his nurse, and continued his studies, eventually gaining a Masters of Bag Packing from the University of Bedgrove. With this qualification he applied to ADF for a bag packing job in order to get close to Roy. ADF recruited only the most promising bag packers, but despite the highly competitive nature of applications to ADF, he was confident he would get an interview, and during it be able to kill Roy. If they offered him a job afterwards it would be doubly sweet.

One week after applying for a job, he received a letter inviting him for interview. He arrived at the interview in his best plastic bag suit, was shown into an office, given a coffee, and told to wait. Five minutes later Jeff Mungton came in to the office, and sat down.

"Hi I'm Jeff. I'll be doing your technical interview. Now... Ratso..."

"Rastas."

"Not Ratso? Like in Midnight Cowboy?"

"Rastas."

"OK, sorry. Right what kind of bags have you packed?"

"Big ones, small ones..."

"Blue ones?"

"Of course. All sizes."

"Good. Good. We do pack all sizes here. Now if I gave you some soup to put in a bag what would you do?"

The interview continued, and Rastas was enjoying showing off his knowledge so much that he almost forgot to say:

"Where is Roy?"

"Pardon?"

"Roy from MasterBagPacker."

"Oh him. He left, I think. As far as I know he went to work in a garage somewhere."

"Which garage?"

"Dunno. He left a while ago. You could ask his mate Tim."

"Where is this Tim?"

"He's on...oh no I forgot he's not here any more, but I think he's still at school doin' his A levels."

"Which school?"

"Aylesbury Comp."

##  Chapter 4. School

Book Of Roy's Sacred Objects, Chapter 1 Verses 6-8

And since there might be need for further books, (although highly unlikely), Roy did vaguely mention some blessed objects. And amongst these objects was a backwards projector, several Vivas, a 1000 pound lamp, a leather wristband, an Amiga, etc etc.

And Roy sayeth unto Tim "MAYBE I'LL GET YOU TO FIND ME A SERIES OF OBJECTS, OR A HOLY GRAIL, OR SOMETHING OF EQUIVALENT OR LESSER VALUE."

And Tim did think "Oh no not again".

And Roy did say "AND MAYBE I WILL REWARD YOU FOR COLLECTING THESE OBJECTS. SOME KIND OF INCENTIVE SCHEME. BUT THAT SOUNDS LIKE HARD WORK, SO PERHAPS NOT."

"Great", thoughteth Tim sarcastically.

And Roy did hear Tim's thoughts for he can hear all that is in your head, "TIMOTHY! IT'S ROY! DO NOT BE UPSET. YOU MUST FIND IT IN YOURSELF TO ANSWER MY WORD AND PERFORMEST WHAT I ASK." But Tim had walked off to go and get a curry, "WHERE HAVE YOU GONE?" asked Roy, forgetting his superpowers.

Tim awoke the morning after meeting Roy feeling refreshed. He now knew what he must do with his life, his purpose was to recruit disciples for Roy. But where could he find them and what would they be like? Roy had not specified the qualities a disciple must have. Could they be anybody, or were the 13 preordained?

Tim called out to Roy: "Oh Roy I need to speak to you," but no answer came to him, "I know I'll phone him," thought Tim. He reached for the Royphone by his bed, picked it up, and waited for a signal. But none came. He tried replacing and picking up the receiver, but again no signal. Then he remembered the Royphone did not always work as he had made it from from toilet rolls. He went downstairs into the kitchen and picked up his parent's phone. He dialled the number on the card Roy had given him, "Hello. Roy?"

"YES."

"It's Tim."

"TIM WHO?"

"Tim from Aylesbury Dried Foods."

"I CAN'T REMEMBER YOU. ARE YOU THE DONUT GUY?"

"No that's Jeff. I'm Tim. You asked me to find some disciples."

"OH YES I REMEMBER. HOW MANY HAVE YOU FOUND MATE?"

"Er...none...I don't know how to find them."

"TRY GOING TO SCHOOL AND ASKING PEOPLE. I MUST GO NOW THE ROYPHONE IS RINGING."

"Roy? Roy?" but Roy had vanished magically, as if he had hung up the phone.

"I know I'll see who I can find at school," said Tim. To no one.

So he hurriedly got dressed, ate 13 bowls of porridge, and left for school. The day passed uneventfully, with no disciples spotted. Dejectedly Tim left for home. As he walked out the school gates he felt something move down his back. He took off his blazer, and saw that a long blue chalk mark had been left on it. Mungo stood there, with chalk in his hand.

"Did you do that Wilf?"

"No it wasn't me buurrrr nothing."

"What did you say Wilf?"

"Burrrrr...nothing." It was always the same: anything said to Mungo would be met with a mumbled response, that often included a double entendre, and then a denial that he had said anything.

Mungo wasn't even supposed to be at school. He had been expelled a few months before for stealing a teacher that he had found in the staff room.

"Why are you here Wilf?"

"I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No...you are here. Nothing."

Tim was annoyed by Mungo, and so decided to go home and go to sleep.

But just before he did, Mungo said: "are you going on holiday this summer?"

"Yes. To France." he said, "Ooops" thought Tim, "he might ask if he can come."

"Can I come?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It's at a campsite where no beards are allowed." Mungo looked hurt. Although barely 16, he already had an enormous ginger beard, "OK. Of course you can come."

"Great!"

"But not your beard." Mungo's beard looked hurt too, "OK you can come too, beard."

Book of Olander, Chapter 1 Verses 6-12

And Tim did wander for 40 days and 40 nights at school. Although he spent the nights at home. And the weekends too. And during this time Roy sent an Angel of Death, well more like an Angel of Bullying whose name was Olander. And Olander did make fun of Tim. Tim was vexed for Olander did call Tim a fat bastard in front of the whole class. And the class laughed and Tim hung his head with shame.

And Tim said unto Roy " Oh Roy why doest though send me such an abomination as Olander?"

And Roy appeared to Tim in a vision. In the toilet. And Roy said "TIM I MUST KNOW THAT YOU ARE MY TRUE FOLLOWER. THE ONE YOU CALL OLANDER IS A TEST. ROY JUDGES THOSE ON THE WAY THEY STAND UP TO HIS TESTS. YOU FAT BASTARD."

And Tim left the toilet and Roy vanished out of the back door.

The next few weeks at school were horrible for Tim. He found no disciples, and worse one of the pupils in his class had started bullying him. He had started making fun of Tim for being fat and would spend hours calling him names. Tim coped well with this, mostly ignoring the other boy, but soon the taunting spread to other members of his class. It had reached such a great extent that Tim had decided to leave school. That night Roy appeared to him in a vision, "TIM YOU MUST STAY AT SCHOOL. IF YOU DO NOT YOUR MUM WILL BE UPSET AND NOT BUY A LAMP WITH WHICH YOU NEED TO CONTACT COLONEL TONY." Tim did not understand Roy's message but thought it sounded plausible enough. So he resolved to stay in school and deal with Olander. But what could he do? If he started a fight Olander would enjoy it: he was always fighting kids a lot bigger than Tim.

***

That evening Matt came round to Tim's house to hang out. Tim was still fretting about the bully, "What am I going to do about Olander Matt?"

"Computers are great" said Matt, "You can send emails, download porn and look up family trees on them. I bet we can get rid of Olander using a computer – they are that versatile. Although we may have to pretend it is 10 years later so that we can use the Internet."

Quickly Tim pulled his computer from beneath his bed. It was a strange computer of unspecified type, that displayed everything much larger than usual, as if an audience had to read it. Tim logged onto the computer. In big letters "Would you like to play thermoglobalnuclear war?" came up on the screen.

Tim typed "yes".

"Unhandled exception – return code 80000387 line 67" returned the computer.

Tim rebooted and connected to the internet. He brought up the Aylesbury Comprehensive website. Beneath the usual bland school information was a button reading "Pupil grade changes – Restricted Access". Tim clicked on the button. A login screen came up.

Tim looked at Matt, "Try ignoring it". Tim did and a message popped up, "Warning: this is a secure area. Grade alterations can have serious consequences. Please use this area carefully." Tim clicked on a button captioned "Grade altering".

"Enter Pupil name:" demanded the machine, "Evil Olander" Tim entered, "Pupil not found," returned the machine.

"His name's Tony not Evil" said Matt.

Tim tried again with the correct name. A new screen popped up, "Select subject to alter grade." Tim selected "Metalwork" from a list and changed Olander's score from B to F. He repeated this with all the subjects he could find.

The next morning at assembly Olander was dragged from assembly by two security guards and was expelled for life from the school. He ended his days in Florida making gay porno movies, unless he returns to the story later. I can't remember.

***

Tim happily set off for school the next day. On the way he called for Alex who lived a few doors down from him, in the same street Bowdery Lane.

"Hiya."

"Hi. General studies today!"

"I know" said Alex grinning.

General studies was Tim and Alex's favourite lesson. In general studies each term pupils were allowed to pick from various "general" subjects, such as community work, business studies, law enforcement and so on. Each term the lads would pick whichever of these subjects was taught by Mr. Chives. It would be nice to say Mr. Chives was their favourite teacher. Someone who had opened their eyes to the joys of learning. A man who they were fond of for his wise ways and understanding nature. Nice, but not true. Mr Chives was the least competent teacher in the school, probably the world. Try as he might he could not keep order in class. He was about 70 years old, and although far from senile, he often did not seem to be very aware of what was going on in the classroom around him.

Today was the first general studies lesson of the term. Tim and Alex arrived early and sat on the front row of desks. In walked Mr Chives.

"Right!" he said in his bellowing voice " Today we will be discussing business infrastructure. Infrastructure consists of..." and as Mr Chives turned to write on the blackboard a faint bleating was heard from the back of the room. Chives turned to face the pupils.

"Who was that?" he bellowed. Silence. All the boys had innocent faces, "OK. Infrastructure..." and as soon as he turned to write, the bleating started again. This time he ignored it and continued to teach.

"It consists of many things." As Mr Chives warmed to the theme more noises added to the bleating.

"Rreeeeorre," someone started mumbling.

"Bobby!" someone shouted.

"Ogive!" another voice cackled.

Soon Mr Chives could not be heard above the din. He whirled to face them again, "Shut up!" Silence. Whilst Mr Chives faced the class, all the pupils again appeared angelic. Butter would not melt in their mouths, or ears. Pleased that he had restored order, Mr Chives turned again to face the blackboard. As he did many pupils re-commenced shouting and began throwing things.

As the din was reaching a crescendo, Chives faced them again.

"Henley! Shut up!"

"I didn't say anything."

"Henley! Get out!"

"But..."

"Get out Henley!"

"But sir..."

"Get out!"

Alex finally did as he was told. He stood aimlessly in the corridor outside the classroom for a few minutes. After a while he decided to test Mr Chives's legendary forgetfulness. Tim, who was a master persuader, had convinced Alex of this. He told Alex of stories of his lessons with Chives in earlier years. How pupils would enter a classroom, leave by a back door, and return 5 minutes later, apologising for their lateness.

Alex thought he would give this a try. He knocked on the classroom door, "Come in" bellowed Chives from inside.

Alex did so, "Sorry I'm late Sir." General uproar in the class, "Reeorree", "Baaa", etc were heard from the screaming pupils.

"Henley! Go to Mr Gibbs!" shouted Mr Chives.

Mr Gibbs was the deputy headmaster, responsible for disciplining unruly children; his reputation was fierce. Alex had a sinking feeling, and made a mental note not to believe everything Tim told him in the future. He left the class room, and headed for Mr Gibbs' office.

While this had been going on, Tim had been thinking, and at the end of the lesson he approached Mr Chives, "Sir?"

"Yes?" he bellowed.

"Um...well this going to sound strange...but..."

"Out with it boy!"

"Well...er...would you like to become one of Roy's disciples?"

"Get out! Go to Mr Gibbs!"

Tim trudged slowly down the corridor, from the classroom towards Mr Gibbs's office. He'd never been to see the deputy head for punishment before, and did not know what to expect. It did not seem right to be punished for what he had done, but if it was Roy's will then he would accept his punishment. He stopped in front of Mr Gibbs's door and knocked timidly.

"Come in," said a stern voice from inside.

Tim entered. In front of him Mr Gibbs, a rather non-descript man, whose only distinguishing feature was slightly curly hair, sat behind a desk."Ah Timothy. I just had your colleague Henley in here. What is this all about?"

"Er...Mr Chives sent me here."

"And why was that?"

Very quietly: "I asked if he wanted to be one of Roy's disciples."

"Pardon? Speak up boy."

Tim cleared his throat and said clearly: "I asked if he wanted to be one of Roy's disciples."

"What is this nonsense?"

"Well Roy told me to recruit 13 disciples."

"Are you crazy? Who is this Roy?"

"He is brilliant. And...and he takes driving tests for £50."

"Well that is illegal! Are you impressed by criminal behaviour?"

"He's no criminal. He is Roy."

"Listen Timothy. You're not the sort to get in trouble. Forget about this Roy, and get your act together. I'm afraid I am going to have to put you in detention tomorrow. But if your behaviour improves, and you do not run into any further trouble, I'll give you one of these." He opened a desk draw and pulled a badge from it. He showed the badge to Tim. It read: "Well behaved boy".

"Er...that's nice."

"Yes. And if I don't see you in trouble here again, I'll let you have it."

"Thanks. Can I go now?"

***

Another teacher the lads liked was Mr Pickering. At break times they would sit on a bench near the staffroom and each time Pickering walked past they would hum a tune 'bom di dom di dom di dom' it went.That lunchtime Mr Pickering was walking past again.

"BOM DI DOM DI DOM DI DOM," shouted Alex at the top of his voice.

Pickering walked over.

"Who was making that noise?"

"What noise?" grinned Alex .

"YOU KNOW WHAT NOISE! GO TO MR GIBBS!" Shouted Pickering even louder. And Alex did with his tail metaphorically between his legs. In reality he had no tail, and tailless he found himself waiting outside Mr Gibbs's office. Again.

Book of Tim's mum, Chapter 1 Verses 5-7

And Timothy's mum did hold dominion over Timothy's house. And she did scold her children lest they stray from the path of righteousness. And she was happy with her son Ray-mond, but her seventh son Timothy did vex her mightily. It was that Alex boy's fault. And Timothy did tell his mum what had happened that day for he was late because of his detention. And Tim's mum did blame Alex, "That Alexander Boy just doesn't know where to draw the line. I'll bet he'd pull out all the plugs in your bedroom Timothy, given half a chance."

"Yes mum."

"Are you wearing a vest?"

"No."

"Didn't I tell you to wear a vest? You'll catch your death."

As Alex left, Tim asked: "Mr Pickering?"

"Yes?" snapped the still seething teacher.

"Well I've been set a task by Roy..."

"Who is Roy?"

"Well he is a supreme being who is brilliant, and a great driver. But what he wants is for me to recruit him 13 disciples."

"Why are you telling me this?", said a still angry Pickering.

"I...I was wondering if you would like to be one of Roy's disciples?"

"No I would not! I will not be made fun of! Go to Mr Gibbs, and tell him why I sent you!" he shouted.

***

Tim knocked on Mr Gibbs's door. Again.

"Come in".

Tim entered. Again."Ah Timothy. I just had your colleague in here," said Mr Gibbs. Again, "What is this all about this time? Who sent you?"

"Er...Mr Pickering this time."

"Was this something to do with Roger and his disciples again?"

"Roy."

"Yes Roy. Tell me Tim is this some sort of..." Gibbs's face turned red "...relationship you have with this Roy?"

"No!" As he spoke Mr Gibbs's desk started to shake slightly.

"MR GIBBS."

"Yes?"

"IT'S ROY. TIM IS NOT GAY AND NOR AM I. I LIKE THE LADIES."

"Timothy why are you pretending to be Roy by talking loudly and covering your mouth?" asked Gibbs.

"I...I'm not. What about the desk?"

"You pushed it. Why did Mr Pickering send you here?"

"I asked him if he wanted to be one of Roy's disciples."

"I see. Listen I do not want to see you here again. Forget all this nonsense about Roy. You will not find Roy's disciples amongst the teachers in this school, do you hear me?"

"Can I go now?"

"Yes, but you know what this means? You will not be leaving with the badge, I'm afraid." Tim got up and walked out of Gibbs's office. He was glad Gibbs had forgotten to give him another detention, but he was disappointed about the badge. One day he, Tim, would make his own good behaviour badge. That would show Mr Gibbs and all those who laughed at him. Although it would not show them much.

A few moments after Tim left Gibbs's office, there was another knock at the door.

"Come in."

The door opened, and in walked Rastas. He was dressed in a black bin bag with the letters AC on the front.

"Who are you?" asked Gibbs.

"I'm Rastas. I'm a pupil here."

"Why are you wearing a bin bag?"

"It's an Aylesbury Comprehensive blazer."

"It doesn't look like one. Is this something to do with this Roy nonsense?"

Rastas eyes narrowed. He thought about striking Gibbs, but controlled himself.

"Can you kill Roy?"

"What do you mean?"

"Can you kill Roy?"

"I don't even know who he is!"

"Hmmm...Can you kill that pupil who was just in here?"

"No."

"But he stole my lunch money."

"No."

"I'll give you £5."

"No. Now get out of here or you will be in detention all week."

"Can you kill Roy?"

"No."

"Will you join my army to defeat Roy?"

"Hmmm...well I'd certainly be happier not hearing about him any more. Roy does seem to be causing my pupils to behave in odd ways. As a teacher I have sworn an oath to renounce violence. I can put people in detention though, "

"That would be a start" said Rastas, "And if you do this for me I will make you head master of all schools in Aylesbury."

"How would you do that?"

"I can do anything. Watch." Rastas waved his arm and some magician's flowers appeared.

"Wow! OK. What do you want me to do?"

***

The next day Alex was given lines for talking in the library whilst drunk by Mr Derren. Mr Derren did not know he was drunk, at least he did not mention it, but he gave him lines all the same. Alex was drunk at school quite often, drinking home made wine from a plastic bottle.

Tim saw in Alex a soul that needed saving.

They were hanging out at lunchtime, sitting on some steps leading up to the school lecture theatre. Alex looked bored.

"Listen," said Tim, "You don't need to drink so much. I work with a guy called Roy..."

"Oh yeah?" Said Alex immediately perking up. It was always entertaining to make fun oTim's exaggerated descriptions of people and events.

"Yeah his name's Roy..."

"He does sound great," said Alex encouragingly.

"Yeah yeah he is..." the enthusiasm drained from Tim's voice, "Are you taking the piss?"

"No no. Tell me more about Roy."

"Well I feel a bit silly saying this, but he is brilliant. He's got this massive stereo and he takes peoples driving tests for fifty quid."

"Does he have any special powers like the X Men?"

"I thought you'd take the piss."

"No I really believe some bloke who works in a factory, with you, is brilliant," said Alex sarcastically.

"No he's different..."

"You really love him don't you? Have you bummed him yet?"

And then the air began to shake.

"ALEX. IT'S ROY!"

"How did you do that?" Alex asked Tim nervously.

"It's not me it's Roy."

"YES IT'S ME. I AM ROY AND YOU MUST NOT CALL ME A BENDER."

"Why...where... where are you?"

"He lives in Southcourt," southcourt was a council estate in Aylesbury.

"NO! I DON'T LIVE IN SOUTHCOURT. I AM ALL AROUND YOU. I AM EVERYWHERE. I SEE ALL FOR I AM ROY AND I AM MIGHTY."

"So are you there when I'm at home watching TV?" asked Alex, disbelievingly.

"YES. YOU WATCHED BLUE PETER LAST NIGHT."

"Er...so what about when I'm in the bath?"

"I COULD WATCH, BUT I DO NOT, AS I AM NOT GAY. ALEX YOU MUST HELP TIMOTHY FIND DISCIPLES."

"What do you mean? Why should I do what you say?"

"TIMOTHY WILL EXPLAIN WHAT YOU NEED TO DO. YOU MUST DO IT OR THE WRATH OF ROY WILL BE UPON YOU. WATCH THIS," suddenly the stairs they were sitting on started to shake.

"What you'll shake the stairs?"

"NO IT WAS JUST A TASTER OF WHAT I MIGHT DO IF YOU DO NOT OBEY ME."

Alex pondered this for a moment, "Listen you expect me to just start looking for disciples for you for no reason?"

"YES. TIM DID."

"Well he is more impressionable than I am, more willing to be lead."

"More sheep-like." Helped Tim.

"Exactly. Whereas I like to think of myself as rebellious."

"BUT YOU'RE NOT REALLY."

"I...I am."

"THEN WHY ARE YOU DOING THE A LEVELS YOU NEED TO GET A JOB AS AN ACCOUNTANT?"

"How...how did you know?"

"I AM ROY! I KNOW ALL ABOUT A LEVELS. AND ACCOUNTANCY."

"Mm that's an interesting career choice – accountancy," mocked Tim.

"Better than food preparation."

"No it's not."

"ANYWAY, WILL YOU FIND ME DISCIPLES?"

"Go on Alex – it'll be brilliant."

"No."

"THEN I WILL KILL YOU WITH A LAZERBOLT."

"Oh...OK then yes... What's a lazerbolt?" but Roy had gone and the only evidence that he had even been there was the slight shaking of the lecture theatre steps.

"What was all that about?"

"You have to help me find disciples."

"Yeah right!"

"No you do," said Tim angrily, "Or Roy will punish you."

"Oh yeah I forgot. So what do I do?"

"We need to discover disciples for Roy."

"Is this some sort of cult?"

"No. I know it seems strange but...here read this." He proffered a stack of stapled papers that he had pulled from his trousers.

"What's that?"

"It's something I have written inspired by Roy's divine guidance. It's called the Royble."

"Why was it in your trousers?"

"To keep it warm. Now take it home, and read it; then you will understand. But don't lose it, because I don't have another copy."

"If I did lose it, couldn't Roy just magic another copy?"

"I don't know, and I do not wish to test Roy."

"You're mental believing this crap."

"Did you not feel Roy's mighty powers?"

"It was just you with your hand over your mouth pretending to be Roy."

"It wasn't! And what about the steps shaking?"

"Hmmm don't know about that. But it still does not make me believe Roy is magical like David Copperfield."

"The book?"

"No the magician."

"Roy's not a magician; he is divine. We must follow him and worship him and find him 13 disciples."

"You're crazy. Still I will read this tonight for a laugh."

"I'm going to badminton tonight. Wanna come?"

"Nah I have to read the Royble" Alex said smirking.

***

That night Alex was bored as usual. He seemed to be bored, drunk or both most of the time. Now he was sober and bored. He decided to read – probably his favourite pastime.

He pulled something out of his pocket. It was the Royble. He had forgotten all about it despite the fact it was only a few sentences ago and you'd think he would remember the lecture theatre experience, "Tim is such a sucker sometimes," he thought, "I bet he read some stupid book about Roy, like the usual Bermuda triangle, alien spaceman ancestor stuff he reads. I wonder if chickens can wear spacesuits." The last odd thought faded as he started to read the Royble, "The earth was without purpose," he read, "what a bunch of nonsense," but as he read more he started to become interested. Soon he could not stop reading; yes it was all becoming clear. Roy had made the earth and Aylesbury and HE was the one to take peoples driving tests for the reasonable price of fifty pounds. Alex stayed up all night reading the Royble and as soon as he finished it, he immediately began reading it again, but he got bored because he had just read it, so he stopped. Now he knew his purpose in life – it was not to become an accountant, it was to find disciples for Roy. Just as this revelation hit him the doorbell rang. It was Matt and Dave.

"Alright lads."

"Alright," said Dave.

"Wanna come down the pub?" asked Matt.

"No. Listen: I have something to tell you." And after 8 hours of lectures, tutorials and role playing, he had convinced Dave and Matt of Roy's greatness too.

##  Chapter 5. Mungo

Book of Mungo's French Holiday, Chapter 1 Verses 1-4

At the time of harvest Tim spake unto his friends saying "Let's go on holiday to France". And his friends were vexed by this for many did not have enough money nor the inclination. And Tim said to them: "But Mungo is coming on this holiday. Thou will regret not coming for four score years". And there was much wailing and cries of "Mungo's a dick". And one man spoke up. His name was Alex and he said unto Tim: "I will go with you". And because Tim was a good man he let Alex come with even though Alex had smote Tim's mum's lamp that had cost much money (about £5,000 so I heardeth).

And thus it came to pass that these three men did travel to France. And Mungo's beard came too. And Mungo said unto everyone "brrr...Citroen vans...brrr...roofchops". And he was boring.

At this time Tim had a great hunger and did eat some yoghurt. When seeing this Mungo asked of him: "Pissed on yoghurt again eh Tim?" Hearing this Tim knew that Mungo was the number one disciple.

And Tim and Alex did place many things in Mungo's sleeping bag to reward him. They placed things that crawled on the face of the earth and things that swam in the ocean and things that flew in the air and other stuff that we won't go into. And Roy saw this and said "DOES ANYONE NEED A DRIVING TEST?" for Roy couldn't think of anything else to say.

Tim decided to test Mungo for it was Roy's desire, probably. And Tim sent Mungo to the bank (see the Book of Adrian) to ask for 50-franc notes yet telling him the French for "I have a ginger beard". And Mungo passed this test for the bank employee understood him, and Mungo said "shambapoo" for he knew he had done well in the eyes of Roy, and Roy's stereo.

Tim had a great knack for encouraging people to do things. All his friends knew they would most likely be disappointed in the things Tim planned but still would do them, since Tim could convince them of anything. The summer holidays had started, and he was trying to persuade people to go on a French holiday with him. Matt and Dave could not make it: Dave could not get the time off work and Matt had to play video games. Tim had already persuaded Mungo to come, but no one else. He was working on Alex, "It'll be great: Mungo's coming."

"He is? Why do you want that twat to come?"

"He's alright. And he has a beard."

"Well that'll come in handy. What's it going to cost?"

"£215."

"215 quid? For everything?"

"Yeah, bus to Dover, across on the ferry, bus to the coast, then we stay in a tent near the beach. Everything's included, except food and drink."

"Drink is a major expense for me."

"Well you can buy wine for about 70p over there."

"And a franc back on the bottle?"

"Shhhh...We haven't got that far yet. Come on it'll be brilliant."

Against his better judgement Alex said: "OK then."

"Brilliant. I'll book it tonight."

"OK. I can't pay you till next week."

"S'Alright. Give us a check next week. I'll book it for June 16th. We'll go for 10 days."

"Sounds good." It didn't really.

At 4AM on June 16th Alex was up and ready, anticipating a knock at the door so that his parents would not be woken, "Alex hur hur hur" said a voice outside. Alex opened the door. It was Mungo, "Don't you knock?"

"Knock...knock 'er up hur hur hur. Alright Alex!"

"Where's Tim?"

"We're going to pick him up next."

"OK."

"OK 'er up hur hur hur."

Alex was not sure if he was confused because of the early hour or if Mungo was making no sense. He decided on the latter. After picking up Tim the four of them: Mungo, Alex, Tim and Mungo's beard headed for Dover. They parked Mungo's car in a side road near Aylesbury bus station.

"Think it'll be OK here for a week?" Mungo asked nervously.

"Yeah Wilf," said Alex.

They entered the bus station, Tim with his chequebook handy in case of skinheads (see later). But there were none and they boarded a National Express bus to Dover and 6 hours later were on a ferry to France.

On arrival they boarded another coach, this time a French one, and headed for Cap D'Agde on the west coast. The bus was French, and so was the driver, and so were most of the vehicles on the roads. And so were the roads.

Up to now the lads had been silent, except for Mungo's occasional mumblings, the early start not agreeing with any of them. But Mungo could not contain himself at the thrill of seeing many slightly different vehicles.

"See that van over there?" he asked Tim, pointing at an unremarkable green Citroen van.

"Yeah."

"It's got different trim to the ones sold in England."

"Really?"

"Yes. And they have different model numbers..." Mungo continued to talk but Tim had already switched off. Tim got up and sat by Alex who was sitting on his own behind the seat Tim had just vacated.

"What's up?"

"Mungo is boring me."

"What was he talking about?"

"Vans."

"Oi Wilf." Alex poked Mungo through the gap in the seats. Mungo leant over the seat backs, "Tim wants to know more about vans."

"Really? I don't think he does. Tim 'er up hur hur hur."

"No he's right Wilf I do. I just got up to tell Alex coz I know he's very interested in cars." Which he was, "Are Peugeot vans the same here too?"

"Some are and some aren't I think, because I saw a 106 van earlier that was the same as Mickey's van. Do you know Mickey he lives over Southcourt?"

"Mickey 'er up" said Tim.

And so the bus journey passed with much dull van conversation. For it was Roy's command.

At 3:30 pm the bus arrived at the beach/campsite. Their accommodation was a pre-pitched tent with 2 beds, and the floor for a third person.

"Lets draw lots for the floor," said Mungo as Alex and Tim flopped into one of the two beds. One each that is, because they are not gay, honest.

"No lets not" said Alex. And they didn't.

The lads soon fell into a rhythm on the holiday. Each morning they would wake up. Then they would eat breakfast, get irritated by Mungo, eat lunch, take the piss out of Mungo, Mungo would wander off, Alex and Tim would feel guilty and they would find Mungo and go out to a night club or bar and get drunk. Then the whole thing would start again. Lather, rinse and repeat. The gaps in the day were usually filled by the lads lazing in the tent or buying booze or using the campsite's shower block. One day Mungo returned from a shower, while Tim was eating a yoghurt.

"Pissed on yoghurt again eh Tim?" Asked Mungo. After he wandered off that afternoon Alex and Tim took this statement as proof of Mungo's potential to be one of Roy's disciples. As they discussed this over lunch in a cheap restaurant near the beach they noticed the table begin to shake. Then a booming voice said "HE WHO HAS A BEARD MUST BE THE NUMBER ONE." Then there was silence and the table stopped shaking.

"See," said Tim, "Roy wants Mungo to be the number one disciple."

"Not necessarily. If that was him, and we don't know for sure that it was, he could have been referring to...er...a singer with a beard...let's say George Michael, being number one in the pop charts."

"Yes that seems likely," said Tim sarcastically, "I expect he told us so that we could go out and buy lots of copies of Wham's latest single. Besides, George Michael is clean shaven."

"Oh yeah. Ok then...Rolf Harris."

"No. I know what Roy wants and he wants Mungo to be number one."

"OK then he's number one. Whatever that means!"

And Mungo stayed that way until one afternoon in Portsmouth many years later.

Although they were both fairly sure Mungo was the number one disciple, just to be sure they decided to assess some of his disciple characteristics. One day Mungo needed to cash a traveller's check and wanted to know how to ask for 50-franc notes in French. Tim's French was much better than Mungo's so Mungo asked him for advice, "Tim I need some advice. What's the French for I want my change in fifty franc notes?"

"I'm not sure Wilf. Let's see." Tim looked in his bag for his French dictionary. Quickly he looked up 'ginger' and 'beard', "Oh yeah, it's 'J'ai une barbe roux'."

"Thanks Tim. J'ai un barb rous. J'ai un barb rous." A dit Mungo, qui en actualment, a une barbe roux.

"That's it. You off then?"

"Yeah to the bank. J'ai un barb rous. See ya."

A couple of hours later Mungo returned. Tim was in the tent lying on his bed eating a yoghurt.

"Did you go to the bank Wilf?"

"Yeah just in time too: they were just closing. D'ya know there was this Citroen van parked outside and the roof was slightly..."

"Yeah. Did you have any problems?"

"Problems?"

"At the bank?"

"Oh! No."

"So they understood that you wanted 50 franc notes?"

"Yeah no problem. You alright there? Hurr hurr hurr."

"I'm off to the toilet." Tim grabbed a bottle of shampoo as the toilet complex on the campsite housed the showers too.

"Off to do a poo eh hur hurr hurr with your shampoo? Shambapoo! Hurr hur hur."

Tim did not know what to make of this but decided Mungo had passed the test. True the bank had understood him, but the fact that he believed Tim in the first place made him disciple material, and his 'shambapoo' comment cemented his discipleness. Tim felt pleased with his day's work. Truly it was a special day when you discover the number one disciple. But it still sat a little uneasily with him. Was Mungo really Roy's number one, or had they just decided he was, because he was Roy's only disciple? Surely a system to objectively rate disciples would be needed, if they were to be ranked in order of discipilability.

##  Chapter 6. Skinheads at the Bus Station

Book of Aylesbury, Chapter 3 Verse 6

"And it came to pass that Roy would create the wonder that is Aylesbury. And Aylesbury would be the home of wondrous things. There would be two McDonalds and a Mexican restaurant, and many pubs, and a canal, and a council building, and Roy built all these, and saw that they were good.

But when Roy had built, and paid for, these things, he saith unto himself 'WHERE SHALL I PUT EVIL PEOPLE IN THE PARADISE THAT IS AYLESBUR?. FOR EVIL PEOPLE HAVE NO HOME IN PARADISE BUT EVIL PEOPLE ARE PEOPLE TOO.' So Roy thought long and hard, and decided a bus station would be a good place to house the evil, and a good place for buses to live. And Roy did build a mighty bus station. And in this bus station people did catch buses, but also evil people, especially skinheads, did live there in the grime."

A few days after returning from France, Tim entered the 3 Chickens. He never liked this pub at the best of times. It was a working class pub on the edge of one of Aylesbury's mystical roundabouts.

Tim tended to stay out of pubs near Aylesbury's town centre, having heard of tales of sea monsters and skinheads that roamed these pubs. Tonight he had reluctantly arranged to meet his friend Paolo in the pub.

The pub, like most pubs, was very smoky. Tim hated smoking but could tolerate it after a beer or two. The pub was fairly empty with only two tables occupied. Elvis McCartney was sitting at the bar. Elvis was an unemployed mechanic who had been in prison for GBH. Apparently. Tim sat down next to him.

"Alright Tim! How's business?"

"Good. I just got my Viva fixed!"

"Yeah? Hey, have I ever shown you my tattoo?" he rolled up his sleeve showing a tattoo that sort of looked like Elvis. A bit.

"Huh! That's good. Why have you got a tattoo of Liza Minelli?'

"It's Elvis!"

"Oh yeah. Did you do it yourself?"

"Nah! Cost me 10 quid!"

"It's very...rubbish."

"Sod you. Hey Paolo was looking for you. Said he'd be back in 30." Thirty seconds later Paolo walked in, "See".

"Teeeeem! How's it going?" Paolo was dressed in a denim waistcoat, jeans and a flat village people type cap. He and Tim had been friends since childhood. He was the nicest person Tim knew and Tim often told anyone who would listen (which was no one) that there was not a malicious bone in Paolo's body.

"Good Paolo! Got the Viva fixed!"

"Niice! Hey I got new air horns on mine wanna see 'em?"

"Yeah alright". Tim was relieved to have an excuse to leave the pub, even though he had only been there for less than a minute.

Paolo's Viva was parked outside. It was dirty green in colour with large brighter (and clashing) green stripes down the side. Paolo has painted these with some gloss paint left over from his mum's kitchen decorating. He also added a large black "62" on each front door. The car's engine was 1.3 litres but Paolo swore it was a little faster than the normal 1.3 so when he came to sell it he advertised it as a 1.3/1.8. He opened the door.

"Listen" he said to Tim rather redundantly, since a piercing air horn was already blasting a jolly tune, "It's excellent aint it?"

"No. Let's go for a spin."

"OK. Let's go." Paolo said excitedly. And he and Tim climbed into the Viva through its windows. Paolo had welded the doors shut; to 'be like the Dukes of Hazard' as he put it. Neither of them were particularly svelte and this 'cool' entrance became anything but – both of them getting stuck and finally tumbling into the car in an ungainly heap. They both then quickly sat up into their seats and put on 'nothing happened – we're cool' expressions on their faces.

Aylesbury bus station was a hellhole that existed underneath the building that housed Woolworths. It was laid out in a U-shape with diagonal bays on the outside of the U. There was also a central section within the U, for buses to park at, and chat with other buses. Paolo squealed into the bus station, the Viva moving like the powerful machine it wasn't.

"Go Paolo," said Tim laughing.

Pulling on his handbrake, Paolo parked in the centre of the U, sliding to a halt next to a number 48 bus. He switched the engine off.

"See Tim: did you feel the turbo boost?"

The two of them got out of the car and admired the largely drip-free paintwork. Periodically Paolo leant inside and gave his air horns a blast. The passengers on the number 48 bus were becoming increasingly annoyed by this, all except one who watched Paolo and Tim intently.

"Where's Neil? He's usually down here isn't he?"

"Yeah..." Paolo was cut short as someone pushed him from behind. He hit the car's bonnet hard. Tim wheeled round: there were a gang of skinheads, numbering at least 20 according to Tim's later exaggeration. The skinhead who had pushed Paolo started to head towards Tim who ran round the other side of the Viva to escape. The skinhead chased him. Tim dived through the Viva's driver side window and quickly closed it behind him. The skinhead turned his attentions to Paolo who started to run round the Viva whimpering. The skinhead gave up chasing Paolo and opened the Viva's passenger door and got in.

"Please don't hurt me I'm only a little boy" screamed Tim.

"You what?"

"I...I...I love you like my own father." Tim cowered back against the driver's door.

The skinhead laughed and raised his fist.

"I'll write you a cheque for 200 pounds if you let me go."

The skinhead drew his arm back. As he did, Tim quickly wrote and handed him a cheque, "Do you need to see my cheque guarantee card?" Asked Tim. The skinhead swung his fist at Tim's face.

Just before the blow landed, Paolo opened the driver's door and Tim tumbled out onto the bus station ground. Tim ran from the bus station as fast as he could. Which was not very fast. He ran and ran until his lungs were bursting, and he could not be bothered to run any further. He had run for 10 Tim-miles (about a mile) and had stopped in a deserted lane outside a house set on its own. He could not see any skinheads following him but he did not want to wait there in case they came for him.

As he left the bus station, the passenger on the 48 bus descended and approached the skinhead. It was Rastas.

##  Chapter 7. Silence of the Graham

Book of Serial Killers, Chapter 2 Verse 4

"And Graham was red of face for he had quothed much wine. And he did tell everyone who his favourite serial killers were and he did think it funny to say what he would like to do to people with a knife."

Tim did not know whether the skinheads were following him or not. He decided he should not risk fate, and should get out of the area as quickly as possible. But he could run no longer so he decided he would have to hide. But there was nowhere nearby to hide. No trees or hedges large enough to hide even half Tim's belly. The only place where there might be shelter was in the house in front of him. So he knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again. This time he heard some muffled sounds and after a few seconds the door opened a crack.

"Alright mate!" Tim couldn't see who had spoken since the interior of the house was pitch black.

"Hello. Do you think you could hide me from the skinheads who are chasing me?" Tim was desperate now – he had given his last cheque to the skinheads and they were still after him. Chequeless Tim felt that this stranger might be his only hope.

"Yeah come in. Do you like bombs?" With these words the door swung open and the speaker was revealed. It was a man of average height and build who appeared to be drunk. He was dressed in flak jacket and camouflage trousers. He beckoned Tim in. Tim entered the house.

It was very dark inside but Tim could just discern the narrow passage that they stood in. It lead to a door at the back which seemed to lead to several other rooms and pits and things.

"My name's Graham. I like bombs, Clint Eastwood and killing people, but not really you understand."

"What a strange man" thought Tim. Then he remembered how hungry he was, "Tell me Graham do you have a large bucket of ice cream that I can eat?" And so it was that Tim met Graham, potentially one of the 20th century's most notorious serial killers. After Tim had eaten the ice cream he was still hungry and Graham made him some sandwiches out of some special meat that he kept in his basement.

"Thanks Graham. That's really tasty. What kind of meat is it?"

"Er...animal meat."

***

After a few hours Tim decided it was safe to leave Graham's house. Just as he was about to say goodbye he heard a faint voice saying his name, "Who is it?" he asked. The voice grew louder "It is I – Squid: Roy's angel." And Tim saw before him a vision of beauty. A man yet not a man that shimmered with a celestial glow. Tim knew that someone as perfect as this must have been sent by Roy. Yet despite the fact that Squid was the epitome of other-worldly beauty he couldn't help but feel that Squid bore more than a passing resemblance to himself and Roger Melly out of Viz. Tim realised that he was staring in awe at Squid and quickly averted his gaze, but before he did he saw that Squid was dressed in only an ill-fitting very large pair of underpants.

"Timothy".

"Yes Squid?"

"You have found another disciple".

And with those words Squid disappeared and Graham was standing in his place.

"Would you like to be Roy's second disciple Graham?"

"Yeah alright mate. If you give me a hand cleaning up my basement. I spilt a bunch of red paint down there."

Book of Serial Killers, Chapter 2 Verse 15

And Tim did help Graham clean that basement and the paint was not that hard to clean and was more of a dried blood colour. And Tim knew that Roy had made it easy to clean."

"What are your special powers Graham?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well to be a disciple of Roy you need to have at least one special power such as stretch arms. Take Mungo for instance. He has mumbling ability and he can do roof chops. What can you do?"

Graham thought for a moment, "I love bombs",

"Excellent, and I can add to that the special power of appearing to be drunk when not."

***

Meanwhile at the bus station the skinheads were approached by Rastas, and another passenger who had been on the number 48, Albert. Albert was Rastas's Head of Human Resources and as they neared the lead skinhead, he dropped slightly behind Rastas, a look of trepidation on his face.

Before working for Rastas Albert had worked for a large brewery chain, and was not sure he was cut out for recruiting the type of people Rastas needed. At Albert's interview Rastas had not mentioned the standard of candidates their organisation could expect, and Albert now regretted not asking. He had very little experience of recruiting the evil and undead, and had almost come to blows with a kelad he interviewed last week. The interview had started well, but the kelad, whose name was Derek, had become agitated when asked how he would chase Rastas's enemies up stairs.

"Will you join my army?" Rastas asked the lead skinhead, whose name was Gene.

"What army?"

"An army to defeat my most hated enemy, Roy."

"Who is Roy?"

"You will know him when the time is right."

"What is the pay?"

"No pay. Either you are with me or against me."

"Ah...OK then. No thanks."

"If you are against me then fear my wrath."

"Oh...OK"

Albert butted in "Rastas may I have a word?" The two of them huddled together and Albert whispered out of earshot of Gene, "Look we need to change our employment policies." He said, "This month we have not recruited anybody."

"Hmmm OK," Rastas walked back to where Gene and the others stood, "OK The Skinheads. I will pay you..."

"We will pay you a wage competitive in the skinhead industry," finished Albert.

"What about benefits?" asked Harry, assistant skinhead.

"The usual benefits package: pension, life insurance, BUPA and free weapons," said Albert.

"Enough. This talk tires me. Albert sign up these men." And Rastas returned to the Rastas lair.

Book of Taste the Blood of Rastas, Chapter 3 Verse 8

And Rastas brought a plague upon all skinheads in the land of Aylesbury. It was a plague of plague, and the skinheads did die by the thousand. From plague. Soon there were only a few skinheads left and they came to Rastas begging for him to end the plague. And Rastas agreed so long as they did join his fight against Roy. And all the remaining skinheads agreed. And Rastas's army was becoming mighty, numbering a thousand kelads, some UFO spacemen, a few skinheads and a roboman.

After leaving Graham's Tim returned home late and slept soundly, happily knowing he had avoided the skinheads and recruited 2 top-quality disciples. The next day Tim witnessed what he knew to be Roy's first miracle. He was looking for his TV remote control, and could not find it anywhere. He had looked for the it for ages, then he looked under a cushion he thought he'd already looked under, and there it was. Tim knew that by doing Roy's wishes he had been rewarded with this miracle. He had stood up to Olander, and the skinheads (sort of) and had recruited Mungo and Graham, passing all Roy's tests so far.

While he sat watching TV, flicking between channels with Roy's miracle, his mother entered, "Timothy, I have a bought a new lamp. I want you to install it and treat it with great care," she showed it to him.

"What's this button mum?"

"Oh that's a Colonel Tony button. I'm not sure what it does."

Necronomicon Rastas, chapter 1, verse 17

Despite Olander ending his days in Florida gay porn Rastas did command him to be his right hand man, although Rastas is not gay you understand. And Olander did command Rastas's troops when Rastas was out and Olander did help plan Rastas campaign aganst Roy and Olander did help re-design Rastas kitchen for a more modern urban look with free standing cabinets and a polished concrete worktop and a really cute oven.

On set of his latest film Olander was taking a break.

"I'm sick of this Ridley" he said to the film's director, and he stormed out of the building.In the parking lot (what Americans use to park cars in), he noticed a ring of chairs, "I've never seen them before," he thought, "I wonder what would happen if I arrange them into the shape of a pentagram." As he did he blacked out. He awoke in what appeared to be the interior of a cave.

"Hello Olander" Rastas was sitting on his throne in his evil chamber. Olander stood before him, his eyes adjusting to the dark.

"Hello Rastas" He recognised Rastas from the poster behind Rastas's throne. It was a picture of Rastas, with the word "Rastas" underneath.

"I believe you know Roy's chief henchman Tim?"

"Yeah I'm at school with him. Or rather I was: I've just been expelled and I've moved to Florida."

"Not any more. You work for me now. I want you to follow Tim and then kill him. No... wait... follow him and then I'll kill him later."

"Righto! Is there a uniform?"

"Er...wear this." He handed him a black bin bag.

"Thanks." And Olander left with a spring in his step, happy to be rid of Florida and eager to gain revenge on Tim.

***

And Roy appeared in a vision before Tim, "TIM YOU HAVE NOT FOUND MANY DISCIPLES YET."

"No Roy you are right. Where should I look?"

"IT IS NOT FOR ME TO TELL YOU. BUT...OH.SEEK A MAN CALLED BOBBY LUMM. HE IS AN ANCIENT MAN FULL OF WISDOM. HE WILL TUTOR YOU."

"OK Roy. Where does he live?"

"I CANNOT TELL YOU FOR IT WOULD BE AGAINST THE DATA PROTECTION ACT. BUT SEEK YE A WOOD NEAR THE TALLEST TREE IN THE LAND AND THEREIN EXISTS MFI."

So Timothy hurriedly scanned the yellow pages under "tall trees" and then "MFI" and he found MFI, went there and spoke to the foreman.

"No he's not here. Here's his address. Bobby Lumm, 4 A Swamp, Near Aylesbury."

Tim knew the swamp near Aylesbury, but had never been there himself. He has stayed away because of the stories associated with it. Everyone in Aylesbury had heard the tale of Lemon Clement. She had been named by her mother after a lemon she had once eaten. Lemon had drowned in the swamp while trying to rescue her pet cat. It was said that Lemon's ghost could sometimes be seen at the swamp calling for her cat.

So before he left to find Bobby Lumm Tim dressed up nice and warm and took a torch and made a "ghost gun" out of a toilet roll. On the roll he stuck some raffia tassels and wrote "Jesus" on it and drew a cross. It would probably work. Thus armed Tim drove towards Aylesbury swamp. As he got closer mist started to descend. He left the A41 down a dirt road, which ended at the edge of the swamp. Tim parked his car, and got out. Through the mist that hung over the swamp he could barely make out a large neon sign that read "Bobby Lumm". He thought he could faintly hear Lemon's voice whispering "Bobby Lumm's House". Or maybe it was the faint sound of the 250 watt speakers on top of the sign blaring out "Bobby Lumm's House" over and over again.

Tim gingerly approached the house. Through the mist he could see a porch, and on the porch was a rocking chair. In the chair there appeared to be a crumpled figure. There before him sat the wizened form of Bobby Lumm.

"Hi my name is Tim..." Tim stammered "I've come here...well it's hard to explain..."

"Stop. I know why you are here. Do you know I work at MFI?"

"I do. In the warehouse right?"

"Yeah. £60 an hour I get – true as I'm standing here. I was playing cards the other night. I won £700 in one hand. Honest. No really."

"Right. Well Roy has told me to come here..."

"Roy Walker? He's a mate of mine. Honest! I used to write his jokes."

"Well we need to talk. Do you want to go to a pub?"

"Yeah. Three Pigs? They've got a pool table."

"I'm not very good at pool..."

"Nah? I am – top 10 in the country."

One hour later and Tim had beaten Bobby Lumm 7-0 on the Three Pigs' pool table.

"Bit of a dodgy arm. Got it in college. College was great. The best three women in college all asked me out. True as I'm standing here."

"Yeah whatever. Listen would you like to be one of Roy's disciples?"

"Hmmm I have a film shoot this week, with Tom Cruise, Ridley Scott and Christopher Peacock. But I suppose I can postpone it. Ok."

***

At the same time Tim was discovering the disciple qualities of Bobby Lumm, Alex, Dave and Matt had headed into the centre of Aylesbury to see a Dr Feelgood gig. Dr Feelgood were one of the most popular bands in Aylesbury, and had provided the theme tune to the BBC's coverage of the 1977 Aylesbury Olympics. The concert was being held in Aylesbury's largest venue: the Aylesbury Palladium, the famous concert hall that over the years had seen bands ranging from Marillion, to Fish out of Marillion.

Alex, Dave and Matt had been to lots of gigs together. They liked the smaller lively ones best where they could bump into and push the other concert goers in the mass of people at the front of a concert. This was fine at gigs with mosh pits, but could lead to trouble at concerts where people did not expect to be jostled. They were enjoying Dr Feelgood, and bouncing off the other customers when a voice said, "It's not a good idea to push people." It was a glassy eyed dim looking young man who Alex had just bounced off. It was Michael Holton.

"Alright Dave?"

"Hi Michael. How's it going?" Dave had gone to school with Michael, before he started at Aylesbury Comprehensive, "You enjoying the concert?"

"Yeah. Last time come 'ere shagged two birds."

Quick as a flash Alex realised Holton's disciple potential. It was obvious that Michael Holton had never shagged any women ever.

"Where you working now Michael?" asked Dave.

"Working down the council. Thirty grand a year. In charge of seventeen people." Michael lied slack-jawdly.

Alex was excited, as he thought that his was the first time a disciple has been spotted without Tim being present. Since he was worried that Michael Holton's disciple status might not get through Roy's legal department, if indeed he had one, he decided to call Tim, "Tim we've found a disciple."

"Are you drunk?"

"No no. Well yes but the point is we have found Michael Holton who has great disciple potential, but you're not here, so you think Roy will OK it?"

"Don't know. What does he do?" Alex imitated Michael Holton's chief characteristics, including "It's not a good idea to push people."

"Yeah he does sound good."

"Yeah and Dave rates him too."

"Dave doesn't know about Roy does he? Anyway, I'll have a word with Roy." And Tim hung up and dialled Roy on his secret Royphone number.

"HELLO. IT'S ROY!"

"Hi Roy it's Tim."

"I KNOW TIM. REMEMBER I AM OMNIPOTENT."

"Doesn't that mean you have absolute power over all."

"YES."

"So is that how you know it is me who phoned?"

"YES AND I HAVE CALLER ID ON MY PHONE. I MADE BRITISH TELECOM INSTALL IT FOR ME."

And Tim reflected how truly mighty Roy was. With a mirror. After his reflection Tim spoke again, "Roy is it OK for people other than me to find disciples?"

"ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ...SORRY WHAT? I WAS ASLEEP."

"Is it OK for other people to find disciples?"

"YES. BUT ONLY IF THEY ARE FOLLOWERS OF ME. SO ONLY ALEX, DAVE AND MATT. BYE." And all Tim could now hear down the phone line was a mysterious buzzing sound. So now there were four of them to find the disciples, but Tim decided to not mention Roy to Dave and Matt as they would make fun of him. Roy seemed to think they were followers of him, but what if Roy was wrong? Tim banished such blasphemous thoughts from his head. Roy was all-knowing, wise and wonderful, and probably really good at football too.

##  Chapter 8. Parsons

Book of Parsons, Chapter 2 Verse 97

And it came to pass that Parsons was doing a disco at the railway social club for Gary and Pauline's wedding. And Parsons did asketh Tim and Alex to go to the audience and asketh the audience what songs they would like to hear. And he did give them pieces of paper for requests to be written upon. And Tim and Alex did writteth pretend requests on them which in their eyes and the eyes of Roy was good. And they did deliver these false requests back unto Parsons.

"Alright! This request is for Sex Pistols. Bit surprising, arrr, Ok this goes out for all you disco ducks," sayeth Parsons. And the sounds of the Sex Pistols did cause much anguish and sitting down of drunken dancing wedding guests.

On arriving home after the gig Alex decided to call up Tim.

"Hi Tim."

"It's 1 in the morning," said Tim angrily.

"Is it?"

"Yes." He said curtly.

"Do you want to go out for a beer?" Click. Tim had hung up. Alex dialled his number again, "Come on we need to talk about Michael Holton. What did Roy say?"

"It is 3 in the morning."

"Come on. Lets go for a drink"

"Where? It's 1 IN THE MORNING!"

"Roy? Is that you?"

"No, I shouted: I am angry!"

"Sorry but I'm excited about finding a disciple. We can go to Aylesbury Metal Equipment; they are bound to have a band on." Aylesbury Metal Equipment Social Club was a huge entertainment complex to the East of Aylesbury. They sometimes had bands ranging from Fish out of Marillion to Mick Pointer ex Marillion out of Marillion. It was the only all-night venue in Aylesbury.

Click. Tim had hung up again.

Fourteen phone calls later Tim gave up, and arranged to meet Alex at Aylesbury Metal Equipment. Twenty minutes afterwards they stood in Aylesbury Metal Equipment Bar. There was no band on, but there was a disco playing records for the one person on the dance floor, and around 20 others sitting at tables.

The DJ was a slight man with black greasy hair. As the current song ended he said "Allright! Disco ducks. Aylesbury Ducks. Allright! This next one is for all you Aylesbury Ducks; this is Mr George Michael and Careless Whisper. Alright!" the song started and the lone dancer continued to sway.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Tim.

"You mean about tits?"

"No. The DJ."

"What about him?"

"Did you listen to him."

"Yeah, bit of a dick, looks like one too...ah I see. Let's go and have a chat shall we?" They approached the disco, ducking beneath a rope light draped between two large tatty looking speakers.

"Hi" said Tim.

"Hiya."

"Great disco mate."

"Thanks! A bit bloody empty, but there you go."

"Yeah. What is your name?"

"Wilf." It was the same name as Mungo, Roy's number one disciple. Was this a good sign wondered Tim, or would it lead to disciple confusion?

"I'm Tim."

"And I'm Alex."

"Ah like Alex from The Sensational Alex Harvey Band?"

"Er...Yeah just like that. How long you been a DJ then?"

"About 4 years, more or less. Only part time like lads, I work at the 'ospital."

"Are you a doctor?"

"No a cleaner."

Alex and Tim both knew this was an excellent job for a disciple. Wilf2 was showing a lot of promise.

"What are these for Wilf?" asked Tim as he pointed to some slips placed on the front of the disco.

"They're request slips. If people want a song, fill it in,...hey like me mate Phil (he's a DJ too, he's got great equipment), Phil it in ha ha, yes fill it in and I'll see what I can do."

"Ah. Well..."

"Yes you put the song title and the artiste on them."

"OK well..."

"If you only know one, it's not ideal, but I'll see what I can do."

"Yeah, got it. I know, why don't we take some round the bar?

"Good idea. Yes see what the crowd want. Get 'em up dancing if they have the right music. Bloody 'ell." The record had ended, and the lone dancer had sat down whilst they had been talking.

The lads returned to the bar, whilst Parsons hurriedly put on Duran Duran.

As Parsons busied himself behind the decks, the lads wandered round the room filling in request slips. They returned to Parsons.

"Here Wilf we've brought the request slips back," said Alex.

"Allright! Lets see... "Bodies – Sex Pistols"... I see someone else has chosen it too. Controversial but I like it!" He put on Bodies. The one drunken dancer who had got back up for Duran Duran sat down again.

"We'll go and see what other requests we can get."

The lads wandered off and filled in a few more forms. They returned to Parsons.

"Some more requests Wilf."

"Aah..."Too Drunk by the Dead Kennedys". Shame: I've not got that, but I have got 'So What' by the Anti Knowhere League...I'll put it on. Quite a punky crowd this! Allright!"

After a while several people had left the bar. When the song ended Parsons announced "I'm gonna take a break now disco dancers, but there will be plenty more tunes in the Aylesbury Metal Equipment all night party!"

Tim and Alex were still standing by the disco, "Good gig tonight Wilf!"

"Yeah not too shabby. Gonna do some maintenance now."

"On your disco?"

"Ya. I want to change one of me light box bulbs. I've got a 100 watter here. I don't know how to change them. Do you?"

Tim looked at the lightbox. It consisted of a number of different coloured 60 watt bulbs. These flashed on and off in sequence.

"Well you just unscrew them like a normal lightbulb."

"But wont I get burnt?"

"Well...These bulbs get very hot but... when it flashes off it will be cold."

For the next 5 minutes the disco rang to the screams of Parsons as he tried to remove the bulb as it flashed off. Eventually he managed it, "Bloody 'ell that was a bit tricky!"

By the end of the night Tim and Alex knew they have found a disciple almost as good as Mungo. It had been a very successful day: the discovery of Michael Holton and Parsons. They had been truly blessed by Roy.

"TIMOTHY. IT'S ROY." Talk of the devil.

"Yes Oh Roy?"

"WHY ARE YOU OUT SO LATE? YOUR MUM CALLED ME. GAVE ME A RIGHT EARFUL."

"We've found 2 disciples for you today."

"DON'T BLAME ME. GO HOME SO YOUR MUM WILL LEAVE ME ALONE."

##  Chapter 9. Gareth 209

Alex answered the door. It was Tim.

"What?" asked Alex grumpily.

"Good morning to you too!" said Tim too cheerily.

"What time is it?"

"11:15. Do you have a hangover?"

"No. I have a headache."

"Hmmm...and not a hangover."

"No a headache."

"Anyway. Do you want to go and get some Sunday lunch?"

Alex considered the alternatives. Staying in bed to sleep off his hangover or eating hamburgers.

"OK. McDonalds?"

"Sounds good."

"Come in then." Tim followed him into the hallway, "Go wait in the lounge a sec. I just need to get dressed."

"But you are dressed."

Alex looked down, "Oh yeah. Well re-dressed then. These are last night's clothes."

Tim entered the lounge. Todd Faak was lying on the couch, "Alright Tim! Huh faak!".

"Hi Todd. How's the double glazing business?"

"Mustn't grumble mate. I got promoted last week."

"Nice! More money?"

"Yeah a bit and a car allowance. Huh faak!".

"You waiting for Alex?"

"Yeah he's upstairs."

"Huh faak!".

The lounge door opened and Alex came in looking sullen.

"OK let's go. See you Todd"

They left the house.

"What do you think of Todd?"

"I hate him".

"No I meant as a disciple?"

"Yeah well he does say 'hur fack' at the end of each sentence".

"Yeah and he has a slight ginger beard."

"Yeah and no friends. But his job's normal, and generally Roy expects disciples to have unusual jobs. I think. And Todd installs double glazing."

"That is true but he does steal cigarettes". Todd had been arrested for theft after smashing open a cigarette machine in the pub around the corner from his house. He often boasted about the hard time he had done for this, even though he had received a supended sentence.

"Oh yeah. Maybe we've found another".

***

As Tim and Alex trudged towards McDonalds a car pulled up beside them. It was Helmut.

"Hallo Alexander. Watch this." As Tim and Alex watched Helmut reversed his car into another car parked by the side of the road, pushing it several yards down the road, "Come on get in". Tim and Alex piled into the car.

"Let's go to Mungo's Helmut." Demanded Alex.

"OK Alexander." And off they popped. It was only a ten minute drive across town and they made it in 6 minutes with Helmut's 'adventurous' driving, "Which one is Mungo's?" he asked.

"That one" Tim pointed out Mungo's house. There were lights on and a car was parked in the driveway.

Helmut parked outside the house and said "Watch". Tim and Alex looked at each other with resigned looks on their faces. Helmut put the car in reverse and backed up onto Mungo's lawn. Then he wheel spun and slid the car all over the lawn, leaving large furrows, and destroying much of the turf. Then he wheel spun off, laughing.

"Why did you do that Helmut" asked Tim angrily.

"Oh cheer up you know you enjoyed it". Suddenly the grin on Helmut's face turned to a look of horror as another car swerved into their path. Helmut slammed on the brakes and pulled up millimetres short of the other car. It was a police car, "What's going on?" Helmut said quietly. All three of them stared at the police car apprehensively. Slowly one of its door's opened. Out stepped what appeared to be a half man-half metal policeman.

"You are in violation of Aylesbury City Code 337-A Assessing disciples without a disciple licence. Failure to obtain such a licence within 30 days of this warning shall result in death...Hello my name is Gareth 209. What is yours?" Gareth was talking to Helmut's car. So the three lads stepped out of the car.

"Er...my name's Tim" said Tim.

"Hello I am Gareth 209. I am a metal policeman. Will you be my friend?"

"Er...OK."

"But you must get a disciple licence or I will have to kill you."

"Where can I get one from?"

"Aylesbury City Council issues them. They cost £8.75 for a year."

In all the confusion and metal policeness of the situation the lads did not notice Olander's car pull up a few hundred yards away from them. Olander got out and cautiously approached the scene. As he did he saw the lads get back in their car and drive off, "Damn" he thought. He had been following them all day and now they had given him the slip. Suddenly the metal policeman perked up and started to head towards him. Olander froze, "I detect a potential crime," said Gareth robotically, "There is an open beer can in your car. Have you been drinking and driving?"

"No," said Olander, "Would you like some?"

"I am a metal policeman. I only drink oil."

"Why do you drink oil?"

"Isn't that what robots drink?"

"No. It lubricates them. Your drinking oil is like a human drinking blood or a water-based lubricant. Here: try some beer."

"OK," said Gareth.

And Olander poured the beer into Gareth's oil tank, as that is how robots drink.

***

Tim had heard talk of Aylesbury City Council (ACC) Offices but he had thought them a myth: stories dreamed up by parents to frighten their children. In fact his parents had scared him with tales of visits to the ACC and how he would be sent there if he did not eat a healthy dinner. So he decided to call his mum.

"Mum."

"Yes Timothy. Have you got a clean shirt on?"

"Yes mum. You know you used to talk of the ACC offices..."

There was a sharp intake of breath down the other end of the phone line, "Yes what about them?"

"Well I need to go to them and I don't know where they are..."

Stay well away from them!" his mother cried frightenedly, "And make sure you wear a vest too."

"But I really need to visit them."

"Stay well away young man."

"Oh mum! Just tell me where they are."

"Oh alright. Big ugly building in the town centre. You can't miss it."

And so that night Tim ventured over land and sea to Aylesbury town centre. After many hours of travelling he felt he could go on no longer, and was about to turn back. He had eaten all his rations and was eyeing passers-by hungrily. Tim thought it would probably be OK to eat human flesh in order to survive, but it would not be OK just because he was hungry.

"I'll just see what's over this last hill," he thought. With his last ounce of strength he hauled himself up to the top of the hill. And there it was! A gleaming edifice as tall as the eye could see. Its towers reached up to the clouds. Tim half ran, half rolled down the hill towards the building. As he approached he was even more overwhelmed by the sheer scale of it. He walked towards a huge entrance on the south side, where he entered through a huge oak doorway into a small and dingy entrance lobby. There was a man sitting at a desk with the word "reception" on it.

"I've come for a disciple finding licence."

"This is reception. Do you want to see someone in particular?"

"No I just want the licence."

"But this is reception."

"Yes so can't you tell me where to go?"

"No this is reception. We only send you places if you know who you want to see. Hang on..." he picked up his phone and dialled an extension, "Hello? Oh is that Enquiries? Yeah got a member of the public wanting a licence...yeah disciples that's right...where should I send him?...Ok thanks." He hang up, "OK you need to go to Enquiries."

"Which is where?"

The man looked at Tim angrily, "Hold on" he picked up the phone again and dialled the same extension, "Hello. Enquiries? Yes where are you located...OK thanks." He hung up, "They are next door. Over there." He pointed at the only door visible.

"OK thanks," said Tim and he proceeded to head for the door.

"Wait! You need a visitor badge." He handed Tim a large pink triangle, "Pin this on." Tim did and wobbled off to the Enquiries door. He tried the handle. It was locked. The door however was not and Tim went in. The enquiry office was very colourful with lots of self help slogan posters on the walls. He read the phrases on them: "Commitment" "Teamwork", and felt inspired to work committedly in a team, "If only we could have helpful posters everywhere," he thought.

"Can I help you?" asked a man very similar to the receptionist. In fact the only difference Tim could spot was the plaque on his desk which read "Enquiries" instead of "Reception".

"I need a disciple licence."

"You need to go to licence applications."

"Which is where?"

"Not sure. Hold on I'll give them a call. Hello? Licence Apps? Oh hi where are you lot situated again... You are? OK thanks." He hung up, "It's through there." He pointed at the only other exit to the room. Tim went through the door.

A third man sat at a third desk except this time the man was a woman.

"Hello I need a disciple licence."

"Fill in this form" the man handed Tim a form headed "Licence Application". Sorry it was a man after all. Tim took the form, quickly filled it in, and handed it back.

"Thank you," the man said curtly.

"You're welcome." The man took the form and placed it through a slot in the wall. It was snatched by unseen hands. Tim waited a moment hoping for the man to do more but he proceeded to ignore Tim and write in a large ledger on his desk.

"Er..." Tim cleared his throat.

"Yes? Did you want something else?"

"My licence."

"This is licence application. You need to see an application officer first."

"OK."

"Yes well they will call you. Go and wait over there." He pointed to a wall with lots of clutter piled against it and no waiting facilities.

Tim did as he was told. After 37 minutes a man entered through another door. He was much smarter dressed than the other employees Tim had encountered so far, "I am an application officer. Please follow me." Tim followed him through the door the man had entered through.

This room was much drabber than the previous rooms and did not have any useful posters on the walls. There were hundreds of desks aligned in rows, all of them identical. The application officer sat down at one, about 70 desks down and 3 across. Tim followed and stood before the desk.

"Right..." said the application officer whilst leafing through Tim's application, "You want a disciple licence?"

"Yes I've been trying to get one for the past hour but..."

"I see. Well that should not be too much of a problem." He glanced away from the application and up at Tim. A look of horror spread over his face, "Are you gay?" he asked with obvious disgust.

"What why are you asking me that?" Tim asked affronted.

"That pink triangle you have on. It's a gay symbol."

"Oh the man in reception made me wear that."

"So you are not gay?"

"That's correct I'm not gay."

"Good coz I am and I would not wish someone as unfit and, please forgive me for saying this, as unattractive as you to waltz in here and try it on with me."

"I'm not that unattractive."

"Are you coming on to me? It is a crime to sexually harass government employees you know."

"No! I'm not gay!"

"OK great! You've made your point: you're not gay and I am. Right..." he began reading the application again, "It says here that you live in a town called..." and he read with difficulty the next word "Aylesgurg. Aylesgurg? I've never heard of Aylesgurg."

"It's Aylesbury."

"Well it looks like Aylesgurg. Your form is illegible. You will have to fill in an illegible form form."

"Oh Rodney, Son of Roy!"

"You sound upset. Do you wish to make a complaint?"

"No it's just that I've been here over an hour and..."

"Sorry but all blashphemies from clients require us to direct you to the complaint department. Throught the door up the stairs third door on the right. It's for our benefit too."

Bewildered Tim followed the man's directions. This door lead to a small room. In it was a solitary desk. Behind it sat a woman, dressed in a smart business outfit.

"Hi. I've been trying to get a disciple licence for the past hour or so...."

"And you are complaining about that? Licence issuing takes time. There are procedures that need to be followed. Don't you think it's a bit of a trivial problem to be complaining about?"

"Well yes. I did not really want to complain but the application officer sent me here."

"Why?"

"Er blasphemy I think he said. I think he thought I was upset."

"And were you?"

"Well...a bit."

"But not enough to make a complaint?"

"Not really."

"So applications sent you here thus wasting your time."

"Yes I suppose so."

"Right these are grounds for complaint if ever I heard them. Forcing you to complain when you did not want to. OK fill in this form," she pulled a large wad of papers from her desk and handed it to Tim.

"Er Ok." Tim completed the topmost form." "There you are."

"No. All of them."

"But there must be 200 pages there."

"178 actually."

"I have not got time for that."

"You have to. You'd be committing an offence if you do not."

"You're crazy. No I wouldn't."

"Yes you would. Wasting a Council Officer's Time – there's a maximum fine of £4000."

"You told me to make a complaint!"

"Listen. I can make this easy, we'll forget the forms and the £4000 fine if you do something for me."

"What?"

"Well there's an Apps officer that we've been trying to nail for a long time. A Mr Atherton. We think he is on the fiddle but we can't pin anything on him. We'll get him to issue you a licence and we'll see what happens."

"OK" by now Tim would have agreed to anything.

"Good. We'll need you to wear this wire though," she pulled out a wire from a drawer. It was about 2 inches thick.

"How am I going to hide that?"

"Under your shirt. I'm sure there's a lot of room under your large sized clothes."

"But what if he feels it?"

"Are you going to be hugging each other then? Oh," she noticed the pink triangle.

Tim saw her looking at it, "I'm not gay!"

"OK then you wont have any problems then will you? Right here's the plan" and she began to whisper the plan into Tim's ear.

"Why are you doing that" he asked.

"What?"

"Whispering."

"Because it's a secret plan."

"Yes but there's no one here to hear it."

"Ah but there could be. Walls have ears you know. OK so the plan is you go in to his office, entrap him and then we'll arrest him. Simple as that. If you get into trouble say 'Ford Cortina' and we'll come in and get you out of there."

"How am I going to slip 'Ford Cortina' into the conversation?"

"Easy. Say my Ford Cortina is parked outside or something similar. Right Atherton's office is on the third floor. Good luck."

Tim trudged up the stairs to the third floor. After a 3 hour rest he knocked on the door marked "Mr Atherton."

"Come in." Tim did.

"I need a disciple licence."

"My name is Mr Atherton. I am a busy man. I do not have time for your nonsense. There's no such thing."

"There is: Roy told me to get one."

"Who is Roy?"

"He is great."

"Hmm I suppose he does sound great. What is it you want?"

"A disciple licence."

"Let me see..." he pulled a large file marked "Licences" on it from beneath his desk and flicked through it.

"Let me see...disaster licence, d'iscard licence – a

licence required for saying Giscard d'Estang wrong, ah here disciple licence. Hmm I did not know about that. OK you need to fill in form 847A. And take it to the forms department. You can get it from the licence department."

Tim left Ainsworth's office. The complaints officer was waiting outside for him.

"OK. Ready?" She asked.

"I've already been in."

"Damn! I haven't started the tape yet. What did he say?"

"Nothing really."

"Huh...OK well keep the wire on for now."

"Whatever. Can I go?"

"You may go as long as you keep the wire on."

"Yes of course." Happy with his compliance the council lady retreated into the heart of the building. Back into the darkness. The heart of the building. When she was out of sight Tim removed the wire and put it into his pocket.

Eventually he left the ACC building, a sad and wiser man, and the owner of a disciple licence. And a wire.

##  Chapter 10. The Son of Roy

Freshly armed with their disciple licence they decided they needed a break, and that it was time for a holiday. Tim, Matt and Alex had gone skiing. They were going to Livigno in Italy, "It's brilliant" said Tim when asked what Livigno was like by the others. Of course he had never been to Livigno, or even heard of it, before looking in the holiday brochure, but he was a natural salesman. They had caught the 6:35PM from Gatwick that morning and the plane landed in Italy 90 minutes later (or however long it takes), and after clearing customs, the lads were herded into a bus bound for their ski resort. The bus ride was terrifying with much of the roads covered in snow, and the driver executing hairpin bends at speed. But they arrived at the town in one piece at 2 in the morning. They found their chalet, only a few hundred yards from the bus stop, and were soon unpacked, and in bed.

The next day they spent the day skiing or, in Alex's case, watching MTV. After a tiring first day the lads went out for a pizza, and then retired back to the chalet early except for Matt who stayed out eating and drinking. Tim was irritable and when Matt came back waking him up at 3AM, he let him have it.

"What the hell are you doing? It's 3 in the morning."

"It's like the hair bear bunch in here," said Matt, oddly.

This non-sequitur annoyed Tim even more.

"For Roy's sake!" And then Tim hit Matt, and a few punches were thrown back and forth.

"That was like the Kentucky races," said Matt.

***

The lads spent the rest of the trip getting on each other's nerves, spending too much money, and, in Alex's case watching MTV.

The only positive of the trip were 2 recruits for Roy's army: Milko and Hendrich - two of Livigno's top DJs. Both pledged their record playing abilities in the crusade against Rastas's evil. At least that is what Tim, Matt and Alex decided they had said, when they had talked to them when drunk.

***

  1. After the disastrous skiing trip, the lads decided that the best way to strengthen their togetherness, was to have another holiday. Despite the fact that Livigno had resulted in a number of fights, they immediately organised another trip. This time they decided to stay closer to home, believing Roy's powers to be stronger in the UK.

  2. Fortunately Roy had smiled on the lads, for Roy had sent Adrian into their midst. Adrian worked for the same company as Matt did, and Matt had made friends with him, although he was not sure why he had done so, since he did not really like him. He felt deep down that perhaps his friendship with Adrian was Roy's bidding. Soon after befriending him Adrian mentioned the fact that his parents were both executives at Wright Brothers Funcamps, a company that ran several low-class holiday camps, and that they had worked for the organisation for over 20 years. Matt suggested that a holiday for him and his friends (including Adrian) would be a good idea. Adrian agreed, and his parents booked him 2 chalets at a discount rate. He was somewhat apprehensive about the trip, since any bad behaviour would reflect badly on his parents, but Matt convinced him that a group of young men at Wright Brothers were unlikely to behave as anything other than proper gentlemen.

  3. A few days before the trip Tim was watching Fish out of Marillion on television, when Roy spoke to him.

  4. "TIMOTHY!" Tim switched off the programme. He had seen it before anyway: it was a documentary that showed Fish going shopping in some supermarkets.

"Yes Roy?"

"DID YOU ENJOY YOUR HOLIDAY?"

"Yeah it was great!"

"DID EVERY ONE GET ON OK?"

"Yes."

"OH TIMOTHY I KNOW WHEN YOU ARE LYING. I HEARD IT WAS A RUBBISH HOLIDAY."

"Well..."

"DID YOU GO SKIING?"

"Yes it was a skiing holiday."

"CAN I GO NEXT TIME?"

Tim was shocked. Roy, the energy cloud, bag packer and supreme being was asking him, humble Tim, if he could go on holiday with him. He was overjoyed.

"Well...y..yes. We're going to Wright Brothers soon. Do you want to come?"

"HOW MUCH WILL IT COST?"

"Only about £50. One driving test for you!"

"WELL, I'M A BIT SKINT..."

"It will be brilliant. They have all sorts of entertainment, and cheap drinks."

"WELL, I WILL THINK ABOUT IT."

And Roy disappeared, and did not mention the trip again. As a result that night Tim felt a bit awkward when praying to Roy to help strengthen their movement, after the damage it suffered in Livigno.

Despite the awkwardness, Tim still prayed. "Oh Roy with your beautiful face, please make Wright Brothers a good holiday, and thank you for the large amount of food I eat, especially for packing it into bags." And Roy answered Tim's prayers and the Wright Brothers trip went ahead, even though Roy didn't go.

So Tim, Alex, Matt, Adrian, Graham, Todd, Mungo, etc headed to Wright Brothers in a convoy of 3 Vauxhall Vivas. On arrival they went straight to their chalets and unpacked. Alex had packed one T shirt and a crate of beer. He liked to pack light, but usually forgot most things necessary for a trip. He borrowed what he could from Tim, who overpacked, bringing everything imaginable including 18 vests for one weekend.

It was regarded as the done thing to get as drunk as possible, as soon as possible. So 2 hours after unpacking everyone was wasted, and Alex was probably the most far gone.

"Well done for bringing the beer, Alex," said Matt.

"Yes, and a T shirt" added Tim.

***

By 8PM they were all very very drunk, and so headed off to the Wright Brothers entertainment complex. On stage was a stand up comedian, Tim Bentley, and his backing band. Bentley did a comedy/singing routine that was very popular. In tonight's audience were a number of Wright Brothers regulars who had seen him several times, and considered his show the highlight of their stays. After a few jokes his act was flowing and the crowd were enjoying the show, with the exception of the lads' table. The lads were singing and not paying attention to Bentley. So Bentley decided to make them part of his act.

"Oi you lot where you from?"

"Aylesbury," said Matt.

"I thought you were posh. Probably have your tea bags ironed eh?"

"Can I play in your band?" replied Matt.

"Yeah you'd like to play with my band wouldn't you?" Bentley replied.

"Yes, I've got all the tricks."

"Are you wearing a wig?" asked Tim.

"You lot probably put wigs on your tea bags."

"Are you funn-y?" asked Ray-mond, Tim's brother.

"And what do you for a living?" Bentley asked Ray-mond.

"I'm a seis-mologist. And what are you?"

"I'm a comedian."

"But are you funn-y?" asked Ray-mond sarcastically.

The exchange between Bentley and Ray-mond continued for some time. After the show Matt said "I think I got the better of old Wes Bentley."

"But did you?" asked Ray-mond sarcastically.

"Yes I think so. And I'm a better guitarist than the one in his band."

"But are you?" said Ray-mond sarcastically.

"Well I've got the experience."

"But have you?" replied Ray-mond sarcastically.

"I can play better than you," said Matt getting annoyed.

"But can you?" demanded Ray-mond sarcastically.

Tim had been watching Ray-mond all evening. He was wondering whether his own brother could be a disciple? It seemed too good to be true: that someone from his own family could be one of Roy's chosen ones. He called Roy, "Roy?"

"YES?"

"I think I may have found another."

"ANOTHER WHAT?"

"Disciple!"

"WHAT?" There was a pause, "OH YEAH. THAT'S NICE. ANYTHING ELSE?"

"Well he's my brother."

"IS HE HEAVY?"

"Yes he's very heavy. He's a seismologist."

"I SEE."

"Well?"

"WHAT?"

"Is he a disciple?"

"ONLY YOU CAN DECIDE. I'M ON THE TOILET" and with that Roy disappeared from the phone.

Book of Fastest Guitarists, Chapter 9 Verse 3

And Matt did say unto Roy, "Oh great and powerful Roy. Am I the best guitarist?"

And Roy did laugh mightily for he knew that Steve Vai was the fastest guitarist in the world. Apart from Tim's mate Simon.

"Am I better than the Wright Brothers band anyway?" asked Matt.

But Roy spake not unto Matt, for he did not judge his creation's guitar abilities, nor their disciple abilities, nor their true greatness, nor their anti-Royness. These things were for humans to decide, for Roy did give mankind the blessing of free will, because he in his mightiness couldn't be bothered.

After the gig they walked back to their chalet. On the way they all bought a hot dog from a Wright Brothers' hot dog vendor. While he was handing out the hot dogs Alex stole some squeezy ketchup and mustard bottles from the cart.

When they got back to their chalet Alex proceeded to write Mungo in ten foot high letters on the outside of the chalet.

Adrian was already back inside the chalet when he heard the others laughing outside; he went out to see what was so funny. When he saw the ketchup he was furious: his parents' good name was being damaged by this disgusting behaviour. He went straight to the Wright Brothers' security police block.

The security police were renowned worldwide for their fearsome reputation. They had been involved in a number of high profile incidents including the Iranian embassy siege, World War 2, and a big fight at a school. The reputation of the police was largely down to its leader, the dreaded Mr Lairing.

The next morning there was a knock at the chalet door. Matt opened it.

"Is there a Mr Henley here?" It was a Wright Brothers' soldier.

"Alex! They want you." Alex came out, hung over and slumping.

"Morning," grinned Alex.

"Mr Henley are you responsible for the writing on the chalet?"

"What writing?"

"Someone has written Mango. In ketchup"

"It wasn't me. I wasn't even aware there was a language called ketchup."

"No: they have used ketchup to write the word "Mango".

"You mean 'Mungo.'"

"So it was you."

"Er..." Alex thought quickly. If he said yes he would have to leave Wright Brothers a day early. If he said no he would be able to stay.

"Yes." As he said it the Wright Brothers' soldier, who was actually a Captain in the Wright Brothers' Royal Guard, pulled a walkie-talkie from his pocket. He spoke into it, "Restraint squad, enter now." On his signal in rushed 6 Wright Brothers' soldiers who hog-tied Alex, and carried him out of the chalet towards the rear of the camp. They carried him into a foreboding building that was hidden from the main part of the camp, a building that "no one had ever left alive", according to Tim: the head quarters of the Wright Brothers' Defence Department.

They carried him down a corridor, and stopped outside a door, on which was a plaque with the words "Room 102: Mr Lairing's Office and Cleaning Supplies." The soldiers untied him, "Go in, but knock first" said one of the soldiers.

Gingerly Alex raised his hand to knock at the door.

"Come in," boomed the sort of voice that a county standard squash player might have.

Alex entered, and before him, behind a desk, sat a man in his 60s. His piercing eyes focused on Alex, and he kept them on Alex all the time he was in the room, never blinking.

"Listen..." Alex began.

"Sit down" Mr Lairing boomed. Alex sat down and Mr Lairing threw a folder on the desk in front of him. It was over an inch thick, and hit the desk heavily.

"Wh...what's that?"

"That, Mr Henley, is the report on what we are calling 'the ketchup incident'."

Alex opened the folder. He flicked through it quickly. It was 308 pages long. Alex just read the contents page. There was a whole chapter on DNA evidence.

"What do you make of it Mr Henley?"

"It...it wasn't me."

"Silence! I didn't get to be a county standard squash player, and head of Wright Brothers' Security, by believing rubbish like that."

Mr Lairing's gaze bored into Alex, who shifted uneasily in his seat. Mr Lairing did not speak, he just sat and stared, "Can I go now?"

"Silence! You won't be going anywhere soon," barked Mr Lairing, "Now, tell me what your role was in this incident."

"Do you want me to talk, or be silent?"

"Oh you'll talk sonny. No one leaves here without talking. I...play...squash...for...the...county."

"Really?" Alex liked squash.

"Well I used to. Like tea, Mr Henley?"

"Pardon?"

"Do you like tea? I bet you'd quite like a cup now eh?"

"No not really..."

"Silence!" Lairing pulled a kettle from beneath his desk, then a teapot, into which he put two tea bags. He plugged the kettle in, "Well I'm making tea, but you won't be having any." For seven minutes the two men sat in silence while the kettle boiled, well the water in it anyway. Then Lairing poured the freshly boiled water into the tea pot, which was short and stout. He tipped it up and poured it out. Then he added milk, no sugar please, and he drank the tea slowly, all the time staring at Alex.

"Can I go now?" he asked again.

"Like tea do you?"

"No not really."

"What about coffee?"

"Yeah, but I had a cup just before..."

"Silence!" this time Lairing pulled another kettle from beneath his desk, "Oh don't need that. Sorry." Then he pulled out a coffee machine, some ground coffee, milk, cup, saucer, spoon, one of those biscuits they put on the side, serviette, slice of carrot cake and a piano, sorry another spoon. With this equipment Lairing made a coffee and added some milk, and again he slowly drank the drink while Alex watched.

"Can I go now?" he asked for the third time.

"You won't be leaving here any time soon." he reached under his desk, and pulled out a fork, which he threw at Alex, but missed.

"Right I'm going," said Alex, who stood up, walked out and went home.

***

Adrian was summoned to Mr Lairing's office. Timidly he knocked on the door, "Come in" bellowed the voice of a county standard squash player. Adrian entered, and Mr Lairing stared at him from behind his large leather topped desk, "Mr Henley will be leaving us" he said to Adrian: nothing more or less. Adrian said, "thank you," as he quickly left the room. He returned to the chalet to break the news to the rest of the holiday makers.

"Alright lads he's gone", said Adrian as he gave the thumbs up sign, "And not a moment too soon I'd say."

"He can't help it Adrian he has a switch in his head that goes from good to evil" said Matt, "You just don't know what will trigger it. One minute he helps old ladies across the street, the next he goes on a murder spree."

"Alright Matt, I wish he had not come along in the first place."

"Well don't worry" soothed Matt, "They'll probably take him back to Stoke Mandeville for a while."

"Why does he go there?"

"He's in the mental ward. Because he's mental, but only half the time."

"You don't think he'll come after me do you?"

"Nah. Not unless he escapes. You looking forward to the show tonight?"

"I forgot about that. Right I need to get some cash for tonight. Alright lads I'm just going to the bank," said Adrian nervously as he gave the thumbs up sign again.

Matt and Tim knew they had found number seven.

***

Rastas's army had become very large, and as with any large organisation, the size of the army had created a number of problems. Not the least of these was the discontent felt by fighting men and robots sitting idly by. Frustrations manifested themselves in the form of fist fights, and kelad rubber prong fights.

Similarly to the lads, Rastas decided that the only thing that could mend the disharmony in his army was a holiday, for which Rastas rented 45 caravans, loaded up his troops, and drove them around a field for 2 hours. Many of the troops rated the holiday as 'poor', but one found it 'thoroughly enjoyable.'

After recharging their batteries Rastas decided he should drum some discipline into his army, so at 5 AM one morning he assembled them and took them by train to the Rastas Cave. The Rastas Cave combined Rastas's lair, and call centre for his plastic bag corporation, and was housed in a large industrial estate in the North West of England. Any injured soldiers/robots/aliens, or those being punished were sent to the call center, and required to do mundane office tasks. Those that did not have the evilness to belong in Rastas's army were also sent there. Their punishment was the worst of all: forced to answer the phones from 9 to 6:00, with only 30 minutes for lunch, and no sick pay for their first year's employment. Many died from this hellish punishment, but Rastas did not care: his only desire was for his plastic bag empire to grow and fund his plans. He saw the losses as necessary in his fight against Roy.

How ironic he thought that the world's best bag packer, Roy, would be defeated by an empire built on plastic bags.

As Rastas arrived the centre was alive with boredom; thousands of men wearing headsets, sat staring at computer screens. Each would type on their keyboards, wait for an answer, and then deliver the same pitch, "Good afternoon. I'm calling from Rastas's plastic bags. Do you need any plastic bags?"

The call centre workers eyed the soldiers nervously as Rastas raised his hand and all the skinheads, roboman, kelads etc stopped before one miserable looking call centre kelad, "Yes it is £5.99 a month for your plastic bags Sir."

Rastas spoke to his troops, "This is Jeremy. Before he came here he was one of you, but he did not try hard enough on the stairmaster in our gym. Now he will be here...forever!"

"I'm off at 6" said Jeremy.

"Yes... but you will do the job forever. Pay heed men and robots. Train and fight well for me, or this will be your fate. Right now we will get some weapons from the Scientific Weaponry division."He glanced at his watch, "Damn our train goes in 30 minutes."

***

Tim arrived back from Wright Brothers the day after Alex. He popped over to Alex's house to see him.

"Hi Tim."

"Hiya. Is the switch in your head set to good or evil?"

"Huh?"

"We told Adrian that you had a switch in your head, and that you could flip at any time. I think he took it literally."

"Aha! Another disciple!"

"That is what I thought. Number Seven."

"No Eight."

"Are you sure?"

"I think so. Maybe we should write them all down."

"Hmm we'll need a pen and paper for that."

They both stared at each other: it was a Mexican stand-off of laziness. Eventually Alex said, "Alright I'll get one." He very slowly went to his bed room, and returned with a pen.

"Paper?"

"Oh yeah." He walked off again, and eventually returned with a piece of paper.

"Right we've got Mungo, Graham, Bobby Lumm,..." he wrote down the names. As he did the room began to shake.

"TIMOTHY. IT'S ROY!"

"H...hello Roy."

"HELLO. YOU MUST SCORE THE DISCIPLES SO I KNOW WHICH IS BEST."

"W...why?" but the room had stopped shaking. Roy was gone.

"So how do we rate the disciples?"

"Let's score them on a number of categories."

"Yeah. Roy said Mungo should be number one. So one of the categories should be beard I think."

"Yes he has got a great beard. What about odd sayings? He says 'shambapoo'"

"Yes. And job. He is a mechanic in the RAF."

"And general discipleness?"

"Yep. So beard, sayings, job and general discipleness. We'll score each out of 20."

"OK. Right Mungo: beard."

"Hmmm he does have an enormous ginger beard. It's out of twenty right?"

"Yes."

"Hmmm...one million."

"OK." Tim wrote it down, "Sayings. Er...'burrr nothing'"

"Yeah "shambapoo'".

"And he has a funny laugh."

"So over 20?"

"Four thousand. He's doing very well so far isn't he?"

"What's next?"

"Job. He is a mechanic in the RAF."

"Yes and he has a beard."

"Not really a job though is it?"

"No I suppose not."

"700 hundred million."

"Good score."

"Finally general discipleness. Another 6 billion for that. Giving him a grand total of..."

"Hold on what about another category. Then we can work out a percentage more easily."

"OK what about friends? The less friends the higher the score."

"Mungo's got us"

"But we're more his carers. So fifty?""

"I was thinking 67."

"Ok then 4867. That gives him a grand total of...6 billion 701 million 8,867. Percent."

"That will take some beating." And of course it has never been beaten, except for one time in Portsmouth.

***

Time passes. You head west. You see Tim's house. Alex is here, Tim is here.

Alex says "You going tonight?"

"Where?"

"It's Dave's party."

"Oh yeah I forgot."

Dave was having a house warming party. He had left school a year earlier, and had bought a house on a new estate on the outskirts of Aylesbury with his friend, Welsh Bob. Welsh Bob took a lot of pride in his appearance. He wore expensive, but slightly out-of-date clothes, and he had highlighted hair. It was very important for him to present an affluent image, and he once told Tim that he earnt "telephone numbers". In actuality he was not paid particularly well, but felt the need to play one-upmanship with Tim and Dave, both of whom were very competitive. Their salaries had become the main area of competition, and they told ever more elaborate lies regarding their earnings. Tim claimed his part time wages at ADF were more than Dave earned at his full time job. Dave claimed that he was on the fast track to management. Both Tim and Dave knew the other was lying, but Welsh Bob believed every word out of their mouths.

Welsh Bob sold perfume for a large company, but told anyone who would listen that he was the chairman of the company, and was planning a management buyout 'imminently'.

***

Alex and Tim walked together from Tim's house to the Dave/Welsh Bob mansion. They arrived early and Alex started helping Dave drink the beer and wine Welsh Bob had bought for the party, whilst Tim and Welsh Bob compared bank balances. Alex was soon drunk (again).

Whilst the four drank the guests gradually arrived, and after a while the party became quite noisy. There was a knock at the door only just audible above the noise. Alex answered it. It was a short man whose name was Rodney, "Who are you mate?"

"Rodney."

"You can't come in mate."

"Let me in."

"You can't come in."

"C'mon. Let me in."

"You can't come in!"

"Let me in!"

Dave had heard the commotion and drunkenly arrived at the door.

Alex reiterated: "Sorry mate you can't come in."  
Rodney became angry, "DON"T CALL ME MATE. I DON'T KNOW YOUR FACE." He pointed at Dave, "HE CAN CALL ME MATE COZ I KNOW HIS FACE. BUT YOU CAN'T CALL ME MATE COZ I DON'T KNOW YOUR FACE."

The colour had drained out of Alex's face. He realised immediately who Rodney was. He was the Son of Roy, "OK come in then mate." Rodney glided into the room. Welsh Bob was sitting in the corner, "Hello. My name is Welsh Bob. And you are?"

"Rodney mate. How's it going Welsh Bob?"

"Good! I've just got a new job. With a new car."

"Nice."

"Yes and a pay increase. Not that I needed one!"

"What do you do Welsh Bob?"

"I am managing director of a large retail concern."

"He sells perfume." Dave said helpfully.

"I am a managing director," said Welsh Bob angrily, "And what do you do Rodney?"

"I own Aylesbury. I run Aylesbury."

"Ha ha. No really."

"I OWN AYLESBURY!"

"Alright, calm down. Well you don't own my house. It's got an extension and a very large living room. And it's a barn conversion."

"I AM THE SON OF ROY. I HAVE COME TO HELP YOU DEFEAT RASTAS."

Alex could now see the likeness of Roy in Rodney's face. Even though Rodney did not know Alex's face, Alex knew Rodney's face, because it was so similar to Roy's. He went to the kitchen to find Tim whowas standing talking to a man with a large scar on his forehead. He looked like he might be a post man.

"Tim stop talking to that post man."

"Why?"

"Do you know who is in the lounge?"

"Welsh Bob?"

"No. Well yes he is, but so is...Rodney."

"Who is he?"

"He says he is the son of Roy."

Tim stood dumb founded. He was lost for words. Eventually he said "How...how do you know?"

"He said so. And he looks like Roy."

"You mean like an energy cloud?"

"Sort of, but more...his face looks like the vision of Roy in my heart."

"Then let's go see him."

They rushed back to the lounge. Rodney had gone.

"Where is he?" they asked Welsh Bob.

"Who?"

"Rodney."

"The chap who just arrived?"

"Yes."

"He said he had to leave."

"Did he say why?"

"He said he had to run Aylesbury."

"Did he say anything else?"

"Er...I don't think so."

"Are you sure?"

"Er..yes! He said 'bye'"

"It's a sign from Roy."

"Signifying what?"

"Hmmm...I don't know."

"You sure he didn't say anything else?"

"No. Oh hang on he said: 'Go see Colonel Tony on the moon on Thursday.'"

Suddenly the room began to shake, "TIMOTHY. IT'S ROY."

"Hi Roy."

"HI. IS RODNEY THERE? TELL HIM HIS TEA IS READY."

"No he has gone."

"DID HE TELL YOU ABOUT COLONEL TONY?"

"He said to go on Thursday."

"AND TO BRING THE DISCIPLES?"

"No just to go on Thursday."

"HOW MANY TIMES DID I TELL HIM TO SAY: GO ON THURSDAY, AND BRING THE DISCIPLES? WAIT TILL HE GETS HOME. BYE."

After the party Tim went home to sleep, but found he could not. Over and over in his mind he thought about what Rodney had said. How could he round up all the disciples, let alone take them all to the moon? It was all very well for Roy to ask such things, he was omnipotent, but Tim was merely a mortal, how could he follow his Roy's orders? He pondered this again and again, for a full seven minutes, and then his mind wandered onto football, cakes, and ice cream. Could the three things mix? If you went to see live football these days you could get cakes, and ice cream, but you couldn't really eat both at the same time, in a bowl. Tim fell asleep thinking about this, and the next morning he resolved to find an answer. After 3 minutes thought he decided to go shopping, then went home and slept for 2 days. He was awakened by a familiar voice.

"TIM! IT'S ROY! WHY HAVE YOU NOT PREPARED TO SEE COLONEL TONY?"

"Er I forgot. Anyway I am ready, just give the word."

"RODNEY ALREADY SAID TO GO ON THURSDAY, AND I TOLD YOU TO BRING ALL MY FOLLOWERS."

"But Thursday is only three days away."

"YES."

"Why so soon?"

"YOU'VE HAD AGES TO PREPARE. IF I'D ASKED YOU TO PREPARE FOOTBALL AND CAKES YOU WOULD HAVE DONE THAT I'M SURE. NOW YOU ONLY HAVE SEVENTY HOURS...NO SEVENTY TWO HOURS AND IF YOU ARE NOT READY BY THEN A BOMB WILL GO OFF, OR SOMEONE WILL DIE, OR SOMETHING. I WILL LEAVE YOU THIS ELECTRONIC TIME COUNTER THAT COUNTS TIME AND WILL SHOW YOU HOW LONG YOU HAVE LEFT."

He placed what looked like a bomb, with a large red LED screen attached to it, on the floor in front of Tim. The screen was counting down from 72 hours. It read "71:58". Oh no, sorry: "71:55".

"MAKE SURE YOU CONTACT COLONEL TONY, USING THE LAMP, TO CHECK HE WILL BE IN ON THURSDAY. OH, AND SO THAT HE CAN SEND YOU TRANSPORT."

##  Chapter 11. Marillion of Roy

Book of Tim's Mental Cousin "John", Entire Book

"Owright Tim?"

Alex and Tim sat in Tim's living room. Tim glanced at Roy's countdown timer. It had stopped at 44:12. He hit it and it started again, then speed up, the seconds counting down too quickly. Soon it read "00:04", "00:03", "00:02", "00:01" then "00:00". Tim threw it in the bin.

"So we are off to the moon. I've never been there before."

"I knew that. Unless you are an astronaut you are hardly likely to have been are you?"

"Shall we go then?"

"But Roy said to take all his followers."

"Right then we've got to round up all the disciples."

Alex's jaw dropped, "But we'll never get them all together by Thursday."

"Alex, my friend. Remember last summer up on the mountain how we rounded up all the sheep?"

"Er who is asking?"

"Me of course"

"I aint no queer"

"No I'm just saying how good we are together at rounding up sheep, and simpletons are much like sheep."

"How so?"

"Well you tell them to get in a car and they will go in the car. Not the sheep of course you'd have to push them and stuff. But you and I together can get the disciples in a car. Come on let's do it!"

"Is that your plan? Get them in a car?"

"Yes. And I have a feeling that this will help." He pulled out a giant colouring book, and a packet of coloured pencils from beneath the sofa they were sitting on, "All we need to do is give each disciple a different colour pencil and get them to colour in a picture of a train."

"Good idea! "said Alex excitedly. Suddenly the smile disappeared from his face, "Wait a minute" Alex took the pencils and counted them, "Only 8. That's that then."

"You're right. We were so close, but... hang on," Said Tim, "we can get another pencil!"

"You're right!"

***

There was a knock at the door it was Welsh Bob, "Just wanted to tell you the good news."

"Which is?"

"I have a new job. They are paying me telephone numbers Tim. I'm not joking. Telephone numbers. Sometimes I wonder if I am worth that kind of money."

"What are you doing now?"

"I am managing director of a FMCG corporation."

"Fast Moving Consumer Goods?"

"Yes."

"It's perfume again isn't it?" asked Tim.

"It might be."

"Perfume's not FMCG."

"Yes it is. Anyway I'm not sure which car to choose."

"What about a Beemer?"

"A BMW? That's a hairdresser's car."

Tim and Alex looked at each other non-plussed.

"What about a Rover like me?" suggested Tim.

"Ugh!" a look of horror appeared on Welsh Bob's face.

Tim and Alex looked at each other again. They both realized at once that Welsh Bob was one of the missing disciples. Dave had lived with him without ever realising his true potential.

"Well done Welsh Bob. Say...how do you fancy going to the moon?"

"I'm much too busy for that. I have a number of meetings to attend to get me up to speed on the new company."

"OK. Well they can wait."

"Sorry but they can't."

"We'll pay you."

"How much?"

"Er telephone numbers. No... 10 to the power 100 numbers."

"OK."

"Great! Now before we go to the moon we need to round up Roy's disciples."

"No! It's not in my job description. Anyway what does it mean? Who is Roy?"

"There's no time to explain now. Right we need to get some things. Quick lets go to Tescos." And Tim, Alex and Welsh Bob jumped into Welsh Bob's Lada, and screamed away, "I can see why you turned your nose up at a BMW."

At Tescos they jumped out of the car, and hurriedly entered.

"Right we need a lasoo, some butter, er...sheep dogs, a net, some fly paper, and eighteen pots of yogurt."

"Pissed on yoghurt again eh Tim?" asked Alex, "What's that for?"

"To eat."

Quickly they found the items and paid. They went back to Welsh Bob's car.

"Right: to Mungo's house." They drove to Mungo's house and parked on the street outside.

"Right," said Tim, "We need to observe his movements. We'll sit here and watch his comings and goings. Try and build up a pattern. Then we'll throw a lasoo around him."

"Why can't we just lasso him straight away?" asked Welsh Bob.

"Why can't we just knock on his door and ask him?" said Alex.

They did, "Hi Mungo."

"Hur hur hur. Why you got a lasso? Er up."

"We need to go to the moon. Do you want to come?"

"Yeah!" One down.

"Right lets go get Graham. Where does he live?"

"Not sure – he's just moved."

"Oh great. Never mind let's get Bobby Lumm next, we'll get Graham later."

They drove to Lumm's swamp. Bobby was nowhere to be seen, "OK let's try MFI." They drove to MFI. Inside the foreman pointed out Bobby Lumm who was unloading boxes from a lorry.

"Bobby!"

"Hi Tim. I quit here the other day, won 50 grand on the lottery like, but as soon as I quit they wanted me back. Said I could name my price. £100 an hour I'm on. True as I'm standing here."

"Right. Er...do you want to go to the moon?"

"Yeah. Been there before of course. I've got a house there. It's got a really big kitchen." Just to be sure, Tim wrapped Bobby Lumm in fly paper and threw him in Welsh Bob's boot. Two down, "Right: Michael Holton. He works at Insure Your Life I think." Insure Your Life was an insurance company with its head offices in Aylesbury. They drove to Insure Your Life's head quarters, "How we going to get Holton?" asked Welsh Bob.

"Good question. We could observe and use the lasso again," suggested Tim.

"We've not actually used it yet. How about sending in the sheep dogs?"

"Into an insurance company? The kind of people who work in insurance eat sheep dogs for dinner."

"No they don't, but I agree: it is a stupid idea. Wait look there. It's Holton"

"Where?"

"There. In the back seat next to you"

"Oh yeah. Hi Michael."

"Last time come 'ere shagged Welsh Bob."

Welsh Bob turned bright red, "You liar!"

"Anyway," said Tim, "would you like to come to the moon?"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Last time went to the moon, met a moon monster."

"Don't worry there are no moon monsters now."

"OK," three down.

"Let's go see Parsons."

Parsons was home watching the news, "Alright!! 'Ave you seen the news? Ronald Reagan ah...president...Libya," he said incoherently.

"Do you want to come to the moon?"

"'Ave you got me butter?"

Alex gave him the Tescos butter.

"OK then." Four down.

As they started to leave, something on the news caught Alex's attention, "Listen to this lads." He turned up the volume.

"...serial killer. Arrested last week he was released last night without charge. His lawyers released a statement saying Graham would be staying at a hotel in the middle of Aylesbury, and should not be harassed as he is innocent of all charges."

"Wow did you hear that?"

"Yeah. Graham is in a hotel. I wonder why."

"Must be the Tulip Hotel in the Market Square."

"Let's go."

They drove to the market square which was at the heart of Aylesbury's tourist district. Tourists flocked there and stayed in Aylesbury's numerous hotels: the Tulip and one other. The market square was named after the Marillion song "Market Square Heroes", and a number of its buildings had been built by Fish out of Marillion, and Marillion's bass player Pete Trewavas' wheel barrow.

As they neared the Tulip they had to slow to avoid a mob of people, some standing in the road. They were being prevented from entering the hotel by two large security guards. The mob, many of whom carried flaming torches, were waving fists at the hotel, and shouting.

""I don't blame them for not being happy with the Tulip. It's not up to my standard of hotel," said Welsh Bob.

"What are they shouting?"

"It sounds like 'We want Graham.'"

"That's funny because so do we. Do you think they are collecting disciples too?"

"Let's go and find out." They got out of the car, and approached the mob.

"Excuse me, but are you after Graham too?" Tim asked one of the torch bearers.

"Yeah. We're going to kill him!"

Shocked the lads walked away from the mob, and into the pub next door: The King's Pub. At the bar they ordered beers and Tim ordered a chicken.

"How are we going to get Graham?"

"Can't we just walk in the front door?" asked Welsh Bob.

"Did you not see the security guards, and the angry mob baying for his blood?"

"Yeah and some of them had sticks on fire."

"Maybe we can tunnel through from this pub. I'll ask the barman," said Tim, "Excuse me. Can I have another chicken? And is it OK if we tunnel into the Tulip from here?"

"Chicken yes. No to the tunnelling. But if you want to sneak in there, there is an air conditioning shaft in our toilet that passes through into the hotel. £5 a go. You get a map of the shafts and a torch included for that price."

"I've only got £10. So 2 of us can go." He handed a ten pound note to the barman.

"OK heres the maps and torches. The toilets are out back."

"Hang on. Do we need 2 of each? Can't we get one map and torch for less money?"

"Well what if one of you plunges to their death, along with their map and torch?"

"Hmmm. OK. Welsh Bob you and I will go find Graham."

"Yeah and I'll stay here. Drinking. Just in case," said Alex.

"That'll be a big help. OK Welsh Bob let's go." Tim and Welsh Bob headed for the toilet together.

"Tim this is a bit gay, going to the toilet together."

"Well its gayer, going alone and meeting someone in there isn't it? What's wrong with being gay anyway?"

"Well...it's a bit gay."

"I'd say it's very gay. But that is OK."

"Come on." They entered the toilet together. Poofs. Inside they noticed some cubicles, some urinals, a vending machine (probably selling toys or chocolate), and a grate on the wall. They inspected the grate: through it they could see the inside of the hotel.

"I knew that map was a con," said Tim throwing it on the floor in disgust, "Come on." The grate was unfastened and they pulled it off easily. Tim squeezed through, and fell onto the hotel's luxurious carpet. Welsh Bob fell on top of him.

Tim called out: "Graham!"

"Yeah mate," came a voice from round the corner of the corridor they were standing in. Both Welsh Bob and Tim were startled, but they composed themselves and walked towards the voice. As they rounded the corner they saw Graham, standing in his underpants.

"What happened Graham?"

"I lost my clothes."

"Why is the mob after you?"

"I think it's my underpants."

"I think they are quite nice," said Welsh Bob.

"Graham would you like to come to the moon with us?"

"Yeah mate," he said grinning. Five down. They quickly placed Graham in a straight jacket and hockey mask, tied him to a stretcher, snuck him out through the pub, and put him in the car boot with Bobby Lumm.

Tim closed the boot, and spoke to the disciples inside, "Bobby don't give him anything. And Graham don't kill Bobby," muffled laughing.

"Right there's no time to waste. We must get Todd next."

"How?"

"Well we haven't used the net yet. I expect we could use that. But isn't he in jail again?"

"No. His sentencing is not till next week."

They drove to Todd's house, and sat in the car outside.

"I don't think we should try such a direct approach with Todd."

"Why not? It's worked nearly every time."

"Todd's too aggressive. I think if we ask him to come with us, when he's not in captivity, he'll run."

"Right let's get on with it. I'm just going to go and ask him. Come on," said Alex. He got out of the car and walked towards the house. As he approached, something he saw made him return to the car, "He's got a woman in there with him. We'll never get his attention: he only gets one date every 6 years."

"Unless," said Tim, "we can tempt him out. I've got an idea. Quick: to the nearest pub! Or corner shop." They drove like lightning to the nearest pub.

"Wait here," said Tim as he hurriedly entered the pub. After only a couple of minutes he returned.

"No good?" asked Alex, "I know a better one near here..."

"I only went in for these." Tim threw two packs of cigarettes at Welsh Bob, "Sorry Welsh Bob."

"Ah!" said Alex, "They are bait aren't they?"

"Precisely. Quick back to Todd's."

At Todd's they placed the cigarettes on Todd's driveway, rang his doorbell, then ran to hide behind Welsh Bob's car. Welsh Bob was ready, crouched behind his car, holding the net.

Todd opened his door, "Huh faak," he said. He looked around, and saw no one. As he was about to close the door he spotted the cigarettes. "Huh faak," he said again, and dived for the cigarettes. Mid-dive Welsh Bob left his hiding place and swung the net, trapping Todd. Alex and Tim walked over to the net.

"Todd. Do you want to go to the moon?"

"Huh faak, why?"

"It's a long story."

"OK then," six down. Seven if you count Welsh Bob.

"Right Ray-mond next. I'll call him at work." Tim dialed Ray-mond's number, from the executive business phone in Welsh Bob's car.

"Hello. Ray-mond, seismologist."

"Hiya. It's Tim."

"Yes I know. What do you want?"

"Would you like to come to the moon with us?"

"Oh so you are going to the moon?" he asked sarcastically.

"Yes."

"But are you?"

"Yes."

"But are you?"

"Yes, and you are invited. All of Roy's disciples are."

"But am I?"

"Yes," Tim explained to Ray-mond about Roy, the disciples, the Royble, Colonel Tony, Rastas, and football and cakes.

"But....OK," seven down. Ray-mond met them at Tim's house, "Shouldn't Adrian be here?" he asked sarcastically.

"How did you know that?"

"I'm a seismologist."

"Oh yeah. Well can you use your seismic powers to find out where he is? We've not seen him since Wright Brothers. He's avoiding me," said Alex.

"Why don't you look in the Royble?" asked Ray-mond sarcastically.

"Of course!" Tim pulled his copy from his pants, "Wait...damn! There's no index. I know...it will be in the Book of Adrian...Let's see..."Thou shalt not squirt ketchup" yeah yeah...ah here we go. Adrian liveth at..." and Welsh Bob did drive to the address given in the Royble.

Tim got out of the car, and knocked on the door. Adrian's father answered the door, and told Tim that Adrian was in his bedroom. Tim went up to see him.

Adrian was in bed, hiding under the covers. He pulled them back, and smiled at Tim, "Alright Tim!" thumbs up, "I'm just recovering from Wright Brothers."

"Alright Adrian! That was ages ago."

"Yeah, but it still sends shivers down my spine."

"Yeah OK. Say would you like to come to the moon with us?"

"Is Alex going?"

"Er...there's probably a Wright Brothers. On the moon," said Tim ignoring the question.

"OK then."

"Right I'll just blindfold you."

"Is that necessary?"

"I'm afraid so."

Tim ushered Adrian to the car. He motioned to Alex to keep quiet, which he did.

"Right now we've got them all, where can we keep them until Wednesday?"

"What about at your house?"

"No room. What about yours?"

"But they are so messy. My mum would not be happy."

"Maybe if we keep them in a cage and put some straw down."

"A cage is not very humane. We could use a disciple holding pen though."

"What is the difference?"

"Holding pens are much nicer: they have chairs and a bouncy castle and things to keep them amused."

"OK let's make one then and put it in your living room. Do you know how to build a disciple holding pen? I don't."

"No, and even if I did I doubt we'd have time to build one anyway."

"I know let's look in the yellow pages for a pre-fabricated one," he opened the yellow pages, "Let's see. D...Nothing under disciples."

"Hmmm...what about H for holding pens?" suggested Alex.

"H...here we go. 'Honest John's Holding Pens and Disco Equipment. Best Prices Paid...It's on Barrons Lane."

"Let's go!"

They drove to Barrons Lane. Barrons Lane was the number two entertainment destination of Aylesbury. It was a fun mix of industrial units, and houses built near pylons. There were also a large number of casinos, ranging from the tiny "Bob's Gambling Shack" to the eight thousand room "Golden Bingo House" hotel. The Golden Bingo House had hosted many famous concerts, with bands ranging from Mick Pointer ex Marillion out of Marillion to Marillion (without Fish out of Marillion).

Near the gleaming industrial units was a derelict cottage with a small gravel parking area in front. A sign had been cemented into the middle of the gravel area, thus using up much of the parking area. The sign read "Honest John's Holding Pens and Disco Equipment. Best Prices Paid." They entered the shop, and found a mess with equipment strewn everywhere. Mirror balls and smoke machines were mixed in with holding pens. Piles of smaller holding pens teetered on rope lights. Infinity boxes and record decks balanced precariously on inflatable holding pens. Amongst all this disarray a small glass counter could just be seen, behind which stood a middle aged man, with thick glasses. His eyes peered in different directions, and he had a small amount of hair slicked over his nearly bald head.

"Do you sell holding pens?"

"Haart?" asked the shop keeper.

"Do you sell holding pens?" repeated Tim.

"Haart? It's a pole you want?"

"No a holding pen."

"Oi've got those. No thanks."

"No we want one."

"Haart?"

"Why does it say 'Best Prices Paid' on your sign?"

"Coz we have the best prices in all of Aylesbury."

"But it says 'Best Prices Paid,'" said Tim.

"Yes. Oi have the best prices."

Alex Tried: "Yes but why 'Paid'"?

"Does it say that? Yes oi think it does. Dat's right."

"OK. So where are your holding pens?"

"Look oi'm rushed off me feet here. Have a look over there." He pointed to a pile of old looking pens at the back of the shop. Alex and Tim walked over to look at them. They were not impressed.

"They're a bit ropey."

"Yeah pricey too eh?"

"What £1.78? Seems OK to me."

"Yeah but that's for a small one. You'll only fit at most 7 or 8 disciples in there."

"Excuse me...Sir," Tim said to the shop keeper.

"Haart? Are you talking to me? Moi name is John. Honest John dey call me."

"OK Honest John. Do you have any larger holding pens?"

"How big do you want dem?"

."Erm for 9." Tim knew they had only found 9 disciples so far and it was not long until they went to the moon, but he would not let Roy down, and come what may, he would find all 13 disciples, "No...13 disciples."

"What about the one you are looking at? Only £1.78."

"It says 'no more than 7 or 8 people to be held in this.'"

"Is dat not enough den?"

"No 13 is what I need."

"And dat's less than 8?"

"No 13 is more than 8."

"Haart? So it is."

"Yes well have you got a bigger holding pen?"

"Yes! Oi have one for 8 people!"

"OK well thanks. We'll try somewhere else."

"Wait! Oi pay the best prices in Aylesbury. And Oi've got one here." He pulled out a red holding pen from his pocket, "Dis one fits thirteen people."

"We'll take it!"

"It also comes with The Mulligans: Tony, Steve and Deirdre Mulligan free." From the holding pen emerged three giant disciples, each over 8 feet around the waist. They rolled to Tim who pushed them back into the pen.

"Great, what a bonus," thought Tim. It comes with a starter disciple: The Mulligans. He knew now that Roy had sent him here to find the Mulligans and Honest John, "Would you like to come to the moon with me?"

"Da moon? Where's that?"

"You know the moon. In the sky?"

"Ah yes. Oi like it. Oi had a noice meal there once."

"On the moon?"

"Oi tink so yes. Oi remember coz oi had a pint of beer with it. Have you ever tried that stuff? Beer? It's lovely stuff."

"I don't think it was on the moon though John."

"Mebbe not. When youse going to the moon then?"

"Thursday."

"Dis Thursday? Oi don't tink so, I have to run moi shop. Wait oi'm closed on Thursdays. And so is moi shop. Yes oi will go. Can I have a beer on the moon?"

"Yes, if they have any."

"Great! Let's go."

"We will. On Thursday."

They returned to Tim's house, Welsh Bob's car jammed full of disciples. Alex, Tim and Welsh Bob carried the holding pen into Tim's house. They left the other disciples in the car, while they performed their vital work.

They placed the holding pen on the floor in Tim's living room, "Right we have to assemble it." Alex unpacked the pen, and read the instructions, "Congratulations on purchasing your new pen. Place pole A into slot A."

"Done that."

"OK now place tab B into ring B."

"What's ring B."

"Er...it's a ring that has a B on it."

"Is it this?" asked Welsh Bob.

"No that's a pole."

"Try putting that into the slot."

"No that is slot C!" said Alex.

"Calm down. Right what if I pull this." Tim did. Nothing.

"Nothing happened."

"Did you expect it to?"

"What if first we take off all the handles?"

"And the candle holders?"

"There aren't any."

"I think we're nearly done: with a rope or two we could..."

"Nah that's all wrong. Look at the diagram." Tim, Alex and Welsh Bob stared at the diagram.

"We need to start again." After 8 more attempts they finally assembled the pen.

"Right we need to test it. Get in Welsh Bob."

"Why me?"

"You are a disciple. We are not."

Reluctantly Welsh Bob entered the pen, "Now what?"

"Can you see us?"

"No."

"Walk to the light."

"Your mum's £1000 lamp?"

"Any light."

"I can't see the light. Wait there's someone here. Oh its you." Welsh Bob had walked out of the pen.

"It doesn't work!"

"Never mind. Forget the pen, we'll just keep them in the corner of the lounge. Behind the sofa: over there."

***

On Tuesday night Alex, Tim and Dave were sitting in Tim's parents' living room watching Tim's videos on his parents' Betamax. The disciples sat in the corner of the room, colouring in pictures. Every now and again Tim would throw them some chocolate.

The film the Great Escape had just finished on the tape they were watching. After it Tim had taped various TV appearances of Fish out of Marillion, including Fish answering questions, and waving goodbye on Pop Quiz.

"Why did you tape Fish waving goodbye? Do you love him?" asked Alex.

"No I love you" replied Tim.

Alex threw a pillow at Tim. The pillow missed and hit a rather ugly gold-effect lamp, almost toppling it from its place on an end table.

"That's my mum's favourite lamp, and you've broken it!"

"It's alright. It's not damaged."

"It cost 1000 pounds!"

Alex laughed, "No it didn't."

"Well you've broken it now. And Roy said we could use it to contact Colonel Tony and his Battalion on the moon tomorrow to check we are OK to visit, and for him to send us a spaceship."

"How?"

"I don't know," said Tim angrily, "But it doesn't matter now COS YOU BROKE IT!" Tim stormed out of the room. Alex and Dave giggled. The disciples looked confused.

But then Alex felt a pang of guilt for upsetting his friend and followed him out, "Sorry Tim."

Tim started crying, "How will we get to the moon now?" He sobbed, "Roy won't be my friend.

"Listen," said Alex, "Remember Dave Quill from school? "

"Of course. He was in the sixth form when we started school," expounded Tim unnecessarily, since Alex would know this.

"Well he's a professor at Cambridge University now."

"So?"

"Well his area of research is spaceships."

"That's convenient. I bet he could build us a brilliant spaceship to go to the moon in then."

"Yeah that's the spirit. And since he always wore the same red anorak at school, I'll bet he could build a good red anorak for the spaceship to keep it warm." Alex picked up the yellow pages, "Let's see – Universities...here we go Cambridge University...Spaceship Dept." He dialed the number, "Hello? Yes we'd like to see Professor Dave Quill...er in about an hour? OK thanks...bye"

"Great lets go"

"Can't see him till tomorrow."  
"Oh...OK quick let's wait then."

And they did, till tomorrow.

***

On Wednesday they pulled into the Spaceship Dept's car park, "Wait we've left the disciples alone in the living room!"

"They'll be OK."

"But...I forgot their litter tray."

"Alex! What'll my mum say if they mess up her living room carpet?"

"I expect she'll blame it on me. Correctly this time." They quickly jumped back into their car, and headed back to Aylesbury. At Tim's house Tim spun the car round in a hand brake turn, then they headed back to Oxford again. They pulled into the Spaceship Dept's car park again, "We forgot to go into your house when we were in Aylesbury."

"Damn. Let's hope we get back before my mum to clear up. Come on let's go and see Quill."

The Spaceship Department was housed in a mock Tudor building with a large portcullis-like entrance, either side of which were stone pillars with gargoyles on top. The motto "Nous achetons le bateau de l'espace" was carved into the stone above the entrance, along with "AD 1974".

"What does 'Nous achetons le bateau de l'espace' mean?" asked Tim.

"I think it means 'we buy spaceships'. It's almost as if the builders of the buildings did not know any Latin...or French very well either."

They entered the building and found themselves in a small dark room lit only by 2 seven thousand watt floodlights. In front of them was a large desk with a sign saying 'receptionist' on it. At the desk sat an old woman dressed as a witch.

"Are you dressed like a witch for a Halloween party?" asked Alex.

"No I am a witch."

"A real witch?"

"Yes."

Alex and Tim looked at each other, "A real witch wouldn't wear a pointy hat."

"How would you know? Do you think I should remain a closeted witch? Anyway, may I help you?"

"Yes we are here to see Dave Quill."

The witch pulled an ancient looking book from a drawer. Opening it with great care she slowly scanned page after page. Eventually..."Aha! Yes your appointment is... right now. First door on the left down that passage," she pointed to a passage way lit by several 60 watt bulbs.

"Thanks."

They walked down the passage way and stopped at the first door on the left, "Professor Dave Quill, Prof of Spaceship Building and Churches" a sign said on the door. Alex knocked, "Come in." They entered. Before them stood Professor Dave Quill. He was wearing a red anorak: the same one he had worn since he was 15.

"Hi Dave," said Tim.

"Hi Tim. Hi Alex."

"You alright Donald?" responded Alex.

"Listen I'll get to the point. We need you to build us a spaceship."

"Manned or unmanned?"

"Manned."

"Hmmm let me see. A spaceship eh? The USA spends Billions of dollars and takes years to build manned spaceships. How much budget do you have?"

Tim looked in his pockets, "Eight pound seventy."

"Er, we've got some foil if that will help," Alex said, helpfully.

"You're a bit short budget-wise" The professor's anorak was glowing, "When do you need it by?"

"Tomorrow. We need to sail it to the moon then."

"OK I'll see what I can do. Do you like chutches?"

"What?"

"Do you like chutches?"

"Churches? Yes lovely some of them I suppose."

"Good. I like chutches! I like chutches!"

And with the Professor's church excitement ringing in their ears, Tim and Alex went back to their car to drive back to Aylesbury. On the way they scored the disciples and Dave Quill came in, a new entry, at number 12.

"So we are one short. Roy said to find 13."

"Doesn't matter, he won't notice."

"Yeah we can just say the thirteenth disciple is in the toilet or something, if Roy calls, or appears before us as an energy cloud."

***

Olander's video communicator beeped. The video communicator had been designed by Rastas's Head of Scientific Weaponry, Mr Larking. It was a portable device about the size of a small football pitch, which allowed communication via the form of short messages. The messages were encoded by a powerful computer running MS-DOS 3.0, and then sent through space to another similar machine, by special space technology. The received message was displayed on the screen of a television which had to be tuned to channel 8, and if that does not work try switching off the VCR.

The bleeping sound signalled that a message was arriving. Olander turned on the TV. The message read "It's Rastas. Come to my palace now."

Olander switched off the video communicator, placed it carefully in his garden, and set off to meet Rastas.

Rastas's palace had been built by slave labour: the first born male of every family from Great Missenden, had been marched to Aylesbury and forced to build the palace on Buckingham Road. It was magnificent to behold: the flowing lines of its gleaming metal roof matched perfectly its breeze block walls. Three estate agents had valued it and if Rastas sold today for an average of the three valuations, he would make over £10,000.

Olander rang the bell. Rastas answered the door dressed only in some clothes, "You're late," he said curtly.

"I only got your message ten minutes ago."

"I sent it three days ago. That video communicator is rubbish."

"Can I come in?"

"Yes. I'll give you a tour."

Olander stepped into the hall way.

"On the left: down stairs toilet."

"Classy!"

"Yeah. This place is an executive palace. Kitchen through here."

"It's a bit small." Rastas gave Olander a look that withered his soul, "Well I mean...it's compact I suppose."

"Yes it is compact." Rastas quickly showed Olander the other rooms, as time was of the essence. The longer he waited, the stronger Roy and his disciples became.

"Right that's the house. Now down to business. I know amongst Roy's disciples are men that know the art of disco."

This worried Olander. He knew the power of DJs, he knew the sacrifice and dedication such men gave to their order, and he feared them, "The only way to fight a disco is with... an evil disco."

"I know. I called every disco in the phone book, but none of them are evil."

"Have you tried Phil Badd?"

"Is he evil?"

"I think so, he's sort of got a slightly evil name. But more importantly he hates all other discos."

"Good let's go see him. Where does he live?"

"In a caravan, in a field somewhere."

Rastas drove Olander in his pink Viva to Phil Badd's caravan, in a field somewhere. There was a loud noise coming from inside. Rastas opened the door. Phil Badd was inside, sitting behind his disco, "Hi this is Phil Badd." He announced into his mike.

"Do you know who I am?" sneered Rastas.

"The milkman?" asked Phil Badd.

"No. I am Rastas, Dark Lord of Aylesbury."

"Dark Lord of Aylesbury? What does that mean?" laughed Phil Badd.

"Be silent! I need an evil disco to defeat Roy, Tim, Wilf, Parsons and assorted other disciples"

"When?"

Rastas looked at Olander, "Er...June 7th?"

"Let me see." Phil Badd opened the Big Book of Phil Badd Bookings, "Hmm you're in luck: I've not got a booking then. It will be £80 plus drinks."

Rastas and Olander huddled, "We've only got £70."

"OK then, but £70, I want food too."

"OK."

"Fine. I usually get to a gig at six to set up. Where is it?"

"Aylesbury College Mountain. But we need you there at first light."

"Sorry. For £70 I'll be there at six."

"Oh...OK see you at six then."

Rastas and Olander left the caravan, "Let's hope they can wait to fight the battle until 6pm then," said Olander sarcastically, "Some Dark Lord of Aylesbury you are."

Rastas looked at Olander, and then killed him.

"Right Olander now drive me home...oh yeah." Rastas thought that he had maybe been hasty in killing Olander, and so brought him back to life by voodoo.

"Sorry I killed you, but I was angry. Now will you drive us back to the palace?"

"No," said living dead Olander.

"Please?"

***

After dropping off Alex at his house so he could round up the disciples, Tim drove to the nearest supermarket to buy provisions.

"Hello" he said to a supermarket employee.

Silence.

"Hello. I am going on a space journey and I need to buy some provisions for up to fifteen people. Do you have any space food?"

The employee looked disinterested. A pause, then "Dunno. Don't think so."

"OK, thanks." Tim pushed his trolley from the aisle with the employee, down to Aisle 7. which had a sign above, saying: "Sweets, Chocolates, Crisps, Eels."

"Hmm", thought Tim, "I need all those things except eels. I already have eels. Let's see how much chocolate for, let's say, 15 people for a trip to the moon?" He realised that he did not know how long they would be gone."I know I'll play it safe and buy 700 bars of chocolate."

***

Meanwhile at Tim's house Alex had been preparing himself to enter the disciple den (living room). For protection he had a taser in his hand, and had placed a rolled up newspaper down his trousers. He opened the living room door and what he saw filled him with horror. Virtually all of the disciples were sitting around the room, appearing to be a bit thirsty; they had been without water for over 2 hours. Alex stood there for a long moment, and finally managed to speak: "Are you alright?"

"Wouldn't mind a drink," said Mungo.

"Why didn't you help yourselves?"

"Brrr...nothing," said Mungo.

Alex went to the kitchen and made eleven lemon squashes. He went back to the living room and handed one to each disciple. Parsons spilt his.

"Right Wilf, Wilf, Graham, Adrian, John, The Mulligans, Ray-mond etc. We need to pack as we are going to Oxford tomorrow."

The disciples got very excited, randomly jumping up and down. Alex dropped the bombshell, "And then we are going to the moon," silence.

Adrian broke the silence, "Alright! Where?"

"The moon."

"You mean in the sky?"

"Yes."

"How will we get there?" asked Mungo.

"Will we be able to eat space food?" asked the Mulligans.

"I expect so. Now you need to pack..."

"Space sausages?"

"Yes if you want. Now go and pack..."

"Space cheese?"

"What is space cheese?"

"Er..it is cheese for astronauts that floats around in zero gravity."

"Whaaat happens when we go to the toilet?" asked Honest John.

"What?" asked Alex.

"In de space ship oi mean."

"What do you mean?"

"Won't it all float around? Like the cheese?"

"Listen don't worry about the details, just pack."

"Will we have space bread? And, if so, how will the space cheese stay on the space bread?"

"I expect some space butter will stick it on."

"Will we have space plates?" asked the Mulligans.

"Why would you need them?" asked Ray-mond sarcastically.

"If oi've had one too many and I'm sick, what happens to the sick?"

Twenty one minutes later: "...yes, we'll have space chairs, but they will be the same as normal chairs. Yes, space toothpaste will be needed as, no, space food won't float away from your teeth. No, space stamps won't be necessary since we won't be away long enough to send space postcards. OK is that everything covered? Yes? OK so please pack and I'll pick you up at seven."

"Seven space time?"

Book of Scoring the Disciples, Chapter 1 Verse 1

And they realised that X would be a 14th disciple. Tim spoke unto Roy from his heart, "Roy though has asked for thirteen, yet I find many people could be classified as disciples. What should I do? And Roy said "I DOUBT ANYONE WILL NOTICE OR CARE, BUT WHAT YOU MUST DO IS SCORE THE DISCIPLES AND DETERMINE WHICH THIRTEEN ARE MOST WORTHY." Tim pondered this knowing Roy's word was right, yet thinking how could he score the disciples specialness and could he, one man, possibly do such a task alone? And Tim sattath down in his bedroom pondering this for forty days and forty nights. And in those forty days and nights he did eateth many cakes.

The next morning Tim awoke with a start. His phone was ringing. He trudged downstairs to the kitchen. It was 7:38AM. He answered the phone, "Hello".

"Tim. Dave Quill here. I've finished the ship."

"But we only left about...er...18 hours ago."

"Yes. I had one nearly completed that I'd been working on. I hadn't been able to find it inside myself to finish it, but you gave me reason to do it."

"Great! Can we come and look at it?"

"Yes. Come round now."

So Tim hopped into his car, picked up Alex, returned home, got dressed and left for Cambridge. The trip to Cambridge was one of the most terrifying and eventful of their lives: much too terrifying to describe for at least another year. So when they got to Cambridge they bought themselves some ice creams as they felt they deserved them. Alex had a Big feast and Tim had a Big Feast and 800 Cornettos.

They parked in the Spaceship Department's car park and ran into Dave Quill's office. Quill was sitting at his anorak.

"Hello gentlemen. How was your journey?"

"It was terrifying. As soon as we left Aylesbury we saw the most..." began Alex.

"Never mind that now," interrupted Tim, "Where is the ship?"

"It's in the car park."

"We didn't see it."

"You probably parked in the main car park. There's an overspill car park at the back for buses, spaceships and so on. Let's go."

They left Quill's office and passed through several corridors lit by a variety of 40, 60 and 100 watt light bulbs, and they exited through a door to the outside and the overspill car park.

Before them stood a magnificent spaceship, which resembled Thunderbird 1 crossed with Thunderbird 2, whilst Thunderbird 4 watched. Alex and Tim were stunned into silence.

Tim broke the silence."It's magnificent. Does it fly?"

"Yes of course. And it will do over 80 mph, or 8000 in outer space."

"Fantastic. I hate to ask, but did you spend all the budget?"

"Yes."

"OK. Well thanks, this is fantastic. Now we need to come back with the supplies, and the other disciples."

"What do you mean other disciples?"

"Burr nothing," said Mungo, who wasn't there.

"We'll be back this afternoon." Reassured Tim.

Excited Tim drove back to Aylesbury as fast as he could. He screeched to a halt outside his mum's house, "Quick Alex get the disciples." Alex ran into the house while Tim waited in the car. Alex came back with 11 disciples, "Right put the Mulligans in the boot, Mungo on the roof rack, Adrian, Parsons and Ray-mond in the back. Honest John also in the boot, and the other 5 in the boot too." Alex quickly stowed the disciples and got back in the car, "Right Let's go to the moon!" shouted Tim enthusiastically. Silence. Then: "Are we going to the beach?" asked a generic disciple.

"No we are going to THE MOON!".

"Oh," said Parsons, "Are we there yet?"

Tim drove as quickly as he could back to Oxford; while Alex threw fish to the disciples to stop them talking.

They arrived at the Spaceship Dept car park (the one out the back for buses etc) and Dave Quill was already there, pointing at the spaceship. He let out a cry of dismay, "Oh my god!" he shrieked.

"What is it Dave" asked Tim. But then he saw it. In letters over 6 inches high someone had written 'Poof's Spaceship' on the spaceship's body work. It was the second of Roy's miracles, but a bad one, so probably not a miracle then, in fact it was the opposite of a miracle.

"We'll have to abort the mission," said Alex.

"No." Tim had a defiant look in his eye, "Roy commanded us to go to the moon, and go to the moon we will. Alex give the disciples cleaning implements. We are going to clean this spaceship!"  
And Tim, Alex, Quill and the disciples set to work cleaning the obscenities from the ship. After 7 hours of scrubbing only one faint letter "p" was left.

"That'll do won't it Tim?" asked Mungo.

"No! We need the ship to be clean. Keep scrubbing."

Four minutes later they had finished, just as it started to rain.

"Ok. No time to spare," said Tim. Who made him in charge? "Let's get on board." He climbed up the space ladder into the space ship, and Alex and Quill followed him up. Then the disciples followed, two at a time, just to get out of the rain. Hurrah, hurrah.

Tim found himself in a small corridor. At one end was a door marked "cockpit" at the other a door marked "cabin". Alex and Quill entered the corridor too.

"Right. Quill round up the disciples and take them to the cabin. Alex come with me."

Alex and Tim entered the cockpit. There was a large glass screen, in front of which was a control panel which consisted of a knob marked "speed" with the settings "slow" and "fast", and three levers. There were three stools next to the panel and Alex and Tim sat on one each.

"OK lets go," said Tim.

"But we don't know how to fly it. Quill!" shouted Alex. Quill arrived in the cockpit.

"Yis?"

"How do we fly this ship?"

"It is simple: the knob is for speed and the levers are directions, horizontal and vertical and the larger one is the handbrake. And that's it really."

"OK. How do we start it?"

"Push the start button."

"Where is it?"

Quill looked at the control panel.

"It's missing! It should be next to the levers. I'm sorry I was finishing up late last night, and I forgot to include it."

"So what can we do?"

"Well we can bump start it, same as a car. Put the speed on slow, and release the handbrake. We're parked on a slope so we should start to roll down and the engine should fire."

Tim turned the knob and released the handbrake. Slowly the ship began to roll slowly picking up speed. Suddenly the engines burst into life with a roar.

"OK now what" asked Tim.

"Best to hold on. In about 5 seconds we will automatically take off."

"But we are pointing at the buildings. Don't we..."

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH. The engines caught and the ship accelerated blindingly fast towards the moon. Alex and Tim fell off their stools. Quill stayed on his by gripping it quite tightly. The ship shook violently and the noise of the engines was deafening, but after a few seconds the engines quietened and the shaking stopped.

"It is fully automatic flight. You just enter the coordinates in the satnav in the cabin. I did it last night. It's fairly reliable."

"What do you mean fairly reliable?"

"Well sometimes the satnav gets confused. You know what they are like."

"I don't even know what a satnav is," said Alex.

"Me either," said Tim.

"Of course not, sorry. It is something I have invented to make space flight less of a drudge. I'm trying to sell it, but there does not seem to be much of a market. Anyway look out of the window."

Tim and Alex turned and saw the moon, they could just make out a series of grey buildings on its surface.

"That must be Colonel Tony's base," said Tim, "by the way you seem to have come with us Dave. Is that OK?"

Quill began to panic, "No I have left my anorak behind!"

"No you are wearing it."

"Oh yes. Then I'm happy to be here."

Sometime later the spaceship docked at the moon landing area like in Star Wars. After repressurization, or something its doors slid open, and the small group of twats stepped out into the moon battalion base. There was a lot of activity; a large number of Roy's space soldiers were busy either performing routine tasks, or sitting in deckchairs, some with handkerchiefs on their heads. A small group of solders approached Tim and the disciples, "Tim?" asked one of the soldiers who was a sergeant. Not that it matters.

"Yes that's me."

"Come this way – Colonel Tony is expecting you."

Tim and the brave disciples followed the sergeant in single file. He lead them through Corridor 43, then Corridor 17, then Mezzanine 4, then hallway 8, then corridor 6, then passage 4b, then corridor 9, then subsection 4 and onto the nerve centre of the base. The lighting in each of the rooms was by strange space light bulbs. The wattages of these bulbs were something never seen on the earth: 62, and 107 watt bulbs!

The nerve centre was a large room with a table in the middle, over which four figures were hunched. The largest person turned to the new arrivals.

"Tim?" he said in a booming voice. Colonel Tony was over 6 feet tall with blond hair and blue eyes and a beaming smile that made everyone who saw it feel instantly at ease, until they saw his missing left eye. Colonel Tony was dressed in the uniform of Roy's Seventh Army, all black with a large pink sash.

"That's me"

"Welcome. I'm Colonel Tony. And welcome to you seven dwarves too."

"They are thirteen disciples actually." Corrected Tim.

"OK. Listen I know Roy wants us to help you fight Rastas's army and that is what we are planning right now. You see this map." He pointed to a large map on the table, "It's a map of Aylesbury. We think Rastas is planning on attacking down the Oxford Road past Ken's Cattle Factory. So, unfortunately we won't be much help because we are Roy's reserve battalion ON THE MOON."

"Well can't you leave the moon?"

"We could...but what if the moon was attacked?"

"Well you could come back."

"It's not that easy."

"It isn't?"

"No. It's not."

"Isn't it?"

"No."

"I see."

"But what we can do is help you with armaments. Captain Allen here will take you to our arsenal." They followed the Captain to the arsenal by a route too boring to describe. On entering the arsenal all the disciples were dumbstruck by the vast array of weapons. There were space tanks, and superguns, and lazer cannons, and fighter planes, and space destroyers.

"Wow" said Alex, "We could obliterate Rastas with this little lot."

"Here is your weapon," the Captain handed Tim a knife.

"Is this it? What about all this other stuff?"

"That's it. But that is not just any knife. That is Wayne, The Knife of Roy. Wayne is one of Roy's blessed objects. Be careful with it – it has magical powers and a sharp blade. Oh and a corkscrew on the back. Now we must return to the Colonel."

Disheartened they trudged back to the nerve centre where Colonel Tony was studying a piece of paper. He looked up and greeted them with a smile, "Ah good men and women. I hope you are pleased with Wayne. He was recovered by Roy from the plains of France at the Great Battle of Leclerc from the body of the great French Knight, Monsieur Bricolage. Some say Roy himself keeps Wayne under his pillow, but obviously not at the moment. Wayne's powers are mighty, but take great care when using Wayne. He must never spill the blood of a virgin."

"Virgin 'er up," cackled Mungo.

"Nor must he be used on the 7th night of the 7th month."

"July 7th you mean?"

"Yes. And you must never place him in a washer of dishes."

"Do you mean we mustn't use Wayne to stab someone who washes dishes for a living, or we must not put him in a dish-washing machine?"

"Er...I'm not sure. Best to not do either. But I have been a poor host, let me take you and the 7 dwarves to our restaurant for a banquet, and tonight we will dine like Kings, for tomorrow your training begins."

"Training?"

"Yes. Roy has asked me to turn you into killing machines. Is that not what you expected?"

"Not really..."

"Hang on," Colonel Tony consulted a clipboard, "Yes, here we go: 15 killing machine training sessions, paid for by Roy himself."

***

That night they slept in the Accommodation Block which housed the quarters for all the moonbase staff, and a creche where Tim and Alex could leave the disciples during the day if needed.

The next morning the disciples and Tim and Alex were woken at 6:30AM by Captain Allen, "Right! Everyone up!"

Bleary eyed the group quickly dressed. Allen walked them to a moon transporter that was parked outside the Accommodation Block. The transporter was very much like a bus; the only difference being "moon transporter" painted on the side. A brief ride down a tunnel to the north side of the moonbase took them to the training ground which resembled a leisure centre sports hall, right down to the court markings on its parquet floor.

The group disembarked from the transporter, "OK I'll be training you today said Allen as he eyed the disciples before him, "First..." his gaze stopped on Honest John, "You are wearing your pyjamas."

"Go back and get changed John," said Tim.

"OK," said John. He went and sat in the transporter.

"Just walk back John."

"OK," John walked back.

"We'll wait till he comes back," said Allen. Twenty Five minutes later John arrived back, still in his pyjamas.

"Sorry oi got lost. Oi went to Mars I think."

"Mars?"

"Yes there were some spoons and plates and stuff."

"You mean the kitchen?"

"Dat's roight."

"Right let's get on. This training will be tough. You will go through hell and back. When i have finished with you you'll wish you were dead."

"Do we get a certificate at the end?"

"What?"

"Do we get a certificate like to show we've done the training?"

"Yes, you'll get a certificate."

"Can I hang the certificate on me wall?"

"Yes."

"Do I get one too mate," asked Graham?

"Yes."

"Alright! And me?" asked Adrian.

Through gritted teeth Allen replied "Yes you all get certificates that you can hang on your walls. OK. Right first I will show you how to strip a weapon. Take one each," he pointed to a large khaki crate, full of assault rifles, "Be careful: they have live ammo." The disciples headed for the crate and Honest John picked up a rifle and fired it. The bullet just missed Captain Allen.

"Careful!" he shouted. Then Parsons picked up a gun, and also fired at Allen.

"Damn it. Here I'll get the weapons," he handed a weapon to each disciple. They stood in a line, facing Allen.

"Right,." as he spoke a fusilade of shots erupted around him.

"Sorry," said several disciples.

"Right forget rifle training. You'd only kill each other." He collected all the rifles, and placed them back in the crate.

"Now we'll do grenades, but i will hold the grenade," he said as he pulled a grenade from his tunic.

"So this is a grenade. You pull the pin, count to 3, and throw it."

"Like a fish?" asked John.

"No not like a fish. Have you got it, it's very easy? You," he pointed at Todd, "How would you use this grenade?"

"Huh...faak?" he looked blankly at the grenade.

"No? What about you?" he pointed at Parsons.

"Ah...bloody 'ell. Do you pull the pin?"

"Good and then?"

"Ah..right. Do you put the pin back in?"

"I tink I know," said John.

"Go on," said Allen.

"Count ta tree, then throw it like a fish."

"Close enough. And what do you do if a grenade is heading towards you?"

Bobby Lumm raised his hand, "I'd say to me mate I'll bet you 4 grand it misses us. I would, true as I'm standing here. Four grand: a day's wages for me."

This sort of thing went on all day, but by the end of the training the disciples all got their certificates, which they could hang on their walls. They were now as ready as they would ever be to fight Rastas.

After a gruelling day's training of stupid people Allen was glad to finish.

"Right thanks for your participation. I'll give your certificates to your guardian. Can you all please fill in these assessment forms so we can get some feedback to help improve our course." He handed out the forms. The Mulligans ate theirs, Parsons ran away from his, most of the others stared at theirs blankly. Allen did receive one response that suggested the training was a bit cliched.

After the training the group returned to the accomodation block on the moon transporter. There they packed, and said goodbye to their new (imaginary) friends. In the short time they had been there, they had made the moonbase their home. John had drawn a picture of a house on his bunk bed, and written "mi moonbas" under it using a green crayon. But the paradise of Aylesbury beckoned, and so they headed home.  
As the plucky band made their way back to the spaceship many of them wondered how the forth-coming battle with Rastas would turn out. They knew the fight would be arduous and long, but to a man they believed in Roy's dominion. They knew he would watch over them, and help them succeed. The course they had completed, and the certificates, which they could hang on their walls, showed Roy was looking after them. Knowing this, they left the moonbase in good spirits, joking and laughing.

"Knock knock."

"Who is there?"

"Hello mate."

"Helloo mate who?"

"Haaaart?"

They arrived back at the spaceship, got into it, and took up their stations ready for lift off. Suddenly a figure appeared from beneath a large sheet in the corner of the control room. It was Gareth, "I sentence you to death," he droned pointing at Tim who was in the captain's stool.

"Why Gareth? What happened to you? You used to be a good metal policeman."

"Robocop," mumbled Mungo.

"Do not talk. I must execute you." And Gareth 209's retractable bazooka emerged from his holster, "Prepare to be scared....sorry die," said Gareth clumsily. Then there was a screeching sound followed by a big clicking noise, and then nothing happened.

"What happened?" cried Tim.

"Brrr...nothing," said Mungo.

"I think it is his fan belt," said Dave Quill, who was skulking in his anorak.

"Can you fix him professor?"

"But won't he kill you if I repair him?"

"Oh yes. Well... make him good first."

"Yes. I think I can repair him. Let me see..," Quill peered closely at Gareth 209's metal chest. He felt carefully along the line where his metal pullover met his metal trousers, "I thought so. This is a 209 model metal policeman created by the Americo Company of Detroit, Michigan, America. I've never worked with one before, but they are very similar to earlier models, and the ZX spectrum. I think there is a release catch here somewhere, " he rummaged in Gareth's metal pockets, "No. It must have been removed by whoever made him evil."

"Can't you fix him then?" asked Tim.

"Yis. I do like chutches!"

"No: I said 'Can't you fix him?'"

"Oh. Yes I can. It is quite a delicate machine, so I must ask for silence while I work," then he extracted a large crowbar from his anorak, and wrenched open Gareth's casing, "See. He is now open," Quill fumbled in his anorak again, and pulled out a rabbit, or at least it appeared to be a rabbit, "This is my Metal Policeman Analysis Kit, which I have often used with Robomen, that is men that have been robotised. I pray it works with Gareth...Oh no sorry that's my rabbit. Hang on," he felt some more in his anorak, and this time pulled out what appeared to be a Metal Policeman Analysis Kit. Quill quickly analysed Gareth, "Ah, " he said, as he read the dial on the Policeman Analysis Kit, "The analysis says he needs fixing. I will retire to the ship's lab, and fix him while we return to Earth."

"Good. Here help me put him on the Mulligans, and we'll roll him back to the spaceship."

The disciples rolled Gareth into the ship's science lab, and placed him onto a table. Quill carefully restrained Gareth using a metal policeman harness, "OK you can leave me now."

Everyone left, and Quill took off his red anorak, "Yes you go too anorak."

The anorak hesitated, then reluctantly trudged out of the lab. Quill knew his faithful anorak would be hurt by this, but he thought it might get in the way of the delicate work that lay ahead of him. If his anorak's feelings were hurt, so be it, there would be plenty of time to make things better later: he made a mental note to wear his anorak to a chutch after all this was over. He liked chutches!

He began a thorough examination of Gareth 209. He had plenty of time: it was a long journey back, and the ship would pilot itself most of the way.

The lab had more advanced software than the Metal Policeman Analysis Kit, so he booted the ship's diagnostic computer and attached it to Gareth's serial port. After 30 seconds the screen displayed "Metal Policeman – Broken: Error 6."

Quill consulted his copy of Metal Policemen Unleashed. It said Error Code 6 meant a metal policeman was broken. Just as Quill had thought: Gareth 209 was broken. He ran some further diagnostics: Gareth 209's gyro motor was reading 104, and his evilness polarity had been reversed. Quill knew evilness polarities often reversed without user intervention: it was a serious bug that Americo had thus far ignored.

But Quill felt that rather than it being chance, Gareth's evilness had been switched on deliberately. He switched Gareth back to good. Happy that this would stabilise Gareth's goodness, he was still concerned by the gyro motor's reading of 104, as he had never seen a reading above 87 before. One hundred and four was far too high. Quill quickly removed the motor, carefully undoing the four screws that held its cover in place. He placed the motor in a Faraday bag to shield it from electromagnetic interference. He then very carefully hit it with a hammer, put it back into Gareth, and refastened 3 of the screws fixing the cover. He then hit the cover with the hammer , and replaced the fourth screw. He started Gareth up: nothing. Realizing he had put the motor in backwards, he unscrewed it, took it out. Hit with a hammer a few times for a laugh, and replaced it once more. He finished re-assembling Gareth and nervously switched him back on.

Gareth's metal eyes opened, "I detect a crime: you are wearing a red anorak. Prepare to die," he raised his gun at Quill. Then Gareth spluttered, his eyes opened and closed, and he lowered his gun, "I am Gareth 209, metal policeman. Who are you?"

"Professor Dave Quill."

"Hello. I am here to assist you and control crime. Would you like to report a crime?"

"Not today thanks."

"OK. Right," Gareth looked at his metal watch, "I'm off down the pub then."

Pleased with his work, Quill opened his Big Book of Chutches to relax with for the rest of the journey.

At that moment Tim's voice came over the intercom, "Metal Policemen and ladies and gentlemen, please return to your seats, and put your seat belts on. We are about to land near a church!"

"I like chutches!" thought Dave.

Tim and Alex strapped themselves into their stools in the cockpit. Honest John walked into the cockpit, "Oi can't figure out this belt thing. Can you come help?" They quickly unbuckled themselves, and followed John back into the main cabin. None of the disciples were strapped in, Todd was holding both straps in his mouth, Parsons was hitting his with a pen, and the other disciples were wandering around the cabin. Tim and Alex rapidly herded the disciples back into their seats, buckled them in, and gave each a toy to keep them amused. They then raced back to their stools just before the spaceship touched down.

Tim unbuckled himself and went to Welsh Bob's seat, "Can I have the training certificate folder please?" Tim had asked Welsh Bob to look after the training certificates before they left the moonbase.

Welsh Bob gave it to him, and he returned to his seat to open it. Inside was a stack of killing machine training certificates, each one providing proof of a particular disciple's successful completion of Colonel Tony's course. But scrawled across each were the words "Poof's certificate". Seeing this Tim quickly closed the folder, but not before Honest John had caught a glimpse of the defaced certificates.

"Dat says 'Poofs' certificates'. Oi'm not a poof....Am I?" hearing this, many of the disciples started crying and wailing. And they also gnashed their teeth. "Oi'm so upset, oi've gnashed me teeth," said John.

"It's just like the space ship graffiti all over again."

"Who could have done it?" asked Parsons.

"I...I don't know" said Tim, visibly shaken "Welsh Bob did you see anything suspicious?"

"No."

"It was you wasn't it Welsh Bob?" accused Parsons.

"No. My job description does not include "defacing of certificates".

"But you looked after them!"

"Only because Tim was too lazy. I didn't touch them."

"You traitor! Grab him!"

"Yes, grab him!" screamed the Mulligans.

And all the disciples rushed towards Welsh Bob as one: Honest John grabbed Welsh Bob's legs, and Bob toppled over. Parsons joined in and also took hold of his legs, and then so did Todd. Eventually all 12 disciples were holding onto his legs.

"Quick his arms are free! Alright!" shouted Adrian with a thumbs up sign. As he made the thumbs up sign, his grip on Welsh Bob's legs was weakened, and then he released them entirely. Welsh Bob also released his own legs, thus leaving only 10 disciples bravely hanging on, but the remaining disciples were too strong, and Welsh Bob lay motionless on the floor.

Thinking quickly Adrian grabbed Welsh Bob's arms. Seeing this, one by one the other disciples let go of Welsh Bob's legs, and grabbed his arms too.

"Quick his legs are free! "shouted John, who let go of Welsh Bob's arms, and grabbed his legs. All the other disciples gradually swapped from arms to legs again. After about 4 hours of this swapping between limbs, Welsh Bob was subdued.

"Make him walk the plank."

"Keel haul him," both these suggestions were rejected, as they had no plank, and did not know what "keel haul" meant.

"Let's kill him den," said John.

"OK," said the other disciples, one at a time.

"Wait!" it was Tim, "You cannot kill Welsh Bob. He may be innocent."

"Den lets kill him den."

"No John, if he is innocent that means someone else is to blame."

"Who? Let's get them!"

"It was Welsh Bob," said Graham.

"Ah lets's get him instead den," said John.

"No! Let's just banish him for now," reasoned Tim, "Then, when we have defeated Rastas, we will sort this matter out. Go now Welsh Bob."

"I will go, but you will be sorry. I am a winner, and I would have given 110% for this organisation. Goodbye." And Welsh Bob left, never to be seen again. Until later.

Welsh Bob left the spaceship, and as the others descended from the ship via its gang plank, they saw Welsh Bob's car wheelspin away from the car park.

"He's gone," said Tim sadly.

"Yeah. I've got a feeling we'll see him again before too long," said Alex as they wrapped up the disciples, and placed them in Tim's car.

Later (but not the later when Welsh Bob reappears), Tim, Alex and the disciples had tea at Tim's house, followed by a nice bath, and an early night.

##  Chapter 12. A bit before the Battle of Roy vs Rastas.

Book of Great Driving, Chapter 3 Verse 1

And so it came to pass that Roy summoned Tim unto Mount ADF. And Roy said unto Tim: 'TIM YOUR PEOPLE DISPLEASETH ME', "What do you mean oh brilliant and great Roy who is brilliant and great and takes driving test for 50 pounds?' asked Tim. 'THEY LIVETH THE LIFE OF ANTI-ROYS LIKE TONY OLANDER'. And Roy gave unto Tim a tablet made of Stone. And Tim placed this tablet into Mungo's boot. But Roy told him to read the tablet and Tim saw that it said on the tablet: I AM ROY AND THESE ARE MY 11 COMMANDMENTS, INCLUDING ONE BONUS COMMANDMENT):

1. DON'T FORGET THAT ROY IS GREAT.

2. DO NOT WORSHIP FALSE ROYS EVEN IF THEY ARE BRILLIANT.

3. TAKETH NOT THY OWN DRIVING TEST.

4. IT'S NOT A GOOD IDEA TO PUSH PEOPLE.

5. IF THOU SQUIRTS KETCHUP ON CHALETS THOU SHALT CLEAN IT UP.

6. NO SHOWERS IN FRANCE BEFORE NOON.

7. EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED.

8. RESPECT THY PARENTS AND THY PARENTS 1000 POUND LAMPS.

9. SMALL WEIGHT, LOTS OF REPS.

10. THOU SHALT NOT STEAL KEYS.

11.DON'T GUUUUIILLPP.

And Tim took Roy's laws and showed them unto his people. Many of the people did not follow the laws, and they were smote by Roy, apparently.

Rastas had become impatient with Olander. He had entrusted the planning of attacking Aylesbury to him, and things were not going well, "I've called this meeting to see how things are progressing on the attack plans."

"Well, as you know, we've got Phil Badd on board. And we'll attack down the Oxford Road."

"OK. And what else."

"That's as far as I've got."

"IT"S BEEN 6 WEEKS AND THAT'S ALL YOU'VE COME UP WITH?!"

"You sounded like Roy then. Yeah well...I've had some time off..."

"Time off? How? You've already had all your holiday for this year."

"Paternity leave."

"We don't give you paternity leave."

"Yeah you do: it's the law now. I am entitled to four weeks unpaid."

"I did not know your partner was pregnant."

"No I had the baby myself – a miracle."

"Where is this childling?"

"He's outside. Do you want to see him?"

"OK," sighed Rastas evilly.

Olander left and returned with a sinister looking man.

"Could you not find him?"

"No: this is him. His name is Jimmy."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Olander nodded at Jimmy and pointed at a kelad standing near by. Jimmy walked up to the kelad, and killed it with a single karate chop blow to its metal head.

"Hmmmm...impressive. And he's your son?"

"Yes. He is 4 weeks old. Isn't he lovely?"

With that Rastas nodded at Jimmy and pointed at Olander. Jimmy walked up to Olander, killed him with one flick of his wrist, and then started crying.

"Good work Jimmy. Here have this dummy."

And the dummy calmed Jimmy, and Jimmy became Roy's new right hand patricidal killing man.

***

In the middle of that night Rastas was awoken by Jimmy's crying.

"What is it baby Jimmy?"

"We need to attack Roy. We need to attack him hard, and we need to do it now."

"Do you want your bottle?"

"No I want to take the battle to Roy. Let's get him."

"OK. What do you think of the plan to attack down Oxford Road?"

"Don't matter where, he's going down."

"OK, so how about tomorrow?"

"Let me at him."

But Rastas remembered he had a hair appointment tomorrow, "How about the day after tomorrow?"

So Rastas and Jimmy agreed that they would attack Roy the day after tomorrow.

***

As soon as Rastas and Jimmy had decided they would attack in two days, Tim awoke with a start. Before him stood Squid, "Timothy," said Squid.

"Shh you'll wake the disciples. Yes Squid what do you want?"

"Tomorrow you must go to Aylesbury College Mountain. There you must make a fortification, and wait for Rastas's attack."

"Why are you in your underpants?"

"Because I am Squid: Roy's angel."

"OK. How does Roy know that is when Rastas will attack?"

But Squid had gone, oh no there he is, "Roy knows all. He is everywhere, he is wise and wonderful, he is great and small. And he can take driving tests..."

"Yes I know, for fifty quid."

"I wish you and the knobs well, brave Timothy," and Squid had disappeared.

***

The next morning Tim awoke early, fed the disciples, and got dressed. As he dressed he realised that one of the disciples was missing, but which one. He counted them to make sure. Only 10, so two were missing. Yes, but we know Welsh Bob's gone. Oh yeah, so one plus Welsh Bob is missing. But which one? It must be Welsh Bob thought Tim. No we've gone through that already. Was it that fat one? No the Mulligans were there. John, yes, Graham, yes, Todd, yes, Quill...it was Quill who was missing. Tim checked in the Mulligans' mouths. No sign of him; he was gone.

Another one gone. How could he face Rastas with such a weakened force? Yet he knew Roy would provide, and they would still triumph no matter the odds. He knew his role was to keep the disciples together, and so he had to be strong. If he showed any fear in front of the disciples it would only make them run around in circles bumping into each other.

But Tim was to find out that more problems had befallen him. Gareth 209 was flashing, turning in circles, and saying "nee nar" over and over, and Quill was not around to fix him. In Quill's absence it fell to Mungo to maintain Gareth. Mungo, who had undergone fixing metal policeman training whilst a mechanic in the RAF, examined Gareth. He was badly damaged: his left arm was no longer detecting crime. Gareth's components were very fragile and he had had many problems as Aylesbury's first metal policeman. Some of the disciples had doubted his worth to their mission. They pointed out that Rastas, for example, had been completely undetected by Gareth.

Mungo started frantically trying to fix Gareth, "They have different metal policeman in France brrrr hur bur nothing." He was pouring over Professor Quill's blueprints, but could not make head or tail of them. He soon realised that his RAF training did not equip him to work on something as complex as Gareth.

"I know I'll steal a new Gareth 209 from the police," Mungo thought.

"How is it going Wilf?" Tim was worriedly watching Mungo's progress.

"Going er up!"

"What?"

"Nothing burr."

"Listen we need to leave soon. We're going to camp on Aylesbury College Mountain tonight"

"OK I'll catch you up. Up 'er up."

"OK. Make sure you are there as soon as possible."

"OK. I may have to make it tomorrow morning."

"Well make sure it is the crack of dawn."

"Crack burr nothing."

So that night Mungo sat outside Aylesbury police station in his sleeping bag (brrr nothing) with a flask of coffee, and a beard. He surveyed the police station through binoculars. Suddenly a figure loomed in his vision. It was Olander, no hang on he's dead isn't he? It was Jimmy.

"Hi," said Jimmy.

"Hi...," began Mungo cautiously, " 'er...up."

"Are you thinking of robbing that place? You should be careful, it's full of police."

"No...burr...it was you."

"My friend, I'm not planning on going in there. Mind if I keep you company while you plan?" Before Mungo could answer, Jimmy sat down on the grass beside him.

"I'm not going in there either. Nothing."

"No? Than why are you staring at it with binoculars?" Jimmy was weighing up whether he should kill Mungo there and then. He knew he was Roy's number one disciple. Gareth had been reprogrammed by Rastas IT department, and had been sending video back to Rastas and Jimmy letting them know the disciples' every move. Killing Mungo would be a huge blow to Roy's plans, but Jimmy was wary of Mungo's beard. He knew if he attacked Mungo his vicious ginger hairy chin would vigorously defend him. So for now he decided to merely incapacitate Mungo, to keep him from joining the others at the battleground.

He pulled a bottle from his pocket and offered it to Mungo, "Drink?"

Mungo took the bottle, "Thanks." He took a big swig.

Mungo licked his lips. He had never tasted anything so wonderful before.  
"Do you like it?"  
"Yeah. It is nice!"  
"Good. Drink it all up."  
Mungo did as he was told. As he mumbled, "up 'er up", a pleasant sensation came over him. His legs started to feel a little shaky.  
"Wow! What is this stuff?"  
"It is a very powerful drink, first drunk by the Vikings. It is so strong that it was banned for nearly 50 years. There are many tales of its hallucinogenic properties. Tony Hart is rumoured to have drunk it before inventing morph. Spiderman tuned into a spider after drinking it. Some say "My Family" was written under the influence of it. It is called...shandy. It contains nearly 1% alcohol by volume. That drowsiness you are feeling will soon become a deep sleep. And you won't awake for over 2 days – too late to help your precious Roy!"  
"No! You evil..." But it was too late. The powerful intoxicants in the shandy had made Mungo very slightly tipsy, and then he blacked out.

Book Of Roy's Sacred Objects, Chapter 1 Verses 15-16

And Timothy did look in Earth Records one day, and did find a glorious object that was called "The Power and Glory Album". And Tim did buy the album and he did show it to Roy. And Roy saw that it was good for it havveth soft rock ballads on it. But one day Tim did moveth house, and when he unpacked he did want to play The Power and Glory Album. And he searched high and low, and for forty days and forty nights, yet findeth not the record. And Timothy in his anguish did cry out "Oh Roy why hast thou forsaken me? I cannot find the Power and the Glory album. Can I borrow your copy?"

And Roy did tell Timothy that it was a test, and he must find the Power and the Glory Album. But Timothy had looked everywhere, except the Internet. So he looked on the Internet and there were about 5 Billion Power and Glory Albums, but not the one that was truly brilliant.

"DO NOT GIVE UP TIMOTHY. I KNOW YOU WILL NEVER FAIL ME. NOR I YOU."

And Tim did then remember that he had left The Power and Glory Album in his car. And he knew once more that Roy spake the truth, and if, for example he had to fight loads of robots etc in a battle, he would not be afraid as Roy would protect him in the same way he had helped him find his record.

To celebrate Timothy went to put on The Power and Glory Album and listen to its glorious majesty, but it had been nicked, as he had left his car unlocked.

##  Chapter 13. Battle of Roy vs Rastas.

As Tim, Alex and the disciples trudged up the foothills of Aylesbury College Mountain, they passed a phone box, in which the phone was ringing. Tim answered it, "Hello?"

"Tim, thank goodness for that. It's Welsh Bob."

"Welsh Bob. How are you?"

"Great! Fantastic! But I'm calling because I'm considering a career realignment..."

"You've been fired? That was quick!"

"Well...it's more that the company decided to go in a different direction. A direction I was uncomfortable with. Do you have anything going?"

"Yeah. Come and fight Rastas up Aylesbury College Mountain."

"It's not very appealing."

"You can be managing director...of fighting Rastas up a hill."

"Hmmm...Ok then. I'll see you there."

"Hold on. How did you know I'd be passing this phone?"

"I've just been calling all the phone boxes in Aylesbury randomly since I got fired...I mean changed direction."

***

That night Tim, Alex and the disciples made camp on top of Aylesbury College Mountain. Welsh Bob joined them, and soon organised a board meeting, and an induction session for all the disciples.

Nestled in a thicket of trees for protection, they erected barricades around their camp. To their west three Tescos' trolleys prevented attack from Southcourt Plains. To their East Deirdre Mulligan blocked advancement from the River Fair. To their rear (south) they had placed Wayne, stuck on a stick with some glue. Their only unprotected side, and the side they expected to be attacked from was the north. They reasoned that this was the direction that Rastas would come from, as attacks in any of the other directions would entail crossing quite a busy road. To keep morale high while they waited, Welsh Bob placed framed prints of inspirational messages on each fortification.

Once fortified they waited, and had perhaps their last meal. They sat around the campfire, the smell of value fish fingers wafting through the heady air, their faces light by the fire's glow. There was a hush as if they were afraid that speaking would bring home the reality of their situation. Tim broke the silence, "I know what we are facing tomorrow, and what it could mean, but I feel whatever happens I am proud to have known you all..."

"Baby!" shouted Bobby Lumm laughing.

"As I was saying, I am glad to have known you, and shared the love of Roy with you all. And even..."

"Tim?" It was Honest John.

"Yes Honest?"

"Oi've got a disco to do tomorrow night at about 7. So will I be home by then?"

A tear welled in Tim's eye, "I hope so John. But even if you fall tomorrow..."

"Oi'll get up again."

"That's the spirit. But if you don't make it old friend..."

"Make what?" asked John.

"I mean if your numbers up..."

"Number er up," said Mungo. If he had been there, and not asleep elsewhere.

"Listen if any of you die tomorrow I won't forget you."

"We can't die Tim," said Tony Mulligan.

"Why not?"

"Because we are immortal."

"No you're not. Remember: that was a film you watched called Highlander where Sean Connery was immortal..."

"Tim which of my numbers is up?" asked John.

"Sorry?"

"You said if moi numbers up. Which one?"

"I meant if you don't survive tomorrow..."

"Oi'm hardly likely to die at the disco am I?" laughed Honest.

"But you might die at the battle."

"Which battle is dat?"

"The one with Rastas."

"Ah!" it was becoming clear to Honest what fate lay in store for them, "Tim if I fall on me numbers up or something, can you give me wife this." From a small leather picnic hamper he took eight bottles of champagne which he set aside. At the bottom of the hamper was a small piece of paper which he gave to Tim.

Tim read it, 'Carpets 20% off' had been written on it using a felt pen, "What is it?"

"It's a voucher fer 50% off carpets."

"You have written 'Carpets 20% off' on a piece of paper. That won't get you 50% off, and in fact it won't get you anything off, because you wrote it yourself."

"Can you give it her anyway? It would mean a lot to me. Carpets are expensive and 50% off means half off oi think."

"Alright John! Can I borrow that voucher?" asked Adrian, as he gave the thumbs up sign.

"Alright Adrian," replied John, "Of course you can. When oi die you can have it after me wife. Alright," said with thumbs up.

"Alright Adrian," said Tim with his thumbs raised, "Why do you want it?"

"Alright Tim. I'm buying a carpet," more thumbs up.

"Tim," it was Alex, "Shall we run away and leave this lot here?"

"Alex old friend, we must do what is right in our hearts. I prayed to Roy last night and he said..."

"ALEX, " it was Roy, "YOU MUST KILL RASTAS."

"That's just you pretending to be Roy, Tim".

"No: it was Roy."

"No: it was you raising your voice and putting your hand in front of your mouth."

"Well anyway. We have to kill Rastas, or he, some zombies or skinheads etc will kill us."

"Tim?" it was Parsons, "Can I go to the toilet now?"

Tim went to sleep that night with thoughts of Mungo entering his head. Where was he and where was his beard?

Big Book of Carpets, Chapter 8 Verse 3

And Roy did come before Tim once more as an apparition.

"TIMOTHY!"

"Yes Oh Roy."

"I AM DECORATING MY HOUSE."

Tim had heard of Roy's beautiful celestial palace, and visions of giant fountains and gleaming spires filled his head.

"OK Roy. That's nice."

"YES IT WILL BE. I AM REPLACING THE CARPETS FIRST."

"That's good."

"YES IT IS ISN'T IT. AND I WAS THINKING..."

"Yes oh wise and beautiful Roy?"

"WELL...CAN I USE HONEST JOHN'S CARPET DISCOUNT VOUCHER?"

And Timothy was vexed once more for he kneweth that the voucher was made up by John. And why did not oh great and powerful Roy knoweth this? And he did have the thought that maybe Roy was a bit thick. But Tim knew such thoughts were sent to him by Rastas to deceive him. So he spake thus unto Roy: "Yes you can have it for a fiver."

And Roy did give Tim five pounds which he spenteth on chocolate.

The next morning they awoke at half past eight, had breakfast, brushed their teeth, and put on some nice clothes. Tim strolled to the camp shop and bought the Daily Mail, which he read whilst keeping an eye on where he expected the attack to come from. He turned and looked at the ragged band of 10 disciples he had with him. It made no difference if Mungo and Quill showed up or not: fourteen against thousands was no match even with the disciples' special powers. Even if there were only 1,000 in Rastas's army the ratio was 71.43 to 1. So even if each of the 12 disciples and Tim and Alex killed 71 of the enemy there would still be 6 soldiers left. And what if they had tanks? Or bombs?

And then all of a sudden Tim woke up and realised it had all been a dream. And then slightly less suddenly Tim realised that actually he was day dreaming about dreaming and the battle was reality. Even the battle to end all battles could not completely overcome Tim's short attention span.

Unease at the battle to come was spreading amongst the disciples, "I hereby proffer my resignation". It was Welsh Bob, "I expect the usual severance package commensurate with someone of my standing. I've had my lawyers draw up suitable terms..." but as Welsh Bob handed Tim his resignation papers a strange rattling noise could be heard coming from behind their position.

It was the sound of a clapped out 1970s British car engine. There was the number one disciple in his gleaming Viva. His beard flowed out of the window, in fact out of each window and also the sunroof that his car did not have. As he drove he laughed in an over-excited fashion, beeping his horn and trying to do wheel spins, handbrake turns etc.

There was a large cracking sound and the Viva ground to a halt.

"Halt 'er up burrr nothing hur hur hur". Mumbled Mungo.

"Alright Wilf," said Tim, "Shambapoo eh? Glad to have you here. Have you come to help us defeat Rastas and his army?"

"Army 'er up! Hur hur hur." Quipped Mungo, "I brought you this." He handed Tim The Power and the Glory album he had stolen from his car.

"How did you..."

"Never mind Tim. Tim 'er up."

Mungo's words hung in the air, as the disciples waited for the coming attack.

"Where are they?" asked Parsons.

"I don't know" replied Tim, "Maybe they've called off the attack." Despite the danger, he hoped they were still coming. He was ready to face Rastas.

  5. "Where are they?" asked Parsons, again.

  6. "Don't worry Wilf. They'be here soon."

  7. "Where are they?" asked Parsons for a third time.

  8. "Be patient good DJ."

  9. "Where are they?" asked Parsons.

  10. "Shut up," said Tim.

  11. "Where are dey?" asked Honest John.

  12. "I know," said Parsons.

  13. "Where den?" asked John.

  14. "Er...Oh, no I don't know. Tim, where are they?"

  15. As Parsons asked the same question for the one hundred and eleventh time, in the distance below the hill Rastas's army hove into view. The disciples could see a thousand kelads, some UFO spacemen, seventeen skinheads and a roboman. Leading the army were Rastas and Jimmy. At the rear on the edge of the battlefield Mr Gibbs was setting up an office.

  16. Rastas addressed his army, "Skinheads and robots..."

  17. "And robomen please!" said the roboman.

  18. "Don't interrupt me! Aren't you a robot anyway?"

  19. "No. I am a roboman."

  20. "What's the difference?"

  21. "We only look like robots."

  22. "Us too," said a kelad, "We are machines on the outside, but green things on the inside."

  23. "OK...men, robots, robomen, kelads today will be a glorious victory. I expect you to give no quarter."

  24. "Should we take any prisoners? I mean literally?"

  25. "You shall leave no disciple standing."

  26. "But what does that mean exactly? Put them in chairs?"

  27. "No it means 'kill them', you pedant."

  28. "Ooh pardon me. I think it's quite important to know if you mean 'kill them' or not. It's not being pedantic."

  29. "OK whatever. Kill them all. Good luck. And anyone who prefers not to fight. I have appointed corporals who have orders to send you to Mr Gibbs on sight." He pointed at Mr Gibbs's makeshift office, "Cover yourselves in glory my brave men, robots, kelads, robomen etc."

  30. Watching this, on top of the hill, the disciples were becoming more and more agitated. Alex and Tim were frantically keeping them together using all their disciple herding skills.

  31. "I can't hold them!" Alex had roped the Mulligans together, and they were pulling him down the hill. Tim rushed to his aide and together they anchored the Mulligans to a tree.

  32. And then Rastas's army attacked. They started to advance up the hill while throwing spears, and firing bullets at the disciples. As they advanced the projectiles were getting closer and closer to the disciples' position. The kelads were slowing the advance up, only able to move on shiny floors, and having to be carried up the steeper, non smooth parts of the hill. But gradually the evil army got closer to the top of the hill.

  33. "They'll be in range soon!" Shouted Tim.

  34. "We need to take shelter." Alex screamed back. But there was little shelter at the top of the hill.

  35. "I know. Shelter up." Cackled Mungo, as he jumped back into his Viva. Quickly Wilf put the car into first gear and floored the accelerator as he pulled hard on the steering. The Viva lurched forward laying down rubber and Billowing smoke. Keeping the wheel on hard lock Wilf continued to keep the throttle pressed. The Viva span round and round, encircling the disciples. Gradually the rubber left on the ground built up and soon Mungo had laid a 7 foot wall of rubber, "Rubber up. Hur hur hur," cackled Mungo, pleased with his handiwork.

Rastas's armies spears were soon bouncing off the wall of rubber, and his evil bullets pinged off it, with a dull rubbery non-pinging sound.

"We're safe now," shouted Parsons above the din. But before his words died away another car appeared on the horizon. It was a blue Ford Mondeo. It approached the wall of rubber and stopped. Out stepped Mr Atherton.

"I am Mr Atherton from the ACC."

"Hallo Mr Atherton."

"Timothy! Is this rubber mountain your responsibility?"

"Well...," Tim remembered the council wire he was wearing. It had obviously been a trick by the ACC to keep track on him, Alex and the disciples in order to make sure they paid their council tax, and/or did not build mountains of rubber.

"It is an EEC rubber mountain, and therefore a hazard for all residents within a mile's radius. It must be demolished forthwith."

"Later mate," said Alex.

"No Alex. We must do it now," said Adrian. And with a quick wave of his thumb, alright!, Adrian destroyed Mungo's rubber protection (harr burr).

As soon as the rubber wall was removed Rastas's cavalry charged, quickly covering the ground between them and the disciples, "Quick launch Deirdre Mulligan," commanded Tim.

"We have no Deirdre Mulligan cannon!"

"Yes we do," Professor Dave Quill had returned.

"Dave! You're back!"

"Yis!"

"How did you..."

"I invented a matter transporter and transported myself here."

"But...where is your anorak?"

"It was in the transporter with me," A look of horror appeared on Quill's face, "If it was in the transporter with me...," it was a terrible thought but Quill forced himself to address it, "Then it must have fallen out and is still in the lab! I need my anorak!"

"Calm down Dave!"

"OK. Anyway I thought we might need a Deirdre Mulligan cannon so I've been making one," from his anorak he pulled a giant cannon, loaded it with Deirdre Mulligan, and aimed it carefully at Rastas's oncoming troops. He pulled a lever and in a flash Deirdre Mulligan went hurtling towards the advancing soldiers. As they saw Deirdre approach they tried to flee, but it was too late Deirdre crashed into them, killing them all instantly.

"Hurrah!" said Welsh Bob, "I think I should get a bonus."

"Quick load up Tony Mulligan," and Tony was also launched. As he sailed towards Rastas's forces they scattered in panic. One unfortunate kelad had rolled over an anorak, and was rooted to the spot. He was completely crushed as Tony Mulligan landed and parts of the kelad flew in all directions killing many more of Rastas's army.

One by one the Mulligans were launched until only Steve Mulligan was left, which was now, since there are only 3 Mulligans, "This is our last Mulligan. Make him count" and he was launched right at Rastas's command post. Direct hit! In the distance 2 figures could be seen scrambling away. The command post was completely destroyed. Many of the remaining troops, realising they were now leaderless, began trudging away from the battle field, "Hurrah!" said Welsh Bob, "I think I am due a new company car".

In celebration Mungo drove his car round and round, faster and faster. As the speed increased so did the sound. Above the roar of the car a faint ringing could be heard. Gradually the ringing increased in its intensity until it was a deafening wail. Mungo stopped his Viva.

"Look!" shouted Tim and he pointed at where the wailing was coming from: the remnants of Rastas's command post. The metal pieces were glowing, and reforming into Phil Badd's Disco Roadshow. The most evil disco in all of Buckinghamshire.

Suddenly the ringing stopped, and all was quiet. Then a badly amplified voice broke the silence, "This is Phil Badd and we will be bringing you all your favourites. If you have any requests I will kill you all."

"Quick" said Alex we must defeat the Badd disco with our own. Parsons now is your chance. Quick start DJ-ing." And in a flash Parsons set up his disco in about 35 minutes.

Whilst Parsons was setting up Phil Badd was playing music that was incapacitating the disciples, "This next one goes out for Rastas. This is Money too Tight to Mention by Simply Red. C'mon all you kelads out there and attack while you can...". As the horrible music continued, the remnants of Rastas's army reformed in the distance. And the more rubbish songs Phil Badd played, the more the disciples panicked.

"Oi can't take it anymore" said John, "Can you change the channel?"

"It's not TV John."

"It's horrible! Make them stop!"

"I'll stop them!" it was Parsons.

"But will you?" asked Ray-mond sarcastically.

"Bloody hell ah will. Switch on me smoke machine," Tim switched on Parsons's smoke machine. A small amount of wispy smoke covered a small part of the battle field, "That'll stop them."

"No i don't think it will..," said Tim as a kelad rushed at him, and exterminated him. With one bite Deirdre Mulligan ate the kelad.

The disciples gathered round Tim.

"Tim wake up!" shouted John, poking Tim.

"This is for Tim. It's 'don't give up' by Peter Gabriel," Parsons put the song on, but it did not work. Tim had given up, dead.

"He's dead," said Welsh Bob, "Who is in charge of my salary now?"

"Dead 'er up!" laughed Mungo.

"He's not dead. It's his short attention span. He's got bored of the battle," said Alex, "Get up Tim."

"What? I was just resting," said Tim, groggily.

"Oi thought that computer exterminated you."

"The kelad? His extermination ray was deflected by what is under my shirt. Look," Tim raised his shirt.

"An enormous gut," said Alex

"No. Here under the flab," Tim adjusted his stomach, and out fell a charred copy of the Royble.

"Praise be to Roy!"

"Right," Tim was revitalised, "Parsons put on some good music. It will drown out all the Wham, Kajagoogoo and JLS they are playing."

"Alright. Let's try this," but by mistake Parsons had put on Take on Me by Aha.

"No good. It's still rubbish, " shouted Alex above the din.

"Really? Bloody 'ell! What about this?" The strains of 'Live is Life' by Opus mixed with Phil Badd's choice of 'We Built This City on Rock and Roll'. A few kelads turned back. The rest of Roy's army continued to advance.

"Better, but it's not enough."

"Bloody 'ell, it's all I've got."

"What about Chumbawamba?" asked Alex.

"Who?" said everyone else.

"Nothing," mumbled Alex, like Mungo.

"Of course it's obvious!" said Tim, The Power and the Glory Album!"

And he gave it to Parsons, who put it on. As the first bars of soft rock roared across the fields, Rastas army knew it had met its match, and started to give up the fight and return home. Phil Badd was left alone, frantically putting on Curiosity Killed the Cat, Culture Club, Jason Donovan, Jason and the Scorchers and Jason and the Argonauts. None of these songs came close to the wondrous beauty of the Power and the Glory Album. The Power and the Glory album was even a better film than Jason and the Argonauts, and it isn't even a film. It's that good.

By the time the album had finished, ("Can we have it again?" shouted Parsons), the only trace of Rastas's army was Phil Badd sitting behind the remnants of his disco. The disciples trudged down the hill, and walked up to Badd. The day's events had made them weary. They were tired and confused by all the slaughter. It was time for forgiveness.

"Will you be my friend?" Honest John asked Phil Badd.

And Phil Badd joined the ways of Roy, after a 7 year sentence in Roy's mighty jail.

##  Epilogue - Where are they now

Mungo: unemployed mechanic in the RAF.

Parsons: unemployed hospital porter.

Roy: in the sky, unemployed.

Rastas: the nth dimension.

Olander: set of Leather Boys 4/dead.

1000 pound lamp: rubbish tip.

Alex: Kent, unemployed.

Tim: USA, professional liar (currently unemployed).

Matt: Aylesbury playing computer games whilst looking for work.

Dave: now works in computers (not literally like in Tron).

##  Roy will return in The Rodney Code

And Roy's (real) mum did say. Roy we are moving to America.

ROY: OK. I WILL CREATE THE CAPITAL OF AMERICA, WHICH IS PHOENIX, I THINK. AND I WILL CREATE MOUNTAINS AROUND IT. AND I WILL CALL ONE CAMELBACK MOUNTAIN. AND MY DISCIPLES WILL FIGHT A BATTLE ON THIS MOUNTAIN...

Mum: No.

ROY: WHY NOT?

Mum: You have done that already. It's boring. I know: why not have the disciples run round looking for things instead?

ROY: YOU MEAN LIKE IN THE DA VINCI CODE?

Mum: No, nothing at all like that. I don't even know what that is. Now turn your music down it's too loud.

ROY: OK MUM.

The End

 You know like the clouds that trap the ship the bald bloke drives, which turn out to be the Borg or something. I don't know I have not watched Star Trek since I was about 15. Oh except the new film: that's good.

 This question has been addressed by a number of eminent Royologists, and until recently it was widely believed that Roy had created a time machine like in Back to the Future, driven very fast (something he is expert at), and gone back in time using a flux capacitor. However this theory had largely been rejected in favour of Prof Dave Evans' Satanic Rites of Dracula contention given here

 You know like the clouds the Enterprise gets trapped by, which turn out to be someone's ego or something.

 Kelads come from the same ancestors as daleks, but evolved the defence mechanism of being different and having reverse names, and their species prospered because of its natural protection from copyright lawyers.

 This film was not released until 1968 – another Royological paradox, beyond the scope of this text. Interested readers can consult "Royological Theory and Stuff" by Professor Dave Brown for an excellent introduction to this topic.

 Aside from his mother's mental illness, and death, and his brother's disappearance.

Of course the Internet began in 1969, as the ARPANET, but it's use to alter school marks was first documented in 1995.

 The Royble refers to him as 700, and his age is debated fiercely to this day in Royble study classes, "He's 700, true as I'm standing here."

 . In the 10th century Sir Rodney D'Arthur had created a stronghold in Buckinghamshire with Aylesbury as its capital. To protect his lands from 'marauding Arabs' he build a system of roundabouts, knowing the 'Arabs' were unfamiliar with complex road systems. One thousand years later all Rodney's roundabouts are still standing and the one named after the 3 chickens pub, built in 1962, is...er...still standing too.

Sir Rodney was hung, drawn, and quartered in 972 for his xenophobic paranoid stereotyping of 'Arabs'.

 A roboman is a man who has been robotised by having a crash helmet with some bits on the side put on his head.

 This is measured on the Tim scale. Ten Tim scale is equivalent to 2 in reality.

 Although Alex had never actually seen Roy's face, he somehow knew exactly what he looked like. Roy's magic you see.

 Colonel Tony has been stationed on the moon since 1982.

 It was so common place that the main piece of legislation regarding metal policeman, The Metal Policeman Misuse Act (1983), noted the possibility of the polarity switching by accident (s 3.3.b):

3. Unauthorised modification of metal policeman (You can skip this)

(1) A person is guilty of an offence if—

(a) he does any act (e.g. pushing a stick in a hole) which causes an unauthorised modification of the contents of any metal policeman; and

(b) at the time when he does the act he has the requisite intent and the requisite knowledge or he was doing it for a laugh.

(2) For the purposes of subsection (1)(b) above the requisite intent is an intent to cause a modification of the contents of any metal policeman (or a metal policeman's dog) and by so doing—

(a) to impair the operation of any metal policeman;

(b) to make a metal policeman evil; or

(c) to make a metal policeman shoot at the wrong people.

(3) Regarding making evil:

(a) if it is a nice metal policeman that would be worse.

(b) if it was not your fault, for example a random polarity switch, then that is OK, but you'd better get someone to say it wasn't your fault, a teacher or vicar or someone. You know just to make sure.

© 2010 by E. Day. mail@royble.com Page: 150/150

