* * * 39. The Fortune Teller * * * /The hostess has been trying to cheer up Imran after the failure of his act.../ --- 'I'd mention Allie already said something about all that... but /two/ attractive women telling me to get a grip on it...?' Imran murmured. 'Heh. Just my luck I get neurotic about writing...' Hmm. Thematically speaking... Author, Audience, Creativity, Medium, and Inspiration. There's a Discordian guideline, the Law of Fives... Creativity needs Inspiration - the spark that gives it shape in the Author's mind. The Author sets it down on a Medium, and the Audience interprets that Creativity through their own perception... Spirit, Robe, Sword, Cloak and Charm. Alryssa, Allie, Gordon, Imran and Kid... Alryssa, Gordon, Imran and Kid... we've already been attacked. Alryssa managed to break her attack, Gordon...? Hmm, we'll see. Me? Hardly the best person to judge, but I'm /recovering/, getting a grip on myself... Kid /collapsed/, what /happened/? What happened to him...? But Allie? Not the draining - that was Allie struggling to keep the story going against what the Gods were doing, a reaction... Imran started feeling nauseous. He had a very, very nasty feeling about what the Gods were going to do next. Oh, he knew... Mists started rising in the ring, rolling in from the night outside. The Gods had finally called their act in. Even before the mists cleared, he knew what - or who - their act would be. The spotlight snapped on. The mists swirled and coiled at the edge of the light, surrounding the figure in the spotlight. A gypsy fortune teller. Head bent over her table, ready to offer up her knowledge of the future. They'd twisted one of the few 'magical' images they knew... known from the Psychic Circus, from Morgana. A little stab at Kingpin and Mags' past. And at Kid's, judging from what he'd heard of the Contessa. Nasty. Unimaginative, but nasty. Then she looked up from the table. And Imran almost choked. The fortune teller's head... Where her head should have been was a crystal ball. Somewhere on the other side of the bleachers, the Gods were quiet. This did not look good.... --- Our ringmaster choked back the gall that rose when the fortune teller raised her head. *This* was mockery, she thought. Taking Imran's magic story bubbles and twisting them, making them deceitful, vindictive. It's a trap, she thought. A nasty trap. Don't look. Like a witch bottle: If you look too closely, your soul will be trapped inside that sphere. But I -- we -- *have* to look. If the audience refuses to participate, refuses to *be* an audience, isn't that a as much a forfeit as if a performer refuses to perform? How can we prevail against the Gods of Ragnarok, now? They may be false gods -- more forces of absorption and stagnation than creation (even Sutekh desired to be an active force in the world -- to create his version of a world), but they *were* gods. However powerful the forces of love and joy, the pro-funsters in whose hands those powers had been placed. were mere mortals. Even when they had advantage of the last word, their chances were slim. And now, even that had been taken away. Then, in the midst of her despair, the troll smiled. The Gods of Ragnarok *were* false Gods, without the power or the desire to truly act. The Omniverse, however, was full of *real* gods -- Gods and Goddesses of hope, and dreams, and life. Her home world of Radwah, and her adopted world of Earth alone had more true gods than she even knew how to count. Every living planet was itself a deity: a conscious and wise entity that guided the life of every individual it sheltered, from the single-celled protozoa to its most complex lifeforms. So she called first on the Goddess Jubilganza (or whatever name she knew Herself by) to support and protect her and her pro-fun guests. She asked the goddess to accept her feelings of fear and anger and despair, so that she (the troll) could let them go -- to drain out of her body into the ground beneath her feet. She asked the Goddess to transform those feelings into hope and creativity. She called on the Goddess Earth, to protect Her far-flung children. Then she called on the Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory, and mother of the Nine Muses, to protect Her children and her children's disciples from the Gods of Ragnarok, so that no matter what the GoR threw at them, they would never forget the true beauty of stories, or the true beauty of their lives. Slowly, slowly, as the mists around the fortune teller shrank back into the night outside the Big Top, the avocado troll could feel the Goddesses gathering around her, around the circus -- drifting in from the Omniverse outside to stand in the shadows as witnesses. :::*Thank You*::: the troll thought, gratefully, tears of joy welling up in her eyes, :::Thank You::: :::This is still *your* battle to fight, not ours::: Jubilganza said, silently, into the troll's heart. :::But we are Here::: The Avocado troll squared her shoulders, and turned her gaze to the twisted vision of the fortune teller in the ring. :::And we are ready::: she thought. --- Allie gasped. So did Yokoi and Tessa. Allie's grip on her microphone tightened. Can't let them see, can't let them see... Tessa indicated the hostess questioningly. Allie nodded. Tessa's eyes widened. The Tenth of the Nine is here? Their /mother/? Yokoi nodded. Tessa's mouth fell open. Oh my Goddess! Yokoi raised an eyebrow. Tell me about it - well, if we can finish this set... --- Imran let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. His cloak sparkled. The Audience had just grown stronger - and he could feel the power the newcomers had brought with them. Knew what that meant, who was with them. God against god. Dark images flashed across the ring, emanating from the crystal. Probing, searching. A dark, twisted series of illusions - forboding fortunes, omens of doom, prophecies of disaster, challenging the onlookers to look deeper, to know the full extent of their fate. And to be trapped by that crystal. But we are the ones with power over our lives. If we surrender that... then whose life does it become? Not mine. No. I will not give that up. I will not give my life over to them. The visions moved on. Imran carefully let his train of thought continue. Absorption is the flip side to creativity. The Gods of Ragnarok are the negative of the other Gods - as each Universe was born, lived and died, and a new Universe was born, the Gods of Ragnarok survived. The dark mirror of the active Gods. Now, now... they were out of balance. If we could check them once more, stop them gorging on their stolen power, they would be reduced back to what they once were, what they had been when the Seventh met them... A dark force bound once again. Their destruction... no. That act would strike against Fun, even with entities like *them*. And he suspected that the other Gods had realised this, and so had ... had /asked/ the Guardians to bind them. Now that they were freed - and let free on the Universe's stories - Imran saw why the Guardians had bound the Gods of Ragnarok so long ago... and that it could be done once more. If they had hope. If they continued to stand and be true. He hoped so. He heard a voice, coming from the ring. And looked up. --- "Cross my palm with silver..." the fortune-teller whispered. A breath of speech, carried on the mist like sound over water. "Cross my palm with silver, my dearies..." And a dry rasp came, that might have been a laugh. A hand was held out in the spotlight, too smooth and unlined to have any right to that cackling voice. Too perfectly moulded to belong to anything human at all. In the crystal ball the mists swirled like an echo of those beyond; and the watchers were drawn in, each one seeing the hunched figure in the ring as clearly as if he or she alone were seated in that blank place on the far side of the table. "Cross my palm with silver..." And with the third invocation, there came a soft sigh from out of the nightsky cloaks all around the ring, and a silvery whispering rush. Imran sensed it first, swallowing. He'd known they were going to do this. He'd *known*... He dragged his eyes away from the ring with an effort and glanced across at TYA. His heart sank. "What's happening to you? -- *Allie*!" --- On the outstretched palm, seven spots began to shine, twinkling at first as if they gleamed with stardust, until they took on weight and substance -- cold metal denser and harder than lead. Pro-Fun energy... leeched away. Taken in payment. Deformed and trapped. "That's right, my lovelies..." The crooning was horribly intimate, a spider caress in every ear sounded for each alone. The little deputy shivered. One coin was flicked up, spinning, for a moment once again free -- then snatched back. Waxen fingers closed around their treasure like a trap. The handful of silver vanished into the shadows of the shawl in a movement too swift to see. "That's right, my precious darlings, that's right. Pay with what's most precious, and you shall see your hearts' desire..." The crystal ball cleared, seeming to swim before the turquoise troll's eyes barely an arm's-length away. Deep within, the image began to form, alluring and oh so sweet -- A clatter in the bleachers. Someone had sprung to his feet. She wanted to look round, but she couldn't miss the vision; all she'd ever wanted, so dearly bought. "Don't watch!" A voice, vaguely heard. The Third Doctor. Why was he getting all so worried? Everything was going to be fine, now... just fine... --- "Listen to me, all of you!" Third glared round at the sea of glassy expressions, twitching his cloak back. He was still wearing his costume from the light-and-music show -- he felt it rather suited him, particularly the cravat -- and the optics he'd arranged in the sequins flung little patterns of light across the faces around him. But his was the only cloak still brightly shimmering. The Cloaks of Audience seemed to have lost all their vigour... like the audience themselves... --- There was something... The light. ...wasn't there? If he could just see that little bit further... ...that little bit closer... Something he had to do? If he just had a little more time, then he'd see it in the light. Remember. Remember? Remember her. A... girl? There'd been a girl... Hadn't there? 'Well, I'm on work experience.' 'Listen. I've got this idea...' 'Ooh. Now where'd I put that video?' Fighting evil by daylight. Finding inspiration by moonlight. Inspiring. Musing. Amusing. A Muse. His Muse. Allie. Alisandra. 'Alisandra...' --- Alisandra... Cross my palm with silver, and I will tell your future. Give me your hand. Ah. See, there? You /will/ go to the ball, clothed in the finest silver, silver horses leading your carriage. When the Prince sees you, he will be captivated by the beautiful, mysterious, silver lady. Together, you will dance through the night. You have no carriage? No dress? Look again. Your ballgown gleams in the moonlight. Your carriage waits outside, ready to take you to the ball. Your family will be fine. Think of what will happen when you return, having captured the Prince's heart. You will be a princess. A princess. And you need never do anything again. Never. --- The Third drew his sonic screwdriver. If he'd guessed correctly... He turned it on. It began to hum. The crystal began to hum in counter-resonance. --- He searches the fairground, looking for her, humming one of her songs to himself. ...she had been singing, and he'd watched, admiring, from the audience... ...and then something had happened... ...and now he's looking for her... But where? Where is she? Then he spies it. A little tent, set a little apart from the fairground. A fortune teller. Maybe she's in there. At the very least, the fortune teller could tell him where she might be. Whispering. He can hear whispering. A thousand whispering voices. Shaking his head, he moves closer. He lifts the tent's flap. The fortune teller sits alone. She turns her ghastly head to him, a globe crafted of the purest crystal. And within the crystal, her soul caught, entrapped... ...her face. Her face. Screaming silently. Warped and distorted. Screaming. Remember. Mnemosyne was a Titan, mother to the Nine Muses. Inspiration is born of Memory. 'Allie...?' he whispers. 'Allie, do you remember?' She looks out at him, her grey eyes almost dead. Remember...? He steps forward again. 'Allie?' My... my family. She was saying something about... My family. My friends. Imran. Xeffy. Gordon. Alryssa. Eloise. Imran...? --- Allie? We're here. She steps out of the carriage. The footman looks up at her, one eye offset by the polyp which distorts his nose. 'Allie? Do you remember?' Does she? Does she...? 'Allie?' 'Imran...?' she whispers. Listen, and you can hear the hum of a thousand people chattering, talking within. The Prince waits for her inside. Yet she dallies with a footman. 'Imran?' She steps closer, as if making sure. 'She said I'd be a princess...' 'Who said?' She... she can't remember. But... 'I'd never have to do anything again.' she whispers. He looks stricken. 'Not even sing?' Sing? Could she sing? Had she sung? Why doesn't she know? --- He strikes at the fortune teller's hand, striking the six pieces of silver she held - payment for the heart's desire, payment for a dream - from it. The illusion shatters. --- She opens her mouth- -and a perfect, crystal tone sounds. The illusion shatters. --- The hostess shook her head. Ooh. What had /happened/? She had that odd sense in her head that she used to get as a child, right before she'd slip into a night terror -- the unshakable sense that she was out of phase, somehow, with reality, and there was nothing she could do about it. --- The Third grinned. Just as he'd suspected. The sonic screwdriver's counter-resonance had broken the fortune-teller's trance. The audience were starting to recover. --- Seven pieces of silver fell from the fortune teller's hand. As they fell, they faded, dissolved. Silver smoke hung in a haze over the ring. Slowly, it returned where it had belonged, flowing into the audience. The pro-fun energy drifted back down over the troll, brushing her skin like a spring mist, waking her completely from the nightmare just past and filtering into the stars on her cloak, reigniting them. She glanced over her shoulder at Mnemosyne -- tall as an oak tree, her face hidden in the shadows of her silvery spiderweb cloak. Still, she could sense the reassuring smile that the Titan gave her, and she smiled back. "Thank you," she whispered. And the audience looked around themselves, as if they were waking from a dream. --- The ring fell silent. The fortune teller stood up, curtsied... ...and was gone. The Big Top slowly returned to normal. Imran looked over at where the Gods sat in the bleachers. Still quiet. Still silent. They had said nothing, made no move, since they had called upon the PTB. Intermission, before the Doctors' act. Finish passing out all the cloaks this time - although he rather suspected that what would count wouldn't be number, but the diversity within that number. Either way, best to make sure everyone had one... especially now. Quietly, he started moving around the audience. After that, get to Allie. Because he had an uneasy feeling about this... ...and what the Gods had had planned. We'd better be prepared. * * * 40. The charm reawakens * * * /The fortune-teller's act was over. The avocado troll stood up./ --- Now was her chance. With Imran looking after the audience, and the three Divine Mothers on guard against the Gods of Ragnarok, she was free to leave the Big Top for a moment. On the pretense of making sure her team of TARDIS twelve were ready for their act, she went out to check on Kid. --- The team stood, dozing, just outside an entrance leading to the wings of the Big Top. "Hey, Sweetheart," she said, going up to the leader, reaching up to pat her on the shoulder. "How are you? Are Mags and Kingpin treating you well? You ready for your act?" The leader lowered her head, and the troll looked into the 'horse's' eye. There was a brief flicker, like the movement of a camera shutter, and the avocado troll could see through the eye (like a window) to the inside of the TARDIS: the main dance hall, lined with stalls, the grand buffets reduced to a few leftover rolls and pieces of cheese. Several of the streamers had started to fall, and the balloons were looking limp and wrinkled. "Let me see Kid," the troll said quietly. The leader's head snapped up, tense, setting the bells on her harness jangling loudly, her ears flat against her head. "I-is he really so hurt?" the troll asked. "Does he still want nothing to do with me? I... I only want to make sure he is all right. ...And I *need* to apologize ...even if he'd never accept it." Her TARDIS, in the persona of the horse, relaxed visibly. But her head remained high, her neck, arched. The back of the circus wagon opened, and a gangplank lowered to the ground. The troll sighed. "You're right," she said. "He deserves his apology face to face." She made her way across the campground to the wagon. And despite the warmth of the summer night, she turned up the collar of her ringmaster's coat, and hugged herself. Once inside, she hesitated. She'd never been to her TARDIS's zero room, and wasn't sure if she could find her way, or if she'd even recognize it when she got there. As if in response to her unspoken questions, a door appeared in the back of one of the stalls, where none had been before. Going through it, the troll found herself in a corridor, or rather a tunnel, only as high and as wide as it needed to be to let her through, and only lit brightly enough to give her some sense of direction and orientation. The troll suspected that, ordinarily, there were no corridors leading to the zero room, that it existed as truly separate from the rest of the universe, and that the TARDIS was creating a tunnel at the moment only to lead her there. After the zero room was no longer needed by anyone other than the TARDIS herself, she suspected all passageways leading to it would disappear again, if they weren't already disappearing just behind her last step. Eventually, the tunnel ended at a high, arched door, and the troll knew that beyond it was Kid Curry, and the apology she needed to make. She pressed her hand against it, and the door swung inward silently. What she saw made her gasp: a universe of stars, stretching overhead in a high, domed ceiling -- like a planetarium, but also stretching outward along the walls -- more stars than any human or troll had ever seen before, as if she were looking in all directions of time, as well as space, at all the stars that ever were, and ever will be. Only the floor was dark and smooth, and she wondered if that was for Kid Curry's benefit. "You come back here to check on your little pet?" His voice cut through her amazement, and she looked down toward his hunched form. "Oh, C-Kid..." she corrected herself, grateful that both halves of his name started with the same sound, and he would never know. "Put me away in a pretty little cage, with food and water," he continued, "where I can't cause any more trouble?" Now that her eyes were adjusting to her surroundings, she could see him -- sitting on the gound with his knees hugged tightly to his chest, his forehead resting between them, as curled in upon himself as it was possible for a man to be. "*You're* not the cause of our trouble, Kid," she assured him, "far from it. The Gods of Ragnarok attacked you. They hit you hard. I was afraid that if they struck again, it would've been the end of you. And then where would we be?" "Better off, most likely." "No!!" "It's over, isn't it?" "'It ain't over till the fat lady sings.' And this fat lady," she said, tapping her thumb against her chest, "ain't gonna sing until you and I can do a duet at the victory party." "Got no reason to sing. I've failed. I let my ... I failed." "Kid, look at me. Please. I have something I *need* to say to you, and if I'm going say it right, I've got to look you in the eye." Slowly, he raised his head, and looked at her. She could see his past there, in his eyes -- all his fears, regrets, rages, and murders -- like the shadows of fish swimming below the surface of a lake. She felt a chill to her very marrow. But she did not look away. "You have every *right* to be angry with me, Kid," she said. "You have a right to be furious. I know, deep in my bones, that it's wrong to enter someone's mind without his permission. But I got scared, and I let fear do all my thinking for me. And that made me stupid, and clumsy. And I hurt you." As she spoke, she remembered the pain she felt in his mind just before she pulled away: the confusion, fury, humiliation, and desperate loneliness, as if it were her own. Tears, barely noticed, flowed from her eyes, and down to the end of her long nose. "I'm sorry. I am so, so, sorry." "What were you so scared of?" The question was automatic, his voice, flat. A little sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh, came from her throat. "*This*," she said. "That the Gods of Ragnarok would strike you down and take away our strongest defense." "So that *is* how you see me," he said, "as a guard dog -- an animal you can train and tame and call your own." She sighed. "I'll admit, C-Kid," she said, "I can't say I *like* you. If I'd met you anywhere outside the Hoedown, where *everyone* is welcome, I would have crossed the street to stay out of your way. But you've earned my respect. The way you didn't spit out that jellybaby I offered you, even if you hated the taste. The way you risked your life for a bunch of strange strangers, when you thought the TARDIS was going to go into that cliff face. The way you're willing to fight for the survival of Vortex City, even if most of the folks there would like to see you on the gallows. The world is full of murderers and outlaws. Most of them, though, pretend to be heroes. Most of all, you are honest about yourself. And that's something a weak man could never do. If I *could* change you, I doubt my fiddling would lead to anything better." "*You* pretended to be the Contessa," he said, anger returning to his voice (and she was glad of it -- at least it was a sign of life). "You called me 'Curry', just like she does, to get my attention." The troll shook her head. "It wasn't on purpose," she said. "I admit: I was clumsy, and wasn't thinking it through. If I had been, if I hadn't panicked, I would have done more to announce to you that it was me. But I never *meant* to deceive you. Being in a person's mind," she explained, "is a bit like going into a crammed attic: memories, knowledge, wishes, all jumbled together. I reached out for 'name', for your identity, and I hit upon 'Curry' because that's the name I found there. It's how you think of yourself, and now," she admitted, "it's how *I* think of you." "How much did you see up there... in that ... attic?" "Not much: only that you're desperately lonely, and you want to go home, and you wanted it to be the Contessa who was contacting you -- not me. I was trying to tell you," she said, "*not* to change, not to be a hero. The Gods of Ragnarok are stealing our energy, trying to trap our souls. We're fighting back as best we can. But we could sure use a thief on *our* side." "The charm's broke," he said, sagging into himself once more. "Turns out I wasn't worthy of it, after all." "I think..." she said, "that the lamp has gone out, but it's not shattered. If you can find the spark inside yourself, you can reignite it." She stood, stiffly. "I need to get back," she said. "The intermission can't go on for much longer, and I need to announce our next act." "'Our next act'? But don't the Gods go first?" "Not any more. The Powers That Be ruled against us. The Gods of Ragnarok have the last word on all the acts, now. Still, if they break many more rules, then maybe we would have enough to raise formal grievances against Them, and turn the tables back again." "So they did cheat." "They attacked you, didn't they? I'd say that was out of line." The door to the zero room opened, and the avocado troll got the message. She didn't want to leave that haven. But she didn't have much choice. "We'd love to have you back, Curry," she said, before she left, "if you're feeling strong enough for the battle." --- "Rumble Bob's", Vortex City:- A pockmarked brass ceiling. No mirror behind the bar; only fly-specked boards, stained with the rings of old bottles. There was a stale smell of beer, and the Contessa's skirts dragged in the spills of last night's drink. She paid it no mind. None of the regular women were present to ply their trade at this hour, and there were only a handful of daytime drunks. But such as it was, the whole saloon had fallen silent, watching her. Famished eyes devoured the gold at wrists and ears, the tight-bodiced silk, the moonstone glimmer of her pearls. The Contessa moved calmly among them, at home here where no lady would venture. She had drawn blank at the Grand Hotel and the rooming-houses downtown. The saloons held no qualms for her. If she still found no trace of the man she sought, there were rougher joints than this to be checked by far... The barkeep was heavy-eyed and slow. She had to repeat her question twice before a faint spark of understanding flickered, back in the recesses of his gaze. "Never seen him..." His voice held a sullen satisfaction in having bad news to import. "He don't drink here -- never did." "So I can well believe," the Contessa agreed softly. For a moment, under her cool glance, smeared glasses and scarred tables sprang into sudden, unwelcome clarity, and the barkeep shuffled. "Wait a minute..." Hastily now. "Here, Slick -- didn't you hear tell this Doc Gallifrey left town, more'n a week back?" Slick raised rheumy eyes from the empty shot-glass he was nursing, blinking agreement. "Left town nine days gone, headed south." A wheezing thread of a voice. "He done me a good turn once, and old Slick don't ever forget a face. 'Slick,' he says, 'if them boys ever come back, you tell them from me they won't get off next time so easy.' And they never did." His head began to drift downwards, nodding away again into the past, and the Contessa sank swiftly down beside him, her skirts billowing unheeded across the unswept floor. "You saw him?" Her face was turned up close to the graying stubble of his, without flinching from his breath. "You saw him go?" The old man shrank from her insistence. "Sure I saw him... headed south. Old Slick, he don't forget a face..." She could get nothing more. But up and down the tail-end of Main Street, the word was the same. Doc Gallifrey had been in town. Had talked with George, chewed over the fat with Harvey, passed the time of day with Morg and Seth -- his face growing more grave and set in every report she gleaned. He'd come in from the Little River range, up in the hills beyond Ruby City, to the north -- and less than half a day later, had heard enough to send him out again, hell-for-leather down into the badlands. Down into the gathering storm. No need to ask what he had learned. No need to ask even why he had not sought her aid. Their lives touched, now and then, as strands of legends crossed and wove -- but her power was of a different kind. Enough to show her what was coming -- enough in itself to draw it, like carrion birds to a dying man -- but not a kind he could use. She would have begged his help; but he had gone his own way, unbidden as always, out unasked to face their incoming end and salvage what he could. In the city all around her, time itself ebbed and flowed, for those with the senses to perceive it; clouding her crystal ball, blinding her powers. All things were uncertain now, one moment ghost-like and then the next second painfully clear, as if their life blazed out by contrast against the faded ground on which they moved... stories whose time was all but spent. The Contessa walked among them, silent and weary now. Passing for human. Passing for fiction, in a world where fact was stranger than either... Too gaudy, too exotic for respectability. Too elegant and fine to fit in an underworld she knew all too well. Story-teller, far-seer, home-maker, dreamer of joys, exile without a planet... one of a kind. Doc Gallifrey was gone beyond her reach. The Monitors would not help. Only Kid Curry remained, for good or ill; dark soul, wild card, sent out almost unthinking so many weeks ago... and bearer of the charm. --- Zero Room, the TARDIS:- Stars... stars in their thousands, in their millions, in the wide, wide sky. Open. Silent. Free. Not the old Missouri stars, tired and twinkling, that had shone down on late chores in the yard back at Aunt Lee's, with little John or Lonie tagging, whining, at his heels. Not those same stars, almost twenty years and six hundred miles later, that had glittered in the bitter cold of the small hours as horses stamped and men cursed and checked their guns, waiting for the train to grind its way up the grade with fifty thousand dollars on board. Not the southern stars that had mocked him overhead at the last, as he stumbled, barefoot and gasping, through the lush undergrowth on the rim of the Pacific, his own partners at his heels with murder in their hearts, and the great smoking slopes of Corcovado looming uncaring against the darkening night. Not even the once-strange stars that mapped the skies above Vortex City; a tracery he knew now as intimately as he knew the scars that seamed his own forearm -- guiding patterns learned over the years of wandering that somehow slipped away from his grasp whenever he tried to reckon them up... Too many stars -- oh, too bright, surely, to be true? Stars like grains of diamond piled as sand; like ice-crystals on the prairie; like silver hairs on a fox-fur coat... and all around him the darkness stretched out, endless, accepting, at peace. A dream for a man who fled his own dreams. A haven. Kid Curry took a deep breath, and stood up, letting the last sick dregs of fury drain away. Allowing himself finally to see his surroundings as they truly were. No prison, no kennel -- but a sanctuary. A place a man could keep in his heart, or search a hundred years and never find again. A few paces away, the little green troll stood, hesitating, unspoken hope clear in her eyes as she glanced back. 'We'd love to have you back, Curry...' And she'd *meant* it. He remembered tears trickling down that long, comical nose; real woman's tears on the tip-tilted face of a yellow-green creature the size of a child. Tears shed for *him*, that he'd refused to see... 'I am so, so, sorry...' Their eyes met. He nodded, slowly, with an effort. It was suddenly hard to speak. Harder than he'd ever dreamed. "Yeah." He drew another deep breath. "I'll come --" Held up his hand as she rushed into speech, fending off the words he didn't deserve, trying to make a space for the hardest thing of all -- "Lady... I never meant to hurt you none..." And at his throat, wakened to life, the blue charm stirred; and he knew the Contessa was thinking of him. --- The avocado troll noticed the faint blue flicker at his throat, of course, but she kept her eyes on his. "Curry," she said, letting a small smile relax the muscles of her jaw, "*you* haven't hurt me. You haven't betrayed my trust." She left the last word: 'yet', unspoken. She hoped that word would remain unspoken always. But she had glimpsed enough of the darkness of his mind to know she must never forget that it was there. She had also seen enough to stand by her earlier conviction: what this man was, and what he had done were two different things. The man was worthy of the gryphons' respect, as well as her own. She gave a brief nod and ducked through the door leading out of the zero room. The journey from that center to the outside world was one best made alone. He would come, he said, but she imagined that he would come at his own pace, when he was ready. The corridors leading outward seemed shorter than they were going in. She wondered if the TARDIS had been giving her time to compose herself, before, and was now hurrying her on. Or it might just have been a figment of her imagination. She paused by the leader of her TARDIS team and patted her on the shoulder again. "Thank you," she whispered. When the the team of twelve had first appeared as part of her TARDIS's real-world interface, she had thought of them as androids. She'd been wrong. They were no more androids than the metal gryphons on Titan Three had been androids, or Compassion. Perhaps, on the other hand, Sweetheart's team had *started* out as androids, and she had since projected more of her personality, her sentience into the leader since coming to Jubilganza, in preparation for the Circus. The troll realized with a pang how much she had taken her TARDIS for granted since they'd adopted each other during that dark, strange time so long ago. As if in response to the troll's thoughts, Sweetheart turned and licked her face. "Great!" she said, laughing (finally letting the tension that had been building since Kid Curry's collapse drain away). "Swapping tears for horse slobber -- brilliant!" She pulled the handkerchief from her jacket pocket, noticing, as she did so, that it now held the same night sky as Imran's Cloak of Audience. Perhaps it had caught some of the the pro-fun energy that was released when Imran struck the fortuneteller's hand. She dried her face and carefully refolded the handkerchief, slipping it back into her pocket. "How do I look?" she asked Sweetheart. There was another flicker in the eye, and it changed into a mirror. She grinned when she saw her image. One of the stars stuck to the apple of her left cheek, and another on the tip of her nose. "Perfect!" she said, and she went into the circus ring to announce the next act. Daibhid's Rucksack and the seventh Doctor were just finishing up their act. The rucksack was juggling seven balls, and the Doctor was juggling the rucksack plus five pins. Then, suddenly, the rucksack leapt from the Doctor's hands (drawing a gasp from the crowd, who thought it was a drop), somersaulted, and landed neatly beside him. Then they tossed pins and balls into the air, and caught them as one. The applause was thunderous. "Wasn't that wonderful, Ladies, Gentlemen, and Gods?" our ringmaster called out, as she trotted into the center of the ring, applauding herself. "And now, if I may have your attention, prepare to be dazzled as the Doctor battles himself in a dazzling display of epee artistry!" She went back to the sidelines, and peaked out the tent flap. She scanned the campground for Kid Curry, finding his silhouette at last, standing next to his old brown, looking up at the stars. His back was toward her, but she could see the faint blue halo around his head -- the light from the Charm. A strange halo indeed, for a strange angel. ((Meanwhile, Gordon and Saville have troubles of their own...)) * * * 41. Echoes of another Universe * * * /Essential members of Gordon and Saville's act seem to have gone missing.../ --- "What do you mean the zombies have grooved off?" cried Gordon. Saville shrugged helplessly. "They just kind of danced their way out of the caravan and they're out there somewhere..." He indicated toward the wide open spaces before them. "Well, we'll just have to improvise." "Eh? What are we going to do now?" "Well, we're going to..." --- "Now what?" "I'm sorry?" asked the man on the throne. "You've won..." "Yes, although I must admit my old friend, you made a most magnificent attempt to stop me." "...and now you rule this world." "Yes, and your point is?" "Now what?" The figure dismissively brushed a few specks of dust from the shoulder of his dark red velvet suit. His dark face was broken up by a dazzling smile. "You know, I never actually planned that far ahead? I have a world of my own. "I just don't care anymore. I'm bored. they always said it wasn't so much the winning as the taking part. They were right. I have this," he indicated the sceptre of office. "But it really means nothing." He sighed. "Here," he handed over the sceptre. "Find someone. Someone who'll do right by this planet. I don't need it." He shook his head in realisation. "After all these years of trying to gain power, I don't *need* it..." "What are you going to do?" The suited man looked up. "I have no idea. My purpose is gone. Maybe I'll return home, face the consequences of my previous actions." "There is an innocent civilisation in danger of being made extinct. A small world by the name of Lave. One of their archaeological teams has disturbed a temple of the Shin Ra and you know what that means." "The Shin Ra will claim rights of genocide against the trespassers." "Go there, make a difference, play the game, play to win. You win that battle and there will always be another. That is the path I took." "And you've travelled that path well my friend. Very well indeed." "Why thank you." "I've always wondered what it was like to be on your side of the war." He grinned. "Let's see whether a leopard really *can* change his spots!" --- Gordon and Saville stood there... "What the bloody hell was that?" asked Saville as he looked around for someone to blame. "It's been happening quite a bit recently. Flashes from what I thought were my fictional echoes from other streams. But I didn't recognise that one..." They jumped as they heard anguished screaming from a nearby tent, followed by evil laughter. They both scrambled over to the entrance of the tent and flung the cover open. The Master. All eight of him. Auntie Krizu stood in front of them with a feather duster in her hand and a big grin on her face. Yokoi stood behind her, shaking her head in disbelief. Gordon walked in, dragging Saville behind him. They took in the scene. They boggled. |\O_o/| |\o_O/| "And exactly what are you up to Auntie, as if I coudn't guess..." Trying to look innocent (and failing) she turned round and looked straight at Gordon. "Someone said something about wondering who let the Gods out?" "Who? Who? Who? Who?!?!" shouted the Voord. Gordon turned to the Voord, "I warned you about spontaneous singalongs earlier didn't I?" The Voord all sneaked back into the corner of the tent and sulked. "Nobody takes us seriously..." one muttered. Gordon turned back to Krizu, "You were saying?" "Of course, we immediately suspected one of these men, these fine, devilishly handsome men, well, not the decayed ones obviously...and the ones without beards of evil(TM)..." "Ahem!" "Ah yes, so I tied 'em all up and tickled them to find out whether any of them let the Gods out." Saville turned to the Voord. "Don't even think about it..." "And?" "None of them did it." "What?" Yokoi laid a hand on Gordon's shoulder. "She's right, I would have known if any of them were lying. It wasn't them." "Great, back to square one. Everytime we think we know who's responsible for this, we're wrong or there's someone else behind the person we think it is." He turned to Saville, "Go and see if you can find any of the zombies will you? I need to ask Auntie a favour." "Okey dokey!" Saville strode out of the hut, dragging a couple of Voord along to help him. Krizu looked perplexed. "You want *me* to do something for *you*?" "Yes, have you ever wanted to play the..." --- Have you ever wondered what the edge of the universe looks like? The smartly dressed figure looked at the sight in front of him. And endless sea of darkness, filled with deep static shadow. He lit a match, which threw light over his sharp, angular face. He could just see his two friends, the match light fluttering around their concerned faces. ~ How long have we been here? ~ "Seconds, hours, days, weeks, months, years? Time doesn't even exist here anymore." "At least there's a ground," piped up a voice from below. "I don't think I could handle floating in nothingness..." "We thought what we were doing would trap them. But instead we unleashed them on other worlds." ~ Do you think he managed to follow them? ~ "Well, he was pulled in with them. I'd imagine he and Justine may have arrived in the same universe. If they didn't, they may have managed to track them. I think Ship was still functional." "Ours isn't..." muttered the voice from below. "No, the old girl used the last of her power bringing us back to some semblance of reality. Poor thing. She may never recover." ~So we are trapped?~ "I'm afraid so, unless something absolutely extraordinary happens." --- Gordon, Yokoi and Krizu shook their heads, clearing the visions from their eyes. "That's twice in half-an-hour that's happened." said Gordon. Yokoi groaned. "What was that? Who were they?" "I don't know. I thought I recognised one of them, but I can't be sure. I keep feeling my ideas and inspirations falling away from me. Is that the Gods? I know it's not Yokoi." Yokoi managed to smile. "Thanks..." "Well, it's not." He gave her a hug. "Where others teeter on the brink of creativity, we go bungee jumping!" He grinned disarmingly. "Now, we've had a little change of plan regarding our act..." --- Meanwhile, outside... "Here zombies! Heeeeeeeeeere zoooombiiiiiiies!" Saville and the two Voord he'd taken out with him scoured the landscape for any sign of the circulatory challenged dancers. "Hi there!" Saville turned at the sound of the cheery voice. He saw a young woman with dayglo red hair running toward him. She looked tired and out of breath, obviously she'd run quite a distance to get here. "Er, hello?" "I'm Justine. I was wondering if you've seen any big, evil, godlike entities around here?" "Any in particular, or just in general? "Well, we're looking for the Gods Of..." she leaned forwards and whispered in his ear. "r..a..g..n..a..r..o..k" Saville dejectedly pointed towards the main circus tent. "In there." "What are they doing?" "I don't know, trying to destroy the universe or something. I thought the Doctor had trapped them forever, but some idiot let them loose." Saville saw the reaction on Justine's face. "You know who did it don't you?" "Well, yes, no. Kind of." "What do you mean kind of?" "Things aren't as simple as you think..." "Are they ever?" "Nobody unleashed the Gods. They're still trapped. Trapped until death comes to time." "Then what what are the things in there? John-Scott Martin, Terry Walsh and Pat Gorman?" "Those, my young friend are the Gods of Ragnarok!" Saville spun round to see a tall, dark skinned man behind him. He wore a dark red velvet suit, black gloves and held a cigar in one hand. The moonlight shone off his bald head, a neatly trimmed goatee framed a mouth full of bright teeth. But his eyes. They were eyes you could look at and fall into, those eyes could make you do anything, anything... "Only thing is, they're not *your* Gods of Ragnarok. They're *ours*." --- 'Allie?' Imran looked around the wings. Alryssa was still concentrating on the Tarot cards, Tessa watching a little nervously. The hostess was nowhere to be seen; he rather suspected he knew where she'd gone. And right now, if he was right, she didn't need to be disturbed. Gordon was outside with Saville, and the zombies - although, from the shouts he could hear... Nyctolops was with Cameron, and... 'Allie?' '...You *bastard*.' He turned around. Allie's grey eyes were red, puffy with tears. Her robes hung around her, dulled and lifeless. 'You bastard.' she repeated. 'They were the ones who tried to trap you...' 'You reminded me,' she continued, apparently not listening. 'You /reminded/ me.' Imran didn't say anything. 'The music. You asked me about the music, and I didn't know. 'I. Didn't. Know. 'And then...' A tear started trickling from her eye. 'And then... and then you gave it /back/ to me. Xeffy. Mum. Dad. /Everything/. You gave it /all/ back to me.' 'Allie...' 'EVERYTHING!!' Allie roared. 'I... Xeffy wailing her head off as Mum gave her to me, introduced her to big sis, Dad getting me the kiddie videos I said I'd never watch, but I did, hitting the karaoke clubs with Yokoi... M-mum... 'Mum fading away, and... she took his hand, she took Dad's hand, and... 'She used to take... she used to take Xeffy and me down to the beach, did you know? It was fun... burying Xeff up to her neck in sand, slipping seaweed down her back... sharing the ice cream with Xeff when hers dropped onto the sand... paddling in the ocean...' 'I... I... Calliope... I... 'I don't want her to die. I don't want my baby sister to die, do you know?! I DON'T...' Allie shook. 'I don't want Xeffy to die. Not like Mum...' 'No...' Imran whispered quietly. 'No. We're not going to let that happen.' So... Author and Muse turned around. The giantess stood behind them, tall as a tree, her face obscured by her silvery, spiderwebbed cloak. Only a shadow, Imran thought madly. Only a shadow. If she really /were/ here... I am here. I walk wherever memory exists, wherever life exists. And now I stand audience, to remember this. 'Audience...?' Ah... 'The Cloak?' Woven from a strand of my cloak, woven alongside the robe. Granted to you, that they may be put to use. 'Firstmother...' Allie whispered. Alisandra, I must ask your forgiveness. Allie simply looked at the Titan of Memory, wide-eyed. The body's memory is also mine. In granting you the robe... your body remembered what it had been, answering to my touch. You are a year younger - in body - than you were. 'Wh...I...I...' Allie's voice petered out. 'The illusion?' Imran breathed. That was the Robe's doing. Once of memory, it touches memory, inspires through memory. Inspired you to remember her. Catalysed her memory's return. 'Inspiration...' Allie whispered. Alisandra... 'N-no.' Allie finally got out. Listen. Please. You /are/ a true Muse, in heart and soul. You have served beyond, and far beyond, what any of my daughters would ask of their students, of their pupils, for your Writer. Never forget. 'M-my sister...?' Xephanya is safe. It might have been imagination, but a smile flickered across her face. Complaining, somewhat confused... but safe. 'That's Xeffy...' Allie's expression was that of a girl who's just passed through the sea of panic, and was now paddling on the other side. And now... the Titan said, the challenge begins once more. May you be granted good fortune. A moment later, her presence no longer stood before them. 'She..' Allie's voice came from far away. 'She asked... She asked me...' She started giggling hysterically. 'She asked /me/ for forgiveness. She asked me! Mnemosyne asked /me/ for forgiveness...!' 'Come on, laughing girl.' Imran said, grinning almost in hysterical unison with her. 'Time to get back in the ring...' As Imran guided Allie back, Tessa coming up to take her other arm... ... no one noticed Allie's robe, flowing and shifting with colour once again, once more alive. Once more awakened. * * * 42. A Duel between the Doctors * * * /Meanwhile, the Fourth and Eighth Doctors begin their sword-fighting act.../ --- The fourth Doctor walked out, the lights reflecting off the beaming grin on his face. He looked rather ungainly, with his big coat, scarf and floppy hat, but looks can be deceiving. He held up his epee, there was a small cocktail sausage on the end, which he quickly removed and threw into his mouth. The eighth Doctor entered, the light shining of his velvet coat, which was blue tonight. He quickly picked a marshmallow from the end of his epee, hoping nobody had noticed... They both looked up and cheekily saluted the Gods Of Ragnarok, before taking their places under the spotlights. The fourth Doctor continued smiling at the audience. "Ahem, when you're quite ready?" the eighth Doctor said quietly. The fourth Doctor spun around, his scarf sweeping along the floor, sending a cloud of sawdust scattering across the ring. "/En garde/!" The fourth Doctor thrust forward, the eighth deflected the attack with a quick flick of his wrist. The fourth stood back and gave the first of the traditional insults... "Soon you�ll be wearing my sword like a shish kebab!" The eighth raised an eyebrow. "First you better stop waving it like a feather-duster." He quickly feinted, before making an attack, but the fourth Doctor managed to sidestep it. The fourth Doctor parried. "I once owned a dog that was smarter then you." "He must have taught you everything you know." The fourth Doctor looked slightly hurt by this, the look on his face distracted the eighth long enough for the fourth to surreptitiously loop his scarf around one of the eighth's feet. As he retreated, the eighth Doctor moved forward and tripped over the scarf, falling flat on his face and sending a large cloud of dust up into the air. Fourth chuckled. "You�re no match for my brains, you poor fool." A muffled voice replied from the cloud of dust. "I�d be in real trouble if you ever used them." Eight picked himself up from the floor, trying to brush the sawdust off of his coat with his hands and failing. "You have the manners of a beggar." he muttered. Fourth stood back, shrugging. "I wanted to make sure you�d feel comfortable with me." "/En garde/!" cried the more recent incarnation. "Well, alright then..." Both Doctors made their way around the ring, exchanging flurries, attacks, parries and ripostes. They seemed so evenly matched, could there actually *be* a winner? The audience "ooooh"ed, the audience "aaaaaah"ed. The fourth Doctor suddenly smiled. "You are wonderful!" The eighth Doctor looked slightly taken aback at this. "Thank you. I've worked hard to become so." "I admit it, you are better than I am." The eighth Doctor looked puzzled. "Then why are you smiling?" he asked. The fourth Doctor's grin actually managed to get even wider. "Because I know something you don't know." "And what is that?" The fourth Doctor threw his epee into the air and caught it with his other hand. "I am not left-handed!" He lunged forward with a rapid series of lunges and flicks, almost but not quite managing to place the point of his blade on his future-self's body. The eighth Doctor stood back for a second, overwhelmed. "You're amazing!" he exclaimed. "I ought to be after seven hundred and fifty years." the fourth Doctor grinned. The eighth Doctor caught his breath. "There's something I ought to tell you." "Yes?" The eighth doctor smiled disarmingly. "I'm not left-handed either." He suddenly switched hands and deflected his past-self's attacks with a fluid set of parries before managing a couple of ripostes. The audience cheered. The fourth Doctor retreated, until he got to one of the large poles leading to the trapezes / tightropes. He started climbing up the ladder. The eighth Doctor followed, being careful not to poke his epee anywhere sensitive. As he got to the top, the fourth Doctor started making his way along the tightrope, holding his arms out for balance. As he teetered along, he aimed a big cheeky grin towards the Gods of Ragnarok. "Having fun?" he asked cheerily. They edged along the tightrope, maintaining perfect balance all the way. Fourth suddenly looped his scarf around one of the cables leading from the pole to the floor and slid down to the floor, holding his epee between his teeth. The eighth Doctor looked around, lacking a scarf he needed some other way to get back to the ground. Suddenly he saw it, he jumped, grabbing hold of the chandelier and using it to swing across the ring, landing on the stairs in amongst the audience. The audience as one stood up and applauded. "Where did that chandelier come from?" Barry asked Igor. "Shut up and eat your candy floss." "How did the bit holding it up change length so he could get to the ground?" Igor stuck a toffee apple into Barry's mouth. "Shut it." The eighth Doctor ran down the stairs, leaping over the ring edge to land right in front of the fourth. "Give up yet?" "Of course not, I'm having far too much fun!" the fourth beamed. "Glad to hear it." said the eighth breathlessly. "Fancy a pint?" asked the fourth. "Eh?" As the eighth Doctor was distracted by the question, the fourth moved in quickly and managed to touch the eighth's waistcoat with the tip of his epee. The eighth Doctor looked down. "Curses. Foiled again..." he smiled. There was a small chorus of laughter from the audience, but they sounded slightly disappointed. This wasn't the exciting end to the act they had been expecting. A voice came down from the trapezes and tightropes. "My dear Doctors, why don't you let a true master of the blade show them how it's done?" A figure swooped down on a rope, cape flowing behind him. He somersaulted from the rope and landed in between the two Doctors. He turned to the audience and bowed. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Count Grendel at your service!" Backstage, Gordon looked at the bit of paper that had arrived in the shape of a paper aeroplane, with the message promising help. He smiled to himself. The Count turned to the Doctors, "And this time, I shall not be as lenient!" he smiled as he brought up an epee in each hand. The Doctors both raised their own blades, ready for battle. The fourth doctor attacked first, but Grendel nonchalantly parried. The eighth then tried, but he too was held off by the Count's efficient movements. For a couple of minutes, they took it in turns to lunge, feint and thrust, but every attack was parried or deflected. The Count smiled, he was clearly enjoying himself. The Doctors stood back for a second, looked at each other and both attacked at once. But still they could not get through the Count's masterful defence. He dodged and feinted and parried every one of the Doctors' attacks. Holding his own against both Time Lords. Someone in the audience cheered. Then another. Another. All cheering for the Count. Willing him to win. Then he gave his riposte. Both Doctors were surprised, they had to fight to defend themselves. His fluid, rapid attacks caught them almost unawares. Both men retreated, allowing the Count to advance, to switch from defence to offence. Both Doctors started smiling, they may have looked like they were on the verge of losing, but they were enjoying themselves too much to be worried by it anymore. The audience cheered the mastery of the blades shown by all three men as they circled the ring, Count Grendel pushing his advantage, waiting for that moment when one or both Time Lords would make the slightest error, allowing him the chance of victory. The Doctors once again moved either side of the Count, but it was still no good, Grendel still held them both at bay, if you were close enough, you could see the twinkle in his eye. The count spun round and caught both Doctors' swords with his own blades. He twisted and flung his arms up, disarming both Doctors at once. He simultaneously touched them both, just over their left-hand hearts with the tips of his blades. "I think you both get the point, yes?" he laughed. The audience stood up as one and applauded the Count, cheering at the magnificent display he had given. The Count put his epees back on his belt and walked forward to acknowledge the applause. "Thank you, Ladies and Gentlemen, for your appreciation, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the show." He smiled at the Doctors, "And please give your appreciation for my valiant opponent, twice over, the Doctor!" The audience once again applauded. Count Grendel turned to his opponents, "Doctor, and Doctor, shall we retire to the beer tent for a....pint?" he grinned. The Doctors laughed and they walked backstage together, the audience's appreciation still ringing in their ears. --- Our ringmaster applauded and cheered with the rest of them. But something was nagging at the back of her mind. Why hadn't the Gods reacted? Since the circus had begun, they'd been a seething force of hatred and anger, attacking the pro-fun side at every turn. But ever since the fortuneteller act, it was as if they were all ... asleep, as still as stones -- icons that had been long forgotten. Why? Was it simply that they had turned smug, since the Powers That Be ruled in their favor? Did they believe that they had already won (and if so, why)? Or was there something else? And in what twisted way would they answer the Doctors' glorious performance? * * * 43. Undead Gladiators * * * /The Fourth and Eighth Doctors' mock-duel has just finished.../ --- 'This isn't going to be good...' Our hostess turned around in surprise. 'Imran?' There was an odd cast to his face - red, flushing - as if he'd just been laughing very, /very/ hard. The look on his face, however, was serious. 'This is going to get nasty.' he continued. 'Look.' Two figures stepped silently out of the night. Our hostess' eyes widened. They wore the uniforms of Roman legionnaires - but battered, twisted and rusted. Armour long-discarded, long-forgotten. And under the helms, she could see nothing. Nothing at all. Automata. Automata animated by the power of the Gods of Ragnarok. 'A gladiator battle...' our hostess whispered. Imran nodded. 'Twisting it. No displays of talent, no showing off. No dramatic announcements, no playing to the audience. They'll simply /battle/ - until one or the other goes down. No pride. No honour. No mercy.' 'My Gods...' our hostess said quietly. 'Wait. Wait... we have Mnemosyne with us, don't we?' 'The Muses were worshipped in Greece,' Imran pointed out. 'But there would have been /Romans/ who knew of them,' our hostess said. 'The Roman Empire /did/ include Greece... And what they're about to do out there /will/ be a twisting of memory.' Imran looked thoughtful. 'Hmm... Better get out there. The Gods may get a bit /too/ impatient.' 'Yes...' our hostess mused. 'That is odd, though. They've been very quiet - ever since the fortune teller, in fact.' 'I wonder...' Imran said quietly. 'Calliope!' our hostess said, clicking her fingers. 'Muse of epic poetry... Is this going to be a slap in the face to the Greek epics?' 'I wouldn't put it past them.' 'Then I think it may be time to call upon the presence of one more goddess - and hope she answers.' No, the silent voice said. Mnemosyne's voice. My daughter already waits outside, barred by the web. She has come in answer to her pupil's call. 'Pupil?' Our hostess frowned. That meant Tessa, Yokoi or Allie. And as far as she could tell, none of /them/ had called her... In answer to Alisandra's call. For the answer she finally received to her memory... She waits outside, to face whomever shall win the challenge. 'Is there any way she could come into the tent? Or at least lend us some of her power?' She may not enter. Only a God may break the web's bonds, may enter before the challenge is over - and then, only when called, as you called upon us. My daughter is a demigoddess. Her power is already with you - she is wellspring to all the Muses in her care. 'Our Muses.' our hostess realised. A thought was tickling at her brain. Something she'd heard, something... Or perhaps something Sweetheart had picked up on, something she'd sensed. Hm. 'Maybe,' she said. 'Maybe...' She shook her head. 'I'd better get out there. I mislike that silence...' --- "Leave it be," Kid Curry said softly from behind them. "Maybe that's the test. Leave it be." He was looking across into the ring, eyes narrowed, one hand hooked through his belt, considering. There was a strange kind of peace on his face that Imran wasn't sure he'd ever seen there before. The cowboy didn't seem at all spooked by the creaking armour. Maybe he didn't even recognise it. "No men in there -- no-one gets hurt. Just a puppet show. And if you don't scare -- then they lose." Both Imran and the hostess were looking at him now, shocked. Kid Curry shrugged. "Let 'em knock each other to bits. They can't hurt you -- and sure as hell /they/ can't feel it." He nodded towards the wings, where Mags, in full costume, was busy with the white horses. "Use the time. You got a horse act to get on with --" a glance upward, as if to pierce the canvas -- "and if the sky out there's anything like the one back home, guess the night's running kind of short on you." His mouth tightened beneath the heavy mustache. "Some things, you just got to let go by. Maybe I never learned that till now. Maybe I should have." --- "Perhaps you're right," Our ringmaster said. "Still, the Gods have used their act to directly attack the audience, twice already. The second time, they nearly succeeded. I wouldn't be surprised if they tried a third time -- it's just their style to do things in threes. Stay on your toes." She sighed. "Well, I've got a job to do." and she went out to the center of the ring. "Ladies, Gentlemen, trolls and Gods, I present to you a historical tableau of the Roman Empire!" She hurried back out to the wings, eager to leave the space before they started hacking at each other. Kid was right about one thing: dawn was coming up fast, and this would be coming to an end, for one side or the other. The way things had been going, she wouldn't be surprised if simply outdoing the Gods weren't enough... The Gods had to be rebound -- returned to the dimensional cage they had been released from. And *that* would have to be done by the pro-funsters alone, without divine help. But how? What sort of key had opened that lock? And how could they find it? --- And meanwhile... A brief - and possibly tangentially relevant - interlude. Subreality City. Xephanya watched the rain falling outside. In Subreality, everything, even the weather, was usually subject to the writers' wishes. Not tonight, though. Tonight... ...stormclouds bordering on Subreality, rolling in from the Mists. Storm front. A storm at the border. Subreality was still protected - so many writers, characters and Muses in one location, it couldn't help but be. The storm... part of the storm was directed elsewhere, its effects weakened. At full strength... ...things would've been much harder by now. Much harder. And if it /did/ focus its full strength, if it succeeded... Subreality, which depended on Imagination and Reality, would be devastated, drained, /eliminated/. Drained. An appetiser. And Imagination would fall next. The feast. Then... only one story left. The story of the Story Eaters. And Allie... Allie was out there, trying to fight them, stand against them. Allie. /Her/ sister. Bragging rights at the school, she could imagine it now. 'Oh yeah? /My/ sis faced off against the Gods of Ragnarok, /won/, and saved Subreality to boot!' Hah. Take /that/, Chloe, you bitch. Always going on 'bout /her/ big brother, and what /he'd/ done with his Writer. Well, try topping /that/ one... Teen queen. Yeah. For a month. At /least/. She blinked. For a moment there, she'd seen... She looked closer at the window. And saw it. Silent scream, a silent impression against the window. 'Please...' Then gone, lost in the rain. 'Allie...?' Xeffy whispered. 'Allie, what...' No reply. The window showed only the rain, and her own frozen, terrified reflection. 'What happened?' Trouble. She's in trouble. But... what am I gonna do? /I'm/ not a Muse... Who can I tell? Could tell Dad, but... what could he do about it? Have to do /something/... What if it wasn't her? Then why? A trap? Yeah, right. How'm I gonna fall into a trap I can't even get into? Have to. This isn't the way it usually goes - /someone/ answers a ghostly cry for help. Not watch, while Allie screams and screams and... But how? Needs help. Okay. Sorted. Screaming. Hurt, or trapped, or threatened... Need /something/. Xeffy looked around her room. Posters. CDs. Clothes. Doomed makeup experiments. TV. Couple of books. Wall mirror. Bed. Desk. Need something... Mum or Grandma must've picked up /something/ useful. Must have. Thousand years - lots of chances to pick up something, right? But... Mum hadn't had that many souvenirs. Neither did Grandma, none that she left to them... Come on, come on... this is when the lost thingie reveals itself, and that it's got some awesome, earth-shattering power... Nope. This is /Subreality/! Xeffy almost wailed. Where's the story?! Come on. /Something/ that'll get me there... Need something... Teen queen, remember? You can take this on. Something, at the corner of her eye. Nah. Must've imagined... Xeffy blinked. Hnh? A tiny little pouch sitting on her desk, underneath the mirror. Easy to miss; Dad was always losing /his/ keys somewhere, to her constant teasing. Maybe one of Allie's presents while she was at college? Could be. Or something like that, anyway. Allie'd kept leaving her fieldwork and notes round the house, would be just like her to leave something in her room and forget about it. Allie'd probably kill her. Then again, if it turned out to be something that saved her... Xeffy figured that ought to cancel it out. Allie wasn't gonna be /that/ unreasonable. Well, not usually. She picked up the pouch, pulled its drawstring, and looked inside. Sand. Pouch of sand? Must've picked it up from the Shifting Sands. Souvenir. She idly poked at the sand. Well, that wasn't gonna be much help - not unless she threw it in someone's eyes and it stung. Or poured it down their pants... Xeffy winced at a certain set of painful memories. Hmm. She pinched up a bit and considered. Keep it back for another rainy day? Sprinkle it on Allie's food, maybe? She let the grains slide out of her fingers, fall to the floor. When they did- -barely time- -realising- -she was- -/falling/- Xeffy's last conscious thought before she was swept away in a tumult of sand was: Saving her with her own bag of sand. Allie is /so/ gonna hear about this... When the sand finally settled, only a few scattered sand grains remained on the bedroom floor to show Xeffy, and the pouch, had been there. --- Meanwhile, back in the Big Top... The two fighters battled each other tirelessly, never ceasing. Neither gaining the upper hand. 'This reminds me of something...' Imran murmured. Robotic. Mechanical. Patterned. Something nagging. Darkness underneath the helms. Silence from the Gods. One struck at the other... Silently waiting? Autonoma, animated by the will - and power - of the Gods of Ragnarok. How /much/ power? Combat has power. A ritual. Feeding the Gods. Feeding the vessels of their power. The combat was /feeding/ the fighters. Build up the power until it can be released. In the final stroke. Oh no. Oh no. 'Oh no...' 'What?' The other fell to the ground. The one on top lifted a sword, to deliver the final blow. 'EVERYBODY DOWN!!' Impact. The automaton exploded in black light. The victor was consumed in the dark fire. Darkness scythed across the ring - an expanding ring of black The audience dived beneath the bleachers, just in time. (Everything happened so quickly, and yet, seemed so drawn out...) A loud, crackling hiss echoed through the air as the expanding un-energy hit against the protective web of energy outside, and bounced back inward. :::The Gods are trying to cut through the web separating us from the Omniverse, the avocado troll thought. Their minor victory with the Powers that Be, must have made them impatient.... tPTB must be pissed at them now::: And the Gods reabsorbed their grudgingly given power - and the power the ritual combat had given them. Out of the corner of her eye, our ringmaster saw Curry on the ground beside her, arms protectively over his head. She saw the charm flicker more brightly for a split second, as though it were absorbing a power charge. He got to his feet quickly, finding his balance again. Of all of them, he undoubtedly had the most experience diving out of the way of a line of fire. 'Ummfff!!' 'Sorry...' Imran apologised, lifting his elbow off the ringmaster's back. 'That was close...' the little ringmaster said, readjusting her hat. '...What /was/ that, anyway?' 'A win-win situation. Ritual. A ritual to gain power. Ritual combats served to reenact ancient battles of the gods, ancient triumphs. Reaffirm the gods' power.' 'And the Gods were using this combat to reaffirm /theirs/,' our hostess deduced. 'If they could take out the audience, they won - and even if they didn't, they still gained more power from the ritual.' 'Exactly.' Imran said. 'A small victory for them.' 'A victory for /us/, too.' our hostess pointed out. 'If we hadn't realised in time what they were doing, who knows what that darkness of theirs would have done to the audience?' 'Quick and brutal,' Imran murmured. 'Not surprising..' Our hostess frowned. 'But why? Why the need to reaffirm their power?' 'It could be we're getting to them,' Imran offered. 'Or... they need that power for later use. Or both.' 'But what would they need that power for?' our hostess wondered. She looked out again. The Gods were still silent. But now... ...their silence seemed to hold a near palpable malice. A malice directed against the others within the ring. Our hostess shuddered, and drew back quickly. --- Outside the Big Top... 'Iz, you feeling okay?' the tall, thin man with stubble still on his face asked. 'I'm fine, Fitz.' the fish girl reassured him. 'Just needed a quick dip in the barn's swimming pool. I was drying out.' Fitz looked back at the tent. 'Why the Doctor volunteered /our/ services to help out with the horses... I /swear/ one of them gave me a tail flick. /Deliberately./' 'Come on,' Iz said. 'I'm sure her TARDIS isn't out to get you.' 'Izzy, lemme have a /little/ paranoia, okay?' 'Okay.' Izzy said, grinning. She started whistling 'I'll Be Watching You'. Fitz shot her a dark look. 'Anyway, better be-' 'Oof!' 'We've been travelling with the Doctor too long,' Fitz observed. 'Because that didn't worry me in the slightest.' 'Seeing a girl tumble down a sand dune out of nowhere?' Izzy said, as they walked over. 'We really need to see someone about that... I mean, we're from different /continuities/, and we still get it...' By the time they'd reached her, the girl had picked herself up, and was trying to work the sand out of her eyes. 'Umm...' she said, blinking furiously to get the sand out. 'Is it time for the big battle yet?' Fitz and Izzy /blinked/. The girl had long brown hair, some of which was braided behind her, with the rest was left free, big blue-grey eyes, and looked to be around twelve. 'Umm... not /yet/.' Izzy said. 'Give it another few acts...' The girl looked relieved. 'Oh good. Umm... so umm, do you know an Allie?' They nodded. 'And she's in trouble, right?' 'That depends on your definition of trouble...' Fitz said cautiously. 'She is.' the girl said. ' 'Kay, point me to her.' 'Who /are/ you?' 'I'm Xeffy? You know, her brat kid sister?' Fitz put his hand over his eyes. 'I knew this was going to be a long day when I woke up...' 'Ignore him.' Izzy said. 'I'm Izzy, and he's Fitz.' 'So what trouble /is/ she in?' 'Apart from singing on stage with the Gods of Ragnarok in the audience?' 'Oh.' Xeffy looked almost disappointed. 'You're sure? Nothing else? Nothing really, spectacularly bad?' The other two nodded. And raised their eyebrows (or eyeridges, in Izzy's case). 'Wonder what /that/ was about...' Xeffy murmured. 'What what was?' 'Oh, nothing... Okay. Point me to her.' Izzy and Fitz exchanged glances. When someone says they're thinking about nothing... it usually turns out to be something important you really should have known right /then/... Then they shrugged in mutual resigned acceptance, and followed Xeffy back to the Big Top. ((But Xeffy was not the only unexpected arrival...)) * * * 44. The Nth Doctor * * * /The members of Gordon and Saville's act have wandered off vaguely into the night... / --- "We've kind of lost the zombies (not due to any sort of attack, just bumbling incompetence) but we have a plan -- " "Honestly, who'd be unobservant enough to let the zombies out?" "As I understand it, Auntie Krizu walked past and Saville and Igor were distracted long enough by her cleavage of evil(TM) for them to slip by..." --- Saville and the Voord found the zombies at the edge of the web. For a second they looked like a bizarre line of mime artists, all doing the invisible wall routine, but if you looked closely, unfocused your eyes slightly, you could see the faintest glimmer of static where the web stood. Saville was still slightly unsettled by his meeting with Justine and her friend. He hadn't recognised the man, yet he *had* recognised him. He shivered. He just hoped this didn't complicate things. "Shigeru, Jarvey!" he called to the two Voord. "Help me organise this lot into some semblance of an orderly line and we'll head back to the circus." --- TIme Lords almost always recognise each other on sight. Unless of course, the other one's wearing a silly mask or disguise of some sort. But in the everyday course of the universe, two Time Lords meeting will *always* recognise each other. But when the stylish, dark skinned figure walked into the backstage area, the Doctors all had to look twice. The figure seemed familiar, but was completely unrecognisable to them. The fifth Doctor walked up to the newcomer, extending his hand. "Hello, I'm the Doctor. I don't believe I've had the pleasure, although you seem familiar somehow." The figure smiled, a warm, gentle smile that lit up his face. He looked round at the other seven incarnations. "Likewise. I see a bit of him in all of you, yet you are all so completely different." He turned back to the fifth Doctor. "I am usually known as the Master." The Doctors looked surprised. "I thought we had all but one of you chaps tied up in one of the tents?" pondered the third. "Yes, we're only missing one that we know of." the first said, pointing a finger at the Master. "And you, my fellow, are not he..." The Master walked over and sat down at a table. He propped his elbows on the edge and arched his fingers before him. "I suppose I owe you an explanation?" he said, quietly, as the Doctors sat around the other sides. Justine walked in and took up a chair behind him, not interrupting. "Have you ever seen a universe die? Just give up? Until the Day Of Ragnarok, our universe operated pretty much as normal. With occasional....glitches. But then it happened. Things that everyone took for granted just stopped. Depending on where you were, the sun didn't rise, night didn't fall. The only thing that kept going were the people. Within a few hours, the cold began to bite. Ponds, lakes, seas and oceans all froze up. The air hurt to breathe. Everyone should have died, but they didn't. Death came to time. "Ragnarok wasn't meant to happen for billions of years. Something, or *someone* released the Gods Of Ragnarok early. Oh, we tried to send them back to where they came, but we failed. Then we tried to send them into one of the dark dimensions, but I miscalculated. They managed to create a conduit, a gateway and escape into this universe. If one of you were to check where you trapped the Gods in *this* universe, you will find them still there. These are false gods from outside your realm." He indicated himself and Justine. "At the last minute we managed to follow them in TARDIS. But he and his companions are still trapped there, at the edge of a dead universe." "And he is?" asked the fifth Doctor. "Your equivalent in that universe. He used his TARDIS to hold the gate open long enough for us to follow the Gods." He shook his head sadly, "I can only hope that my old friend has managed to find safety there..." --- ~ What was that? ~ Silence signed. Katherine shook her head to clear it. "Who were those people? Where were they?" The Doctor just stood there, silent. "The circus...of course." he said quietly. "I believe we are seeing echoes of wherever it is the Gods have gone. I recognised the tents and paraphernalia of a circus, the Gods were linked to such a circus many, many centuries ago." He scratched his forehead. "There's some sort of link, some sort of link between us and someone there. Someone who's fighting against the Gods." ~ Someone is fighting them? ~ "Yes, foolhardy as it might seem. But you just never know, there may just be a chance..." --- "Have you got any dice on you?" Gordon asked Saville as he walked back in, with zombies. "Er yeah..." he answered, bringing out a small pouch filled with dice of every shape and colour. Gordon rummaged around inside, before pulling out a simple six-sided dice. It was dark blue, with white spots. "Thanks." "What do you need it for?" "Just a contingency plan. Something to give us a chance..." "We found the zombies." "Ah, good. We can incorporate them into the new act." "The new act?" "Yes, I'm a bit worried about how things are going, we're doing a panto now." "It's not Christmas..." "Doesn't matter, pro-fun rule #273 You can hold a panto whenever you like." "You just made that up..." "Yep." "Just be careful, stay alert, stay frosty." "I will." --- "6031769 bottles of beer on the wall, 6031769 bottles of beer..." "Katherine..." "Sorry, I'm just getting a bit edgy and fidgety here." "I understand, but at the moment all we can do is wait. TARDIS is out of power, and I'm not sure there's enough energy left in this universe for her to draw upon anymore." Silence ran her finger through her short hair, frowning in concentration. ~ She sleeps. ~ The Doctor looked at her. "That's good to hear. All hope is not lost." "What about this link with someone over there? Can it help us?" asked Katherine. "I honestly don't know, my dear. It all depends on if the person on the other end realises what is happening. Until then, all we can do is wait..." --- "So how can we defeat these other Gods?" asked Second. "I honestly have no idea anymore," said the Master. "Although, from what I've seen you are doing a rather good job so far. Who knows? Perhaps it will be enough. I certainly hope so." A bell sounded, indicating the next act was about to be announced The Master stood up. "The least I can do is be a witness to the proceedings." He walked up to the curtain, to watch the entertainment about to start. The Master muttered darkly to himself, "This could be this universe's last chance..." --- Ok, in case anyone needs to know who the Nth Doctor, Katherine and Silence look like, http://www.bhfh.fsnet.co.uk/paradoxenginemain.htm has photos of who they're based on. Hopefully have some artwork up there soon. --- ((Meanwhile, the avocado troll is worried about the effects of the black energy from the gladiator act on those outside the tent...)) Our ringmaster gave a brief nod to Imran and Curry, and ducked back out the tent. The horses were clearly spooked. Mags and Kingpin, along with a man she hadn't seen before, someone who appeared to be a fish-woman, and a twelve year old girl, were moving among them, trying to calm them down, and not having much luck. "Is everything all right?" she asked, somewhat afraid of the answer. "That last attack from the Gods of Ragnarok didn't hit any of you, did it?" The twelve-year-old ran up to her, not caring about looking cool. "Is Allie all right?" The troll smiled. "You must be 'Xephy'" she said. "Yes. She's fine. We all managed to duck in time. Go on in. I'm sure she'll be glad to see you. I just decided to check on things out here, and make sure you were all all right." "We're fine," Mags said. "The gryphons sensed the attack coming before we did, and three of them shielded us with their wings, deflecting the energy away." :::The other three must've gone out to protect Gordon, Igor and the zombies, she thought, gratefully::: "But the explosion," Mags continued, "when their un-energy finally hit the web, was very loud, and the team got spooked." The avocado troll went up to the leader. "*You* got spooked, Sweetheart?" she said, patting her on the shoulder. "You're a TARDIS, remember - not a two year-old thoroughbred filly. You've witnessed whole galaxies go up in a mass of supernovas. Why should a little bit of noise from a set of wannabe gods get you so upset?" Sweetheart lowered her head, and butted against Our Ringmaster's chest, nearly lifting her off her feet. A flood of telepathic emotion swept over the troll, registering in her mind as though they were a picture whose resolution was reduced to vast fields of muted color, light and dark: Memory, Danger, Uncertainty, Empty, Silence, Loneliness, Sleep. And she realized that she was glimpsing her TARDIS's final memories of the loss of her Timelord pilot, before Eloise found her. She swallowed hard. "I'm fine," she reassured Sweetheart, her voice a little shakier than she would have liked. "*We* will be fine. We'll win this. You know we will. Fun always wins out in the end." The leader nickered softly, and the twelve horses calmed as one. The troll smiled. "Now go in there and show them why you are the most spectacular TARDIS in all of the eleven dimensions!" And she hurried back inside the Big Top to get ready to announce what promised, quite frankly, to be her favorite act. ((Meanwhile, Allie is about to receive a pleasant(?) surprise...)) * * * 45. The Equine Magic of the Twelve Sweethearts * * * /The Eighth Doctor's companions are showing Xeffy round the Circus.../ --- 'Can you see the others?' 'Over... there, I think.' Izzy said. Xeffy peered at the group sitting in the bleachers. '/Those/ are your friends?' 'Yep.' Fitz said. 'In short order - the reptile guy in the helmet and armour's Ssard, he's an Ice Warrior, the blonde woman in the pink jumpsuit's his wife Stacy...' 'Mm-hmm.' Xeffy said. 'The girl in the camouflage trousers and T-shirt's Sam, the guy in the black bodysuit with a black crystal globe for a head is Shayde...' 'Mm-hmm.' 'The girl in the steward's outfit...' Fitz frowned. 'Hmm... Yeah, that's Charley - short for Charlotte - the redhead with the cynical expression is Compassion... personally, I think she's faking a good chunk of the cynic attitude, and don't mention her crush on the Doctor... and the woman in the casual suit, black hair, can't miss her, is Anji.' 'Mm-hmm. So... are you this Fictiverse's Justice League?' Fitz spluttered. Izzy concealed a grin. 'You're dressed for it,' Xeffy pointed out. 'I wish...' Izzy said, grinning. 'No, we hang out together - well, at least at points our Fictiverses collide. Not all the time, though... but we decided to drop in on the Hoedown.' 'Actually, the Doctor dragged us along.' Fitz muttered under his breath. 'And I just /knew/ this was gonna get weird - the Doctor can't cross the street without getting into an adventure.' 'XEFFY?!!?' Thud. 'Umm, could we get some water over here?' Tessa said. 'Allie's fainted.' 'Interesting definition of "glad to see you",' Fitz observed. 'Is it any wonder? She's been rollercoasting on emotion - panic, terror, hysteria, stress... She had to let it hit sometime.' Tessa observed. 'She is okay, right?' Xeffy hunkered down next to Tessa. 'She'll be okay. She's just had her emotions - and exhaustion - catch up with her.' Tessa brushed Allie's hair back. 'And fighting off an attempted soul capture...' Tessa closed her eyes. 'She had to rest.' 'What?' 'The Gods were trying to capture her soul,' Tessa said quietly. 'Together, she and her writer managed to break the illusion, stop the capture... but even resisting it took a lot of effort.' 'Her... soul?' Xeffy whispered. A reflection in the window. A silent scream against the glass. 'Please...' 'Where's her writer?' 'Is she okay?' Imran asked, huffing slightly. Tessa nodded. 'Exhaustion. She needs to rest for a bit.' Imran nodded. Then double-took on Xeffy. 'You're her sister...' 'Good guess.' Xeffy said. 'What the hell'd you do to Allie!?' Imran's voice lowered. 'Nothing. I did /nothing/ to her.' 'Then why'd she collapse?' 'She's exhausted.' Imran said coldly. 'Tired. Worn out... She /needed/ to rest.' 'Yeah? You haven't collapsed yet.' 'Believe me, I'd love to.' Imran said. 'This isn't "Writer sits back and lets his Muse do all the work" - so don't try to make it that way.' 'Xeffy,' Tessa said quietly. 'Both of them need to rest - they've undergone a lot of stress.' She looked up at Imran. 'Don't go falling apart on us just yet.' 'I'm saving that for the big climax.' Imran said drily. 'Hmm.' Fitz said. 'Hmm... Why don't we look after Xeph?' Tessa bugged. '/You/?' 'We were the ones she met first,' Izzy pointed out. 'We can watch her. And anyone trying to attack her's going to have to go through an angry TARDIS.' 'A what?' 'Compassion.' 'Oh.' Xeffy frowned. 'Is she some sort of super-powerful entity, then?' 'You might say that,' Fitz murmured. 'We'll look after her till you or Allie are okay, okay?' Izzy suggested. Imran let himself sink to the ground. 'Okay.' A young troll came up. 'Umm, Eloise was wondering if you could give these a look over before her act?' He handed Tessa a sheaf of paper. Tessa raised an eyebrow. 'Hmm. A hymn to Epona... We should be able to manage one of these.' 'Thanks!' the young troll said. Yokoi read over Tessa's shoulder: "Upon a mare white as the moon She keeps a stately pace, And though we chase fast as we can, She always wins the race -- She always wins the race. "Train my heart to your saddle gold, My mind to your silver rein And out upon the trail we'll go, a-Hunting for our dreams, a-Hunting for our dreams." http://www.bhfh.fsnet.co.uk/epona.htm 'Excuse me?' Xeffy said. 'Um... where did you want to sit?' 'Could I stay with her?' Imran raised an eyebrow. 'Could she?' 'Until the act begins,' Tessa said. 'This is a triad - it's going to need all three of us to sing it.' 'She can't.' Xeffy protested. 'She's a wreck!' 'Who's a wreck... Xeph?' 'ALLIE!' 'I should have known,' Allie said from her position on the floor. 'I should have known. You manage to get even /here/...' 'Well, it was your bag of sand that did it.' 'My what?' 'Your souvenir? From the Shifting Sands?' 'That wasn't a souvenir I got...' Allie frowned. 'In fact... no, sure I never got it.' Xeffy un-prised her fingers from around the bag. 'This ring any bells?' Allie lifted her head up. 'No... not mine.' 'So where'd it come from?' Xeffy demanded. 'The Sandman?' 'The Sandman?' Imran said quietly. 'As in Dream of the Endless?' 'Well... oh, you know who I meant!' 'I have a bad feeling I do.' Imran murmured. Xeffy pocketed the pouch. 'Hnh. Okay, find out where it /did/ come from...' 'Better get to our seats,' Fitz said. 'I think she's just 'bout ready to go on...' Tessa nodded. 'See you later, 'kay?' Xeffy said. 'And look after yourself.' Allie managed a grin. 'Ladies and gentlemen, my sister the nanny.' 'Uh-huh,' Xeffy said. 'And who ended up being my babysitter?' 'Much as I enjoy sibling rivalry...' Tessa noted. Fitz nodded. 'Come on.' Muttering under her breath, Xeffy followed Fitz and Izzy out to the bleachers. "Hi," said Nyctolops. "Here have some Audience Cloak." Without further ado Nyctolops gathered up a handful of starstuff from her own cloak and handed it to Xeffy, who didn't know quite what to do with it, but it folded itself to her shoulders nonetheless. --- Moments later, Allie, Tessa and Yokoi were in their ring, Philip ready on guitar. In the wings, Imran sat back against the wall. No magic there. The plain milkshake - and Xeffy's arrival - seemed to have bolstered Allie's resolve that little bit more, just enough... But what was Xeffy doing here? And what about the bag of sand? Hmm... Keeping another eye on her wouldn't hurt. He hauled himself up, and out to the bleachers. The Second and Third Doctors were doing an encore of their light and music act... Originally, there was no intermission planned for this spot, but the Gods' swordfight had made a complete mess of the ring, and her deputy and a pair of younger trolls had been recruited to rake the surface smooth again. They moved in the shadows, while all eyes were directed upward. And she thought she caught a glimpse of Mags hurrying around them ... setting up ... props? :::I wonder what they're going to do!::: she thought, excitedly. Eloise noticed another flurry of activity in the wings -- near TYA's stage. It was hard to make out what was being said above the organ music, and most of the humanoids there probably didn't hear anything at all. But *her* ears could clearly tell that something was wrong. Imran, especially, sounded like he was about to break. :::Just hold on a little while longer::: she thought. :::Whatever happens, dawn is almost here. And then this, at least, will be over::: The final notes and lights faded away as Second and Third finished their act. Then a bell sounded, announcing that it was time for the next to begin. With a case of butterflies almost as intense as if she were getting ready to perform herself, Eloise trotted out to the single spotlight that awaited her. "Ladies, Gentlemen, trolls, and Deities: The amazing equine magic of The Twelve Sweethearts!" and she hurried to the sidelines to wait, barely able to stand still. The spotlight shining on the center of the ring switched off, and the Big Top was plunged into total darkness. And stayed that way. But this wasn't like the darkness of the Gods of Ragnarok -- this was like when a friend blindfolds you, leading you safely to where a Big Surprise is waiting. She could feel the anticipation building in the audience -- the *whole* audience. Perhaps it was the pro-fun energy that the hoedowners had been sending at them that was finally beginning to take hold; perhaps it was the energy they had stolen, backfiring on them; perhaps it was simply that their hunger for entertainment had finally overwhelmed them, but she could feel the malice of the Gods of Ragnarok begin to crack, and a little bit of curiosity begin to seep through. TYA began to vocalize, harmonizing a slow melody in a minor key. It began so quietly that the sound barely tickled the ears and slowly grew louder. Then the darkness was pierced by the orange light of a flaming torch, which seemed, at first, to float through the air. But as her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see that it was held aloft by Kingpin, dressed as a jester -- except that every detail, right down to the bells that adorned the tassels on his collar and his cap, was black. The checkered pattern of his motley was achieved with texture: corduroy, denim, silk and velvet, rather than color. He had even blackened his face with burnt cork, like the figure of Black Pete from ancient pantomime. In the ruddy, flickering light of the torch, he seemed as ghostly as an after image burned on the retina, or a nearly forgotten dream. He began to dance, clockwise, in time to the music, pirouetting every fourth step, describing a circle half the size of the ring itself. The light trailing from his torch traced ghostly spirals through the dark, drawing all eyes and minds into the dance with him. As he circled, he came to other torches, which he lit as he passed by. When the circle was completed, the eight outer corners of an equal-armed cross were clearly marked. And from her memory of how the light had passed that day, Eloise was certain that the four arms of the cross aligned perfectly with the cardinal directions. Kingpin continued to dance, spiralling out to the edge of the ring itself, where eight more torches, twice as tall as the first, awaited to be lit. When he had finished this last circle, a crossroads was etched on their collective imaginations, as clear as if the roads had been paved and signposted by the Highway Department -- the perfectly balanced meeting point of Dream Way and Reality Avenue. Four tentflaps, aligned with the torches, opened simultaneously, letting the cool, pre-dawn breezes sweep through the Big Top, sending a cascade of sparks swirling through the air. And the TARDIS team entered, three horses to a side, wearing silver bridles and reins, and golden, empty saddles, glittering in the torchlight. They cantered toward the center of the ring, changing which foreleg they led with every other stride. The overall effect was that the horses appeared to be skipping, as a child would, for sheer joy of it. They didn't slow one iota as they went, and a collective gasp rose from the audience as a massive collision seemed inevitable. But with the fluidity of a whirlpool, the horses serpentined around each other until the leaders of each line had crossed the full diameter of the ring. Then, as one, they each did a half pirouette, and faced the center of the ring. Only then did they slow their pace, switching fluidly to a highstepping trot, pausing for a split second at the top of each stride, so that it seemed they were moving in slow motion. When the last horse of each line was half way between the inner circle and the outer circle, they trotted in place for eight beats, then stood stock still, not twitching a single ear. :::Eloise knew that all the horses were really one being with a single mind, but she was still impressed. It was as if a person with twelve arms were juggling 48 pins, and not missing a single beat. She began to realize the mental and physical flexibility Sweetheart needed to juggle all her inner dimensions for the troll's safety and comfort, and was immensely grateful::: TYA stopped vocalizing and sang first verse of the hymn: (Upon a mare white as the moon She keeps a stately pace, And though we chase fast as we can, She always wins the race -- She always wins the race.) And as they returned to vocalizing, the horses began moving again, trotting diagonally, this time, across the ring. Again, as they came toward the center of the ring, they serpentined around each other, moving with the precision of a line of Ziegfield Follies dancers, coming at last to stand three abreast in the spaces between the arms of the cross. Again, they turned to face the center of the ring, and stopped on a dime. Mags entered from the wings, dressed as a tramp clown, with a broom for a hobby horse, the bristle end facing forward. And as with Kingpin's costume, every detail, even the head of the broom, was black, except that Mags was wearing whiteface. She romped around the ring, waving to the audience, and miming laughter. She mimicked, with perfect comic sense, each of the moves the horses had made. After the graceful, solemn tension of all that had come before, laughter came easily. Then Mags herself turned solemn, "riding" to the center of the ring, while TYA sang the second verse: (Train my heart to your saddle gold, My mind to your silver rein, And out upon the trail we'll go, a-Hunting for our dreams -- a-Hunting for our dreams) Mags circled the midpoint of the crossroads, clockwise, three times, then went to stand beside the team leader, in the northeast quadrant. TYA fell silent. The only sound now was the wind blowing through the Big Top. The audience shifted in their seats. Was that it? The end? Eloise could feel that even Sweetheart was uncertain. The Gods of Ragnarok began to grow restless, but not with the same malice she had felt before. This time, there was a distinct sense of *nervousness* mixed in with it. Then it happened. *She* appeared, as intangible as a ghost, and as solid as a steamroller: a goddess cloaked all in black, riding bareback and aside�, on a horse even whiter than Sweetheart's team. The horse was walking, yet moved so quickly it stunned the mind, travelling east to west, just ahead of first light. This was Epona, letting herself be seen for a moment, as she journeyed through all the worlds, dispensing dreams. Red rose petals trailed in her wake like clouds of steam, with the life-affirming brilliance of which the Gods' blood red lightning was a twisted shadow. � Not a typo. As though with a sidesaddle -- only without the saddle ;-) Then she was gone. All that remained were the rose petals, scattered across the ring, the scents of apples, fresh baked bread and wine, and the knowledge that she had been there -- giving her blessing, and her warning. The Gods of Ragnarok hissed angrily, as though burned by the sparks from the torches. For the first time since this showdown began, she could feel that they'd been knocked off balance. The hoedowners hadn't won, yet, she knew. Much danger lay ahead. But for the first time, she truly felt that they had a chance. * * * 46. Allie's collapse * * * /The TARDIS' dressage act has succeeded in invoking the power of the goddess Epona.../ --- Gordon had to dodge out of the way as Yokoi enthusiastically bundled backstage. She ran around him several times, grinning like a loony. "Wasn't that just *great*?!?!?!" "I think we may have actually hurt them..." Gordon mused. Yokoi spun round and round. "Which is good, yeah?" "I hope so, I just wonder what they're going to follow it up with." "Oh stoppit Mr. Grumpy. You and Saville are up after whatever they throw at us, and knowing what you two are like, I think the Gods are gonna have probs..." "Actually", says Bokman, waiting in the wings, "I was told me and Zoe are supposed to go on after their next bit. They do another magic thing, we respond, if I'm not mistaken." The deputy troll (on her way to retrieve the torches and rerake the ring) shook her head and tapped the clipboard. Everything since the God's first magic (non)act had been crossed out and rewritten. "There's been a change, remember -- the Powers that Be switched our performing order. *We* go first, now, and the Gods respond. You and Zoe are up immediately after the God's next act." She shuddered. "I'll hate cleaning up after *those* horses," she added. She looked out at Kingpin's and Mags impromptu intermission: "Jester and tramp fight over who gets to ride the hobbyhorse next", and smiled. Hippies they may have been, once, but they had made a life of this. Now, they were artists. "Well," she said, glancing down at her own Harlequin costume, "let's make it a trio!" and she went out to join them, real and true. --- Yokoi hits the button on the retcon-o-tron(TM)... "Oh stoppit Mr. Grumpy. They get a go, then there's Bokman and Zoe's magic act, then you and Saville are up after whatever the Gods respond to that with, and knowing what you two are like, I think the Gods are gonna have probs..." "As long as the innuendo police don't cart us all off, we should be okay." "Don't you worry about them, I stuck 'em in the room with no doors." Me looked at Yokoi for a few seconds. "Stop that, you're scaring me..." Yokoi just giggled. "But just in case, and I'm not saying whatever you and your brother have planned won't be enough, I've called in a few favours and organised one or two little, teensy weensy things that'll just add that finishing touch..." "What exactly have you done?" "Oh nothing, just scooped up a few peeps to help us out." Yokoi grooved mightily on the spot, grinning. Gordon looked incredulous, "You used a Time Scoop?!?!?!" "No, I used the *Tim* Scoop, it's much safer and doesn't suffer from the causality tweakage problems the Time Scoop did." "Riiiiiiiiiiiight..." Yokoi stopped grooving and looked Gordon straight in the eye. "You don't trust me?" "Pinata. Custard. Explosion. Mexican border patrol." "That could have happened to *anyone*." "It was pretty funny, I wonder if they ever got the stains out?" "Anyway," she said, poking him gently in the ribs. "Don't. You. Worry. If nothing else..." Minds touched, concepts, ideas, thoughts, slipstreamed around them, not plan A, or plan B, this was the whole alphabet at once. Brainstorming, redemption, devices, transference, shift, chances. "I suspected as much." "Yeah, well I'll help out if we need to do that. We'll just grab the first person who comes along to finish the routine, I'm sure they'll understand." "Player One ready!" smiled Gordon. "Player Two ready!" grinned Yokoi. "Player Three ready!" beamed Saville. "Wizard has shot the food..." mumbled Igor as he loped past. "This is getting silly..." muttered Saville. "Oh, we're just getting started." Yokoi promised. Gordon took the Sword of Authorial Freedom out of his pocket. "In case of emergency, break laws of physics...let's *do* it!" --- When a strange, gawky girl-child came tumbling into the tent with one of the weirder guests at her heels, Kid Curry couldn't help but notice. Couldn't hardly help but tense up, either, when first Allie then Imran hit the floor when she was around. The brat sure didn't look like much, with those long skinny arms and legs sticking out of her skimpy clothes, and those big round "don't pick on me, I didn't do it" eyes. Kind of reminded him of little brother Lonie at that age, in fact -- who'd been a regular hellion for trouble, and the only one out of the four of them who never took the whippings, after... Yeah, well. Big strong Henry took a cold in the lungs and died, down in Steamboat Springs. And brother John got the wrong end of a shotgun blast from a neighbor, up on the ranch in the Little Rockies they'd worked, on and off, the four of them, since Lonie got big enough to quit school and lend a hand. He'd paid the guy his own back -- for the water, for the ranch, for John. Waited years to settle the account -- but he'd done it. You didn't get away with crossing Kid Curry. Not once, not ever. (Hadn't always been 'Kid Curry' back then, though. Hadn't ended up then as head of the family...) And then it had been just him, and little brother Lonie. Oh, Lonie'd run with him a time or two, out on the trail, but the little'un had gotten himself that saloon... not so little by then, either. Guess it was hard to realize, sometimes, when your kid brother was all grown up. And they'd caught up with Lonie, in the end. Little Brother had been in on that one, big, fifty-thousand-dollar job, that bitter night eight miles out of Rock Creek. Taken a share, sunk it into a new saloon. That was enough for Pinkerton's. Enough to track him down. They'd caught up with Lonie back at Aunt Lee's. Shot him down at dawn on her doorstep, a hundred yards from the house. He'd been barely thirty years old. ---- No more family. No responsibility. Nothing. On his own for once and all... 'Kid Curry' for so long now he'd all but forgotten his own right name... His nose was razor-sharp above thin lips. A stocky figure half-hidden in shadow, he stared at the girl hunkered down by Imran and Allie. Family, maybe. Brat sister, maybe. But then one way or another she'd laid out two of the leading spirits on the Pro-Fun side... and there was no way she should have gotten in here in the first place. She had to have come through that blue wall the charm had laid down -- and he hadn't felt a thing. Not a twitch. Which meant there was something out there *more* powerful than the charm -- more powerful than the Gods -- and there was no way he'd gamble his life against the chance of it being on their side... He'd made one wrong call already tonight, on the sword-fight. If it wasn't for Imran, they'd all be dead, or maybe worse. Now, just like that, this girl turns up -- and Imran's ready to break. Coincidence? Somehow, he didn't think so. He started in on the first few steps that would take him over to the little group in the wings. Little Miss Butter-won't-melt-in-my-mouth had some explaining to do -- and *fast* -- And then everybody moved at once. The ringmaster made her announcement... and the tent went black. Warm, total dusk. Waiting. And Kid Curry was spellbound like the rest. The horses swept across the ring. Once, twice. Rushing towards each other, blending, turning, like cavalry on parade... only there were no riders. No yellow-stripe troopers. Only the animals, dancing like human creatures... and they had changed. More breedy, somehow. Slender legs, small heads, heavy arched necks, strong quarters. When he'd first set eyes on them, hitched to the circus wagon back on the blue-dust plains of the Valeyard's country, they'd been common-bred, scrubby beasts. Hard, almost like machines. Now, they were something more. And looking back out of the wide-set dark eyes... was a mind that knew it. He shivered suddenly as the act ended. It wasn't just the change in the horses. The air itself seemed to grow thick, like the onset of a nightmare... slow like molasses, with lightning claws in its tail... And *She* came. He did not see her. At least, not with the eyes of the body, for they were tight shut. Dreams... many things to many men, but some there be that ride in torment nightly... He felt her. With every bone in his body he felt her, like a thundercloud that passed through the ring, a promise and a warning. He would have cried out despite himself if he dared, with a tongue grown of a sudden deathly dry... Kid Curry fled into himself. Into memory. And found the Contessa, like a warm hand clasping his own. He'd never touched her -- hell, she was a lady born -- never even thought of her that way, until... Yet she was there, her slender hand in his, warding off the nightmares, holding him safe from the Power that walked the ring. He clung to her for a long moment, wordless, like a child. "It is evening here, and things go very badly," she said at last softly into the dream they both shared. "What time is it with you, my friend?" And as he opened his eyes without thinking, the dream slipped away... and the world was full of rose-petals, and the scent of coming dawn. --- 'Just one thing...' 'Mm?' 'That /is/ Xeffy, isn't it? I mean, that she turns up /now/...' 'I'd know my brat sister, thanks so much.' 'Yes... but it /is/ a coincidence...' 'Uh-oh.' 'Uh-oh? ...Uh-oh.' -- 'Uh-oh,' Fitz murmured. 'Will everyone /stop/ with the Teletubby impersonations?' Izzy demanded. 'The what?' Izzy, Sam and Anji looked at each other. 'You do not wanna know...' 'He's heading this way,' Stacy reported. 'The cowboy guy?' Xeffy said. 'Why?' 'I believe,' Shayde said, 'that he is more than a little concerned as to your sudden appearance through the web.' 'Yeah? So am I.' 'Why weren't you?' 'You get used to seeing girls appear out of nowhere...' Fitz remarked. 'You've got a point...' Sam allowed. '...Wait, how /did/ you get here?' Xeffy blushed. 'Um... would you believe...' She rummaged through her clothes. 'C'mon, c'mon, I know I put it here somewhere...' 'It's in the back pocket.' Anji said. The others looked at her. She shrugged. 'Benefits of having a younger brother.' 'Oh. Thanks.' They craned to see what was in Xeffy's hand. 'A pouch?' Xeffy tugged at the drawstring. She frowned. 'Hang on, this wasn't closed before... Gotcha!' 'Sand. O-kay...' 'It was filled with sand /before/ I got here, genius.' 'Hard to tell if it's got mixed with anything...' Stacy pointed out. 'For all we know, this could be Jubilaganzan sand.' 'Compassion would know.' Ssard observed. 'So how /did/ it get you here?' 'Er...' --- 'Dream brought her here,' Allie said. Imran nodded. 'Dream of the Endless.' 'They are not Gods, they were never men...' Allie quoted. 'Not completely true.' Allie grinned. 'I know - thanks to your anal-retentive memory.' 'Mm. The Endless aren't interfering - or at least, not taking an active hand in this.' 'They're /our/ Powers That Be,' Allie said. 'Well, in /some/ respects, at least.' 'Mm.' 'Well, not quite.... They're embodiments, personifications. And Dream embodies, in part, creativity, dream, stories...' 'And so he's interfering /here/ as best he can,' Imran surmised. 'But /Xeffy/?' 'You were really snapping at her.' Allie noted. 'Mm?' 'When she showed up. You laid into her.' 'No excuses there...' Imran murmured. 'But /you'd/ nearly collapsed, you were unconscious... you'd put yourself through hell, you were ready to burn out. I didn't have /time/ to deal with her on top of it...' '/She/ was scared as hell, too...' Allie observed. 'Heh. No, it wasn't what you'd call a good start...' 'Heh.' --- 'Mind if I have a word with the "little lady"?' Kid said. The girl-child looked up at him. 'Yeah?' 'You managed to lay out Imran and Allie jus' by showing up. Pretty impressive.' 'It wasn't my fault she collapsed!' Xeffy huffed. 'No? You show up... and then they collapse. Can't help thinking there's a connection.' 'There's a connection, alright - Allie's been at freakin' breaking point! Anything could have sent her over the edge!' 'That you turn up, at just the right /time/ to send her over the edge... and then Imran goes with her.' 'I DIDN'T KNOW THAT WOULD HAPPEN!!' Xeffy screamed. 'She /wanted/ me to come! She wanted...' '/Who/ wanted?' 'Allie.' 'Allie? No way, kid. She's been here all along.' 'She nearly had her /soul/ stolen!' Xeffy snapped back. 'How'd /you/ know she got all of it back?!' 'And how'd you know you're not being used as a stalking horse, kid? That /you've/ been used to get them outta the way?' 'She isn't,' Allie said. 'Her presence here is because of ...someone in /our/ home Fictiverse.' 'You /know/ how she got here?' Allie nodded. 'The bag of sand was a giveaway. It's one of the items of Dream.' 'Of who?' 'Of Dream. One of the seven Endless, who embody concepts of the universe. Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Despair and Delirium.' 'Hn. Known all of /those/ in my time...' 'They're... interconnected with my home Fictiverse. Dream in particular. Subreality /does/ lie on the borders of Imagination. And Dream has... old ties to the Muses.' 'Hm. Can you be sure someone ain't faking this Dream's symbols?' 'I can,' Imran said. He reached into the Cloak once again. And withdrew something that glowed white. 'This is a dream. Literally a dream. It was one of Epona's roses,' Imran said quietly. 'If that isn't Dream's sand... it won't respond. Or it will respond... with hostile intent. Dream's sand /can't/ be stolen - only Dream can open the pouch. Allie, Xeffy... do either of you want me to try?' 'Xeffy?' Allie said. 'Do it,' Xeffy said. 'I don't want /him/ hanging over my shoulder all the time - no offence.' Imran held out the dream. Xeffy took a deep breath... ...and poured the sand into the dream. And then- This one walks the path of her story, following where it leads. The sand is *his*, freely given for this tale. Restoration. Restoring. Resolving. In resolving her story may many others be aided. In aiding others' stories will hers be resolved. And a new story begun. 'Looks like you're on the level, kid.' 'Yeah... ' Xeffy didn't look at him. 'You had to be careful,' Imran said quietly. Kid nodded. 'Another player at the table. You don't know whether they're in it with someone, or whether they're playing a game of their own. And if you've already been burned...' He left the sentence unfinished. 'So. And so. We expecting anyone else?' 'Not at the moment...' Imran said. 'Mm. Hope not. We got enough players as is.' *More* than enough. But he kept that thought to himself. Too many big names in town at once had never meant nothing but trouble... and maybe there was such a thing as too many stories. Though the Contessa for one wouldn't agree. :-) And something the kid had flung back at him was nagging on his mind. He glanced up. First at Allie, then at Imran. "'Nearly had her /soul/ stolen'?!" Imran blinked. "What? -- oh, that's right, it was while you were -- um -- out..." One hand reached out for Allie's own; held it, while Imran briefly told of the fortune-teller and her poisoned bargain. Xeffy listened. Eyes wide. Guess she hadn't known as much as she'd tried to make out... Kid looked at Xeffy again. Oh yeah. He knew that look. Seen it on Lonie's face enough times. Girl was /scared/. Scared for her big sister. And maybe she was right to be. Like she'd said... /could/ they be sure Allie had all her soul back? Kid thought not. And he wouldn't have bet on who had the rest of her soul. He just had to look out at the ring to see that. Keep an eye out. Make sure of this. They've been planning, storing power - and been stealing it from us. They got something coming, and it ain't gonna be good. He nodded to them, and stepped away. Make sure of this... ((But the side-effects of the attempt to steal Allie's soul will be more far-reaching than any of them yet realise...)) * * * 47. A ghastly chariot race * * * /Allie needs a rest.../ --- Bag of sand... Heh. Allie really /was/ on an emotional high after that... Emotional rollercoaster, was what Tessa said. She needs a plateau, some stability, a quiet spot. Hell, most of us do. We might be reaching the other extreme - burning out, /forcing/ ourselves to keep going, to keep up the fight. But we're not doing this alone. We can step back for a while, let the others step forward. /I/ can step back for a while - a little while, but still. The other Cloaks of Audience... everyone in the audience now has one, even Xeffy... But Allie... How much more of this can she take? She /needs/ a rest - even Muses can't keep this up constantly. But how? TYA're part of the web - their backing music's building up to the finale, they /can't/ lose the rhythm. Imran stood. --- 'Hi.' 'Oh, Imran! Where've you been?' 'Watching the show. Listen, I need to ask you something.' 'Mm-hmm?' Imran took a deep breath. 'Allie. She's... you /saw/ what she was like before the show; I'm not sure how long she'll be able to keep this up before she burns out completely.' 'Are you asking about the Zero Room?' Imran hesitated. '...Yes.' 'It's available to anyone who wants it,' our hostess said. 'We /all/ need to rest sometimes, so we don't end up self-destructing. So we can relax, and just let ourselves /be/ for a while.' 'That's the problem...' Imran said. 'If she steps back for a while... I dunno, I'm just worried that TYA would lose their rhythm before their big climax.' 'But if Allie burns out before then, there can't /be/ a big climax,' our hostess pointed out. 'Let her rest. She's earned it - more than that, she /needs/ it, that's what matters.' 'So who're we going to get to replace her?' 'Excuse me,' a quiet voice said. Compassion stepped forward, her cape swirling around her. 'You?' 'Me.' Compassion half-smiled. 'Something in the family, I think... If the other Muses do not object, might I fill in for their missing member?' 'Ummm...' 'Of course! As long as the others are happy with this, then go ahead.' our hostess said. 'And...' 'I'll make sure Allie gets there.' Imran said. 'I know. What I was going to say was, let Xeffy know what Allie's doing. She's here because she's worried about her - let her know what Allie's doing, so she understands what's happening.' Imran nodded. 'Ah, there she is,' Compassion said. 'Excuse me.' She walked over to where Yokoi was chatting to Gordon and Saville, and tapped her gently on the shoulder. The two of them started talking quietly. 'Right...' our hostess said. 'Compassion's taking care of /that/ side of things... you see to Allie.' Imran nodded again, and went over to where Allie was sitting, slumped against the wall. After a whispered conversation, Allie nodded, and stood up, with Imran supporting her. Together, the two of them headed for Sweetheart's cart. Whew. Mmm... oh, she could really do with a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies right now, our hostess thought. But... was there time? They'd /really/ knocked the Gods off balance with their act - how would they respond? Compassion looked over at her and gave her the thumbs up. Our hostess returned it. Good, that was /that/ taken care of. Now... on to the Gods' response. What would they come up with? And how could the hoedowners prepare? --- In a small secluded area backstage, something was stirring. Not life. Not death. But something. And in the eye of the something was Sailor Gallifrey, surrounded by the Major Arcana of the sacred Tarot. As she was picking each one from its pile, she was releasing and harnessing its energy. The energy that could either kill them all or save the universe. 22 cards, 22 energies, 22 ways it could all go to hell in a handbasket. And she knew something was trying to break her concentration, her mental walls, trying its best to make her doubt herself, her friends, reality as she knew it. She focused on her next card: The Moon. Illusion, transformation, deceit, games, dreams, power. Felt it move. Felt it surge forward, sensing her hesitation. She couldn't afford to lash out, let the Gods know what she was doing. She grimaced, trying to keep control on the new energies flowing through her body, while keeping it at bay. *Dammit, leave me alone!* It was laughing. Getting stronger. Feeding on her frustration. She knew she needed help, but she couldn't break the circle, not now! --- ((Out in the ring...)) A distant sound of thunder... No, something else, thundering yes, but not the sound of a massive electrical discharge striking. The thundering of hooves. Many, many hooves. The hostess moved over to the tent entrance and sneaked a peek around the curtains. A cloud of dust was heading their way, glimpses of shapes could be seen within the dust, but whatever it was threw the ground up around it, making it look like some dark shadow moving across the landscape. The cloud of dust neared, and then the shapes burst out of it. Grotesque creatures that may have once been horses and men, an army of the undead. The horses pulled chariots made of bone, the figures within mostly wore gladiatorial armour, but the bodies within were decaying, some were nothing but skeletons anymore. The hostess scarpered out of the way as they burst into the tent at full tilt. For a terrible moment, it seemed as if they would head straight into the audience. Then they stopped. No slowing down. They stopped dead. The horses and gladiators breathed, their hot, rancid breath forming clouds before them. They didn't need to breathe of course, but they did it for the effect. "They're twisting our ideas again..." Gordon sighed. "Not an original thought between them," grumbled Yokoi. "It's kind of sad in a way." "They're even using zombies, just because they know we're using them as well." "Look at them though. All our ones are of people who died while doing what they did best, bringing joy and laughter to people. I mean look at him," she indicated a large, slightly untidy man wearing a fez. "He's enjoying himself." She pointed at the gladiators. "They didn't die happily." In the audience, that look appeared on Barry's face again. He was thinking. "Hold on, they can't race in here, the ring's not big eno..." Something shifted. Igor looked at the ring, now enormous, with a giant pedestal at its centre, where the Gods Of Ragnarok sat. "The ring's as big as it needs to be." The gladiators lined up in front of the gods. Everything stood motionless, silent. A noise, movement. The horde shot off around the ring, moving in an anti-clockwise direction. Less than halfway round, the first rider had fallen to the ground and been mangled underneath hooves and wheels. "This is sick..." said a quiet voice backstage. "It's an act of the Gods. Of *course* it's sick." Imran replied. They rode faster, their vaporous breath streaming behind them as they rode round and round, round and round. One by one, horses and riders fell. Others crashed into them, not even bothering to get out of the way, running over them, through them, adding to the carnage every time. They got more vicious and more bloodthirsty with each circuit of the ring. A few took out swords, trying to attack the riders or their horses. A scream came out from the audience as some poor unfortunate soul found a decapitated head flying into their lap. Faster, louder, harder. "They're trying to build up power again. It's like some kind of dynamo..." whispered the hostess. "Or an evil hamster wheel..." Saville muttered. "A wheel of misfortune?" ventured Yokoi. Everyone stared at her for a second. "What? Puns are fun. There's always time for puns." "I think you're beginning to get puns drunk..." said Gordon. "They're either trying to build up their own energy or drain the audiences?" the hostess pondered. "The more death, the faster they go." Gordon observed. "The more, for want of a better word, anti-fun energy around here, the less pro-fun, there's usually a balance between the two I think. We're see-sawing in each direction and sooner or later, one of us will tip it far enough to stop the other." "But can we stop this?" Saville asked, indicating the oncoming storm. "I don't know, I'm kind of out of ideas right now..." he looked round, "Where's Yokoi?" He caught site of her standing just inside the curtains at the entrance to the circus, holding something in her hand, talking into it, holding it up to her ear. A mobile phone? what was she up to? Back in the ring... One chariot caught its wheel on a couple of unidentifiable bones lying on the ground, it spun and cartwheeled, a section of the audience ran out of the way as it smashed into the ringside barrier. "They're trying to take out the audience again!" Yokoi shuddered. Only two remained. One, pale skin almost falling off, still had an unnerving sense of bloodthirst in those dead eyes. The other, now nothing but bones with one or two ribbons of organic material hanging off them, looked as if he was smiling, despite having no face. The last two rode faster and faster, the sawdust rising from the ring, swirling around it. The dust swirled faster and faster, faster and faster, the wind howled. The audience held their hand up in front of their faces, ducked down under their seats, anything to get away from the stinging strikes of the dust. "They're trying to take out the audience again!" Yokoi shuddered. "They just don't give up do they?" shouted Gordon over the noise of the storm. He suddenly pointed to the maelstrom. "Hold on, what's that?!?!" A shape appeared in the storm. A regular, empty space. Even through the scream of the storm, the sound of reality being lightly shoved aside could be heard. An art-deco wardrobe suddenly appeared amidst the storm. the doors slid open and a figure walked out. Wearing goggles, and wrapped up in layers and layers of protective clothing, it was impossible to tell who it was. If you looked closely, one of the figure's gloves was larger than the other, covered in runes and circuitry. A thin cable ran from it back inside the wardrobe. The figure waited for the gladiators to round the curve. It picked up some of the little sawdust that remained on the ring's floor. "I offer you fear in a handful of dust!" She blew the dust out of her hand, just as the glove flashed. Normal everyday dust is mostly harmless. It collects on things, maybe makes you sneeze, but on the whole, it's pretty safe stuff. Dust in a dust storm is a different matter. Accelerated by high wind speeds, it scratches at your face, you have to wear protection or your eyes will be damaged forever. It *hurts*. It can even strip paint in extreme cases. So, picture if you will, what a handful of dust will do when accelerated to near lightspeed by power taken from a fully functional time/space machine... The gladiators didn't so much shatter, as dissolve in mid-step, the dust impacted and the shockwaves blew the undead warriors apart. The heat of the friction sending the remaining particles flaming backwards, like a firework display in miniature. The screaming stopped, the wind died. The dust settled. A few flaming embers lay scattered around the ring. The figure took off the goggles. Almost feline eyes regarded the Gods with disgust. The figure removed its headgear. "Although I admit that due to my scientific curiosity, I'm interested in what exactly would happen if the universe ended, I'd much rather you stuck to the theory and left the practical work alone," said the Rani. The Gods looked down. With a scream of anger, the pedestal shot up, the Gods retaking their position high above the audience. Unreachable? Untouchable? "If there's one thing I can't stand it's enthusiastic amateurs," the Rani mumbled dismissively. She looked at the assembled forces of fun peeking out from backstage. "But I suppose this time, it's all we've got." --- She walked outside, into the twilight that was descending over the little patch of forest outside. Grinning. Safely out of eyesight, she removed the rest of her protective gear and revealed a buccaneer outfit underneath. High boots, tight trousers, a tight-fitting velvet jacket with slashed sleeves, a big white shirt underneath... ...and a 1600's corset. With a Cleavage of Evil. After removing the obligatory rubber mask and wig, revealing green eyes under arched eyebrows and a mane of red hair, it was clear that, yes, bloody hell, the Rani's new incarnation had been Auntie Krizu all along!>:) Grinning, she walked back to her torture chamber in the woods and greeted the chained and lightly tortured Masters with an Evil Cackle(TM). "I still have plans for you, my darling guinea pigs," she purred, stroking AinleyDoc's beard gently with a long, purple-painted fingernail. "You boys will help me in defeating the Gods of Ragnarok whether you want it or not. I happen to enjoy pleasure and Pro-Fun is the ultimate force of pleasure in this universe." The Rani licked her lips, resting her eyes on her delicious captives. "And, of course, I'm quite prepared to believe that you boys are *quite* fond of pleasure as well." Smirking evilly, she picked up an ostrich feather and walked across the line of her prisoners, tickling each of them as she went, back and forth, relishing in their "argh"s and "curses, foiled again!"s, chuckling with pleasure. "Yes, you can join me in these... pleasures if you help me defeat the Gods of Ragnarok." Caressing her victims with a riding crop now, she knew she didn't even have to ask them yes or no, the "yes" was quite... evident in the beads of sweat on the Masters' faces and the apparent, shall we say, discomfort in their trouser region. The Rani laughed a bubbling, heartfelt laugh of joy. She went back into the woods and out again, shouting to the Pro-Fun crew: "I'm ready--and so is my army of pantomime villains!" --- Gordon stared at Yokoi. "And exactly how long have you had the Rani's mobile phone number?" "I don't know what you're talking about..." she grinned as she wandered off, singing a little tune to herself. The hostess looked back at the ring, which had returned to its normal size. The audience were beginning to settle back into their seats, still a bit scared, but too caught up in what was happening to even *think* about leaving. "I'd better go out and introduce the next act..." She brushed the last of the zombie dust from the sleeves of her ringmaster's coat, and shook out the Handkerchief of Audience. "For beings who take their name from Norse Mythology," she muttered, "they sure do seem to have a thing for first century Romans." Then she heard the gasps and exclamations from the pro-fun audience -- *happy* gasps and exclamations, and little murmurs, and ooh-look-at-that's. The others standing in the wings must have heard them, too, for they all turned to look at the audience, and then they turned to look where the audience was pointing. Epona's rose petals, like corks floating to the surface of the sea after a storm has passed, were resurfacing in the ring, as brilliant and shining as when they first appeared, trailing behind the goddess. "Of course!" Eloise said. "Why didn't I realize it sooner? The calling of Epona was the first thing we'd done that knocked the Gods of Ragnarok off balance, so ... " "So they wanted to obliterate her influence," Gordon finished for her, " -- get the thorn out of their side, so to speak." Yokoi winced. "Really!" she said with mock disgust, "of all the cliches..." "Appropriate, though," Gordon said, with a wink. "Hmph!" "They may have *tried*," Eloise said, a broad, toothy grin stretching her cheeks, "but they *didn't* succeed. Look!" The ring was filled with rose petals -- even more than when Epona had first arrived. More than bright, they were *luminescent*. The shimmered with every color she had ever seen in a sunset or sunrise. The audience -- the pro-fun audience, at least -- didn't care that no act had yet gone on. They were entranced by the spectacle before them. The Gods of Ragnarok, however, were fuming. They were also cowering -- like a snarling tiger afraid of the trainer's whip. It seemed that they had met their match. Their *match* -- if the circus duel remained a shifting balance of power, it could, quite literally, go on forever. That might be enough to distract the Gods (or whoever was their puppeteer) from sapping any more stories, and k