Flying Without Wings

It was midday in the Crystal Leaf Inn. As was usual at lunchtime, the restaurant area was brimming full of people at varying degrees of hunger. All the tables had been taken up, and the innkeeper was having to ask people to sit outside with their meal.

This did not go down too well with the public as there was a vicious blizzard threatening to cut off their ears.

However, the lucky few who had managed to acquire a table were savouring their food as best as they could. There was a large variety of people within the inn - poets sat still, reflecting on the essence of life and reality; bureaucrats chattered over their work and dealings, and in a corner of the inn, quite secluded from the hustle and bustle in the middle, sat three people, hunched over a teapot and three cups. One of them was certainly a Sorcerer, by the size of his iridescent staff. The other was a woman of some description, exceedingly pale and ill-looking, but with shapely, crimson lips. The other person was dressed in what only could be described as a florist's dream, as all the colours of every single flower seemed to come together in one suit. He appeared to be quite ruffled.

"What do you mean, killed the wrong person?" he cried, leaning towards the woman.

Anyone who had no knowledge of the previous conversation would look on this question with a dab of bewilderment. But to Estrella Noble and Algernon Severn, they knew exactly what their friend was talking about.

"I... well... made a rather stupid mistake," Estrella Noble replied, sipping her tea.

"I see. Therefore, Miss. Noble, you are telling me that not only were we pursuing the wrong person, you made the mistake of allowing me to impale the only son of one of the most famous personages in the entire of Achaea?"

The woman nodded.

"Bugger."

The Sorcerer looked surreptitiously around him, and leant over. "Anybody could have made that mistake, Crispin," he murmured.

"Tell me, Algernon, who in the Logos' right mind would mistake de Lissard for de Verdon? I mean, it is not only stupid, but when you asked whether I knew the Conte de Verdon, of course I damn well didn't know, because the Conte de Verdon..."

"...was a fictional character written by a certain famous Cyrenean horror novelist  based upon the very real Conte de Lissard," chorused the other two, looking incredibly bored. They had evidently been through this many times before.

"Precisely." Crispin Lapidoth took his cup and drained it. Picking up a burnished oaken pipe, he lit it and puffed at it thoughtfully.

"I did not know de Lissard," he spoke quietly, "but I knew of him. Terribly audacious chap, going around seducing all those gullible women and drinking their blood animalistically. Quite the celebrity. Always in the tabloids. I suppose that old Cyrenean author chap made quite a mint on his stories. Of course, everybody knew that he was writing about Lissard and not dear old tragic Verdon. I suppose you read far too many horror stories, Miss. Noble, and got the two completely mixed up."

"The same things though, Lapidoth," replied Algernon. "Karunkin was his son, and you did the correct thing in bumping him off."

A faint blush grew on the Druid's cheeks. He whispered something that sounded like, "Always happy to oblige."

A waitress came over to their table and topped up their diminishing teapot. Crispin poured himself more tea and looked inquiringly at his companions. This meant that he looked down on them.

"I wish I had never read them," hissed Estrella in that peculiar breathless way of hers. "That'll teach me to mix fact with fiction."

"Good one, Strell," nodded Algernon encouragingly. But now, we have to plan our next step. Now we've cleared up that discrepancy, what do we do now?"

Crispin's blush immediately faded. Personally, he felt that if he was dragged further into more calamities, it would not look good upon his social standings. He did not approve of allowing Algernon and Estrella to both stay at Rustavon for an indeterminate period, especially with Estrella's 'condition'. However, the sad fact (and he knew this very well) was that he would be pulled into another round of this, and he would have to write to his ageing father and ask for more money than he would inherit.

As Crispin pondered over this, Algernon fumbled inside his robes and finally pulled out a scruffy-looking piece of parchment. Crispin and Estrella peered at it inquisitively, but rather blankly.

"A chariot license form?" asked Estrella, dabbing her canines with a napkin.

"Oh, bravo, Algy old boy, you have excelled yourself this time," said the Druid sarcastically. "Remind me to ask you for ideas on re-decorating slurry pits. They must all be as good as this one."

Algernon looked quite shocked at their unimpressed reactions. He took the parchment, rolled it up and pocketed it carefully.

"I was going to suggest that Estrella learns how to move about quickly," replied Algernon with a hint of indignation. "You and I both can move about, Crispin, but I don't quite know, or even understand the extent of Strell's skills, so I thought that if I could get her riding a chariot, then she could run quickly when needed."

There was a moment of tedious silence.

"Fine then, scrap that," the Sorcerer scowled, pouring himself more tea.

"Oh, come come, Algy," snorted Crispin in his usual manner. "Just finish your lunch and perhaps we can come up with a better idea back at Rustavon."

"Yes," acquiesced Estrella firmly. "Anything is better than that idea you had about hanging filigree foibles from the ceiling."

Algernon's grey eyes flickered. He was not happy.

*******************

"Oh, erm... Lady Shelley... I did not expect to see you here."

Dressed in a black blouse and full-length skirt, with a matching hat, coat and umbrella, was Eleanor, Lady Shelley. She looked extremely agitated, and the manner in which she fiddled with her velvet gloves suggested that she had been waiting in Rustavon's receiving room for some time.

"Business call?" asked Algernon questioningly.

The lady shook her head. "I was wondering if... Lord Lapidoth... was around. I see that he is not presently. Perhaps I should return later." She quickly made for the door, but Algernon moved to block the exit.

"I see," murmured Lady Eleanor, stopping in front of him. "So you intend to defy me, Algernon."

"I know you have an ulterior motive, Eleanor," said the Sorcerer quickly. "Why go on the sly with someone who you haven't had any contact with for a long time? Lord Shelley's a decent man. After your engagement to the Vizier fell through, you and dear Shelley seemed to gel immediately. So why would a clever, good-looking lady like yourself want with Crispin?"

Lady Eleanor pursed her lips, and gave a wry smile. "That, Mr. Severn, is something I shall not divulge, apart from the fact that I am aware of Lord Lapidoth's immense  affections for me."

"And do you care for him?"

"Algernon, would you really ask of a lady's personal feelings?"

"Not if I was asking it from a real lady."

Lady Eleanor flushed deep red. Fiddling with her umbrella, she replied, "I have business to attend to. I cannot wait any longer. I would appreciate it if you would let Lord Lapidoth know that I was here. Good day, Mr. Severn."

"Lady Shelley," answered Algernon laconically as she left.

********************

Estrella Noble was taking a little appetif in one of the drawing rooms in Rustavon House. Dull crimson crumbs were smeared around her lips. The manner in which she devoured the food was quite monstrous. Especially as the crimson smears were in fact lines of congealed blood. She slurped, snarled and savoured each mouthful with delight. She fed off life so she could carry on walking this land.

When Crispin Lapidoth entered the room, the expression upon his face as he saw the image in front of him was one of complete contempt.

"Miss. Noble, did nobody teach you manners at the dining table?" he asked bluntly, taking his pipe, filling it up with elm and lighting it.

"My mother did," mumbled the girl, gulping down the black pudding rhythmically.

"Where did she learn them from? Liirup's happy hour?"

Wiping her mouth with a napkin, Estrella daintily tidied up the plates and put them to one side. She then looked curiously at the Druid.

"Positively vulgar," he continued. "Positively vulgar. If anybody had manners like that at one of Countess Trioletta's soirées they would be thrown out of the house with their trousers around their ignoble ankles and hit for six with a large disembowelling cutlass. You should count yourself lucky."

"I probably will, Lord Lapidoth," answered the girl dryly. Her eyes were burning with intense violet flames, but Crispin took no notice as he lounged languidly upon a chaise-longue. Smoking apathetically, he ignored Algernon's entrance with no problems at all.

The Sorcerer (as he had entered the room by this time) was looking rather flustered. In his hand was a scruffy-looking piece of parchment, similar to the one he had shown them at the Crystal Leaf Inn. The reaction from both was pretty much the same. Thus followed a short silence.

"Estrella," he began, breaking the metaphorical glass by turning to the vampish girl, "have you ever driven a chariot before?"

She pondered, then answered uncertainly. "Well, sort of..."

"Do you have a chariot?"

Estrella shook her head. "However," she added, looking the Sorcerer in the eye, "my brother..." and she winced a little when mentioning him, "left his chariot at home."

Algernon clapped his hands with glee. This was just what he wanted to know. "That's perfect."

"But how are we going to get it out of my house? If my mother knew what had happened..." and she paused at this point, possibly for dramatic effect. "And she knows who you are, Algy."

"Well, we just send somebody who could talk the eyes off a rabid dragon with three legs," smiled Algernon, the tiniest of twinkles placed ubiquitously in his eye. "Now, who do we know who is the complete antithesis of this description?"

Two pairs of eyes turned to a man lying across a chaise-longue, lazily smoking his pipe. Crispin Lapidoth looked around, and met their eyes.

"You have got to be joking, Algy old boy," he spoke, but not without an edge of anxiety.

******************

Holding a battered suitcase and dressed to kill in an expensively-tailored pink suit, Crispin edged nervously towards a house whose exterior was made up of smoked stone, or perhaps magically-preserved ebony, for the masonry (or carpentry, it was difficult to tell) was completely black.

A strange mist and a rather peculiar shadow lingered behind him, almost merging in with the grey clouds that smothered the sky of any light. If one was watching this curious scene from afar, they would probably think that there was something wrong with their eyes, and book themselves in to consult a Druid about their eyesight. On the other hand, if they were a little closer, they might be able to hear the strange mist whispering a few words to the rather peculiar shadow, and the peculiar shadow murmuring back in rather agitated tones.

"You really think this will work?" breathed Estrella as she floated benignly behind the Druid.

"I hope it does, Strell," answered the shadow with Algernon's voice.

"Well, I hope nobody sneezes, otherwise I might find one leg in Hashan and my other in El'Jazira."

"Will you be quiet back there?" snapped Crispin. "I am trying my best to approach the prospective customer confidently. It is quite difficult to look convincing when you have disembodied voices stalking you."

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

"Thank you."

The mist and the shadow suddenly dissipated, and two solid people stood in their place. Crispin waved them away and perused the door of the Noble house. It was burnished oak, with the coat-of-arms of the Noble family presented at the top. A chain with a handle was to the left of the door frame. Crispin took this and pulled it. A clanging bell rang inside.

The door creaked open, and a woman well-on in years came out on to the porch. She had a white woollen shawl over her bowed head and a pair of knitting needles tucked into a pocket. Somewhere in her features Crispin detected a hint of Estrella, perhaps in the smooth curve of the nostril, or the shape of her eyebrow. She observed the man in the pink suit with an enquiring eye.

"Mrs. Noble, I am a representative of the Ashtan Society of Chariot Surveyors," began Crispin. His mind was screaming upper-class obscenities at him, and he winced at every word he spoke, all against his nature. But he could sense the eyes of Algernon Severn stabbing him in the back, and he thought of Estrella Noble's long, sharp canine teeth closing around his pale throat...

"...and I am here to... survey chariots," he replied uncertainly. "May I come in?"

Sarah Noble looked quite unmoved. Should she trust a Mhun in a pink suit?

"You see, Mrs. Noble, chariots have been encountering some problems recently, and we need to examine all chariots for... for... chariot rot."

"Chariot... rot?"

In a bush on the veranda outside the house, there was a lot of rustling and a few giggles. Crispin winced, his pride ebbing away bit by bit.

"Oh, indeed, Mrs. Noble, indeed. It is a terrible plague of rot on poor chariots spreading all over the city, which is... why... why we are doing these rounds." He added a very emphatic nod at the end to make this rather unconvincing point seem as convincing as possible.

After a moment's thought, Sarah Noble opened the door a little more, and Crispin entered.  He observed the inside of the entrance hall and scowled. It was on very rare occasions when he forced himself to enter houses of the middle-class. This was a particularly rare occasion, and he had been forced by Algernon. He was not impressed by what he saw, apart from a rather ornate ottoman situated forlornly in the corner of the hall.

"The chariot is through here," Sarah Noble pointed, leading the Druid to a small atrium. Potted plants were scattered aimlessly about the place, having no purpose but to be scattered aimlessly about the place. Crispin's heart sank at the whole atrocity against good taste that this woman seemingly promoted. He had to stay calm.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked when they reached an average-looking chariot in the corner of the atrium. "I have some Earl Noir-Blanc."

"That would be quite fine, thank you, Mrs. Noble." Well, at least there was some respectability in this house, thought Crispin as he settled down to do his non-existent chariot duties.

Sarah Noble picked up her skirts and wandered away to make a pot of tea. When she had gone out of view, Crispin closed his eyes and groaned. This whole thing was going against his beliefs. The next person he saw who spoke about chariots he would strangle. Yes, he was on the verge of murder. Sweet, scandalous, upper-class murder. He opened his eyes, and spluttered.

"Algy says to hurry up with the chariot," spoke the alluring tones of Estrella. She was standing in front of him, as exquisitely pale and vampish as the dead could produce. He would have to postpone his homicidal instincts until later. And besides, it would not be good if Lady Eleanor Shelley were to find out.

"I am working on it, Miss. Noble," answered the Druid. "Run back to your mentor, now."

Estrella glowered and faded away into a smooth mist, which floated away into the sky. Just as the last of the mist had faded, Sarah Noble returned, holding a tray with a teapot and cup on it. Crispin stood up abruptly and said in a loud voice, "Oh, yes, definitely, this will have to be taken in."

The woman looked taken aback. Then she added, "Well, my son has been away for some time, so not much care has been given to this chariot."

"Chariots need considerable amounts of tender loving care, Mrs. Noble. We shall have to try and bring this one back to life. If you will excuse me, I shall take it now."

Crispin took a hook and line out of his suitcase, attached it to the frame of the chariot, and began towing it away.

"When will it come back, sir?" called Sarah Noble as Crispin made swiftly for the front door.

"I have to admit, Mrs. Noble, that it is looking rather bleak for this chariot. We shall try our best."

"Thank you. Oh, and you didn't tell me your name... could I have it for future reference?"

Crispin blurted out the first name that came into his mind. "Algernon. Algernon Severn. Fare thee well, madam."

Nimbly, Crispin vanished from Sarah Noble's range of perception, and the woman returned to her usual place at the window, waiting, knitting, for her two children to come back. Strange that there were two Algernon Severns, she pondered, purling a row in her knitting, as it wasn't a common name, certainly.

Crispin Lapidoth rushed over to a quivering bush on the veranda, the chariot rolling behind him. He prodded the leaves sharply with a long finger. Red-faced and doubled-over with laughter was the Sorcerer Algernon Severn; clambering out of the bush, he wheezed with merriment when he saw his friend.

"Well?" grumbled the Druid, throwing down the suitcase which obviously was not his own.

"Chariot rot!" chortled the Sorcerer. "You really are an utter prat, Lapidoth!"

**********************

After Crispin had the chariot, Algernon had managed to get hold of one of the leading examiners in chariot driving, a certain Miss. Jane Pottle, with whom he was well-acquainted with on that subject. He himself knew a little about chariots, and had endeavoured to soup up the vehicle ready for Estrella's test. Estrella Noble herself had no idea why her mentor was so passionate in getting her to pass her chariot driving test, but decided that when you were dead, there was nothing worth living for, so anything was worth trying out at least once. On the other hand, Crispin pooh-poohed the entire thing as codswallop, a waste of a gentleman's time and quite unnecessary, especially as a certain Conte de Lissard (Lissard, not Verdon) was definitely on the hunt for them.

"Do I have to?" whined Estrella as she got into the driving seat of the chariot.

Algernon nodded. "It's for your own safety."

"He obviously doesn't believe that biting people in their neck and draining all their blood is a satisfactory method of self-defence, Miss. Noble," added Crispin sardonically. Fortunately, they had returned to his country house in the Western Ithmia before Sarah Noble realised that she had been tricked into giving them Ainslyeh Noble's chariot and had been 'robbed', as it were.

It was a week after the Druid had lifted the chariot off Noble property that Algernon had prepared the chariot so that it was ready for driving, flying, and a good old roister if required. The wheels were tightened on to the axle, new reins had been put on, and the seats now had shiny new cream leather coverings on them. A sable blanket which would go over the lap of the driver was the finishing touch.

"Get a feel of it. Take it for a bit of a spin," suggested Algernon, running his hand along the edge of the chariot. He was incredibly proud of the alterations he had done.

"That's... that's very nice of you, Algy..." spoke Estrella slowly, "but unless you're going to pull the chariot yourself, I think I may be travelling at a velocity of zero miles per hour at an altitude of zero feet." She held out a hand in front of her, indicating a large empty space where the pulling animals would be, if there were any.

The Sorcerer's face fell. "You'll have to borrow Crispin's alicorns," he murmured. Crispin was about to make a vehement outburst at this, but Algernon shot him a warning glance and the Druid merely frowned.

"Isn't this driving woman coming in fifteen minutes or so's time, Algy old boy?" asked Crispin finally, leaning unconcernedly against the wall examining his nails.

"Fifteen minutes?!?" exclaimed the girl in astonishment, leaping out of the chariot. "Algy, the last time I drove a chariot was when I was sixteen years old and squiffy!"

"And alive," cut in the Druid.

"Yes, and alive! How do you expect me to pass if I know nothing?"

"I shouldn't worry, Miss. Noble," Crispin replied, moving himself next to the Sorcerer. "It's quite simple. The only aspect that you are undoubtedly going to fail is the 'Best Designed Chariot' section."

"What are you talking about, Crispin?" asked Algernon with surprise.

"I mean, just look at those seats," explained the Druid, lip curled, pointing at the shiny new leather. "A masochist elephant wouldn't get into that."

Algernon shot him a brief look that had the potential ability to kill dragons instantaneously, but then transfigured to one of complete despair. Estrella then proceeded to pace up and down, groaning and pulling her hair in exasperation. She was going to take a test that she had not revised for, practised, or even knew about. And yet, it was all for her own good, apparently.

Some twisted definition of the word 'good' this was.

A bell rang faraway, and Algernon gave a weak smile. "She's here," murmured the Sorcerer. "Let's hope you fluke this, Strell."

They left the chariot in the grounds and headed for the nearest drawing room, winding through the corridors of Rustavon. The sun was nowhere to be seen (which was for Estrella's sake if anything), having set, but Algernon looked anxious, Estrella was biting her nails, and Crispin wondered whether he should ask the kitchens to make duck à l'orange for dinner that night.

The double-doors of the drawing room opened, and Percy the butler entered. A Tsol'aa woman in her late fifties followed him in, a look of great revulsion splayed across her face.

"Miss. Jane Pottle," introduced Percy with a short bow before leaving.

Jane Pottle was not at all pretty, with a high aquiline nose and small beady eyes. Her lips were small and tight, and her chin appeared to be squashed into the bottom of her nose. Her cheeks (if you could force yourself to call them cheeks) resembled two very sweaty dewlaps hanging off a Rajamala butcher's meathook. She wore a russet silk dress that appeared not to have been in fashion since the age of Seleucar (and probably was from Seleucar, judging by the trail of dust she left along the carpet). Her fingers snapped the clasp of her leather handbag shut like an elderly crocodile's elevenses, and she regarded the trio in front of her with utter disdain.

"Miss. Pottle," smiled Algernon genially. "I hope you are feeling wel..."

"Quiet, Mr. Severn!" interrupted the flying examiner, holding up her hand. She looked from the Druid to the vampire and back again with her corroded black eyes. "Which one of you is Estrella Noble?" she spat out.

Nobody answered, for the question seemed to be quite absurd.

"Well?"

Algernon stepped forward. "If I may say, Miss. Pottle, Estrella Noble is the one on the left. The girl, that is."

Jane's lip curled poisonously. Looking at the pale girl in front of her, she thought of staves and dingy underground brothels. Certainly, this girl must have painted her face, as nobody could be so anaemically pale naturally and have such blooming rose lips as she did.

"Miss. Noble," she replied gruffly, holding out her hand. Estrella shook it, and Jane flinched at the frozen touch. So cold. Obviously hadn't started her day's work yet then.

"And this is Lord Lapidoth," added Algernon, indicating Crispin to the right.

The examiner merely glanced at the Druid. So, this girl did house calls for rich clients, she thought. Very sleek.

"Might as well get started," she vociferated, pulling out a piece of parchment and feather quill from her handbag. She scrawled a few notes at the top of the parchment, and noticing the girl looking about her uncertainly, the examiner opened her mouth and barked, "Well? Get to your chariot and sit in it! I am not paid to come here at sunset and have a gaggle of idiots standing around doing nothing!"

Estrella jolted and quickly dashed away to the Rustavon grounds. Jane Pottle propped a pair of clashing spectacles on the end of her beak and swished away after her, nose held up high in the air.

"What peculiar company you keep, dear boy," Crispin spoke cynically after they had gone, lip curled in his usual arrogant affectation.

The Sorcerer seemed to be constantly wringing his hands with an expression of dismay slapped on to his face. "She's a friend of a friend of a friend of..."

"Basically, she examined you."

"Well... yes."

"And you failed."

"Well... yes."

"And it's not looking good for Miss. Noble."

"Well... no, it isn't."

"What will you bet that before the pair of them return, Miss. Noble will have killed Miss. Pottle?"

The Sorcerer gasped, and glared at the Druid. How could he even suggest such a thing? Estrella had changed, certainly, but she knew her limits. What Crispin was suggesting was outrageous, to say the least, and completely unwarranted. It was even worse the way in which Crispin merely looked on fervently, quite unaffected by his own cutting words.

"How can you say that, Lapidoth?" cried Algernon, looking incredibly appalled. "That is the most heartless, horrible..."

"What will you bet?"

"That box containing a rather interesting but completely illegal collection of pictures of Mrs. d'Alony-Buckburn et al that may be used for future blackmail."

"Algernon, that belongs to me!"

"Well, you did ask."

Crispin sighed, then nodded. He held out his hand, and Algernon Severn shook it. It was all for the want of a case of high-society porn.

**********************

Estrella Noble was harnessing two of Crispin's thoroughbred racing alicorns into the chariot. She was shaking uncontrollably as she did it, as the viper that was Miss. Jane Pottle the flying examiner was overseeing her with the best eyes on the continent. She didn't want to do this stupid test. Personally, Estrella would have been happier with a good book and a mug of warm blood. But no, she had been subjected to the sharp tongue of a woman with a personality that could make a small village commit suicide.

"Chop chop!" snarled the woman, tapping her quill against the door of the chariot impatiently. Each assonant thump travelled through the frame and up into Estrella's head, giving her a rather unpleasant headache.

The vampire flipped the reins into the chariot and leapt into the driving seat, quite exhausted. Jane Pottle opened the door on the opposite side and sat down, observing the girl with disgust.

"Now, take off and circle around the grounds at a radius of 15 yards," Jane Pottle replied, adjusting her spectacles.

Biting her bottom lip with her pointed canines, Estrella started the alicorns off on a slow trot. Then, suddenly, she tugged back on them hard. With a great cacophony of neighs, the alicorns reared back and leaped into the air, galloping hard. She gasped as the wind rushed past her ears, dragging back her hair and pulling at her clothes. It could not carry on like this, she pleaded silently.

The alicorns soon slowed down (though still in the air), and began to circle around the great elm tree in the middle of Rustavon grounds. Estrella could hear Jane Pottle mutter irritably and put a large cross on the first box.

"Make your way to the clearing over there, and do a three-point turn with a triple corkscrew twist. Points will be added for artistic ability."

This was purely ridiculous. Estrella had never even heard of a corkscrew twist. But she had to try, for Algernon's sake, and to prevent Crispin jibing her afterwards for failing. She prudently steered the alicorns towards the clearing that the examiner had spoken over. When she had got there, she paused, catching her breath. Then a thought hit her. She was dead. Why did she need to breathe?

With a great deal of care, Estrella drew the chariot around in a three-point turn, backing, turning, and then pulled the alicorns higher into the air. Just before she reached the top of her climb, she twisted the reins, pulling the beasts around. She could see Jane Pottle hold on to her spectacles for dear life as she span around.

"Very well," growled the grumpy woman, pushing up her spectacles. "Ten twists will suffice. Fly towards Minia and back here. We shall do the oral test now."

Estrella squinted into the distance, surveying the scene around her, trying to find that celebrated ivy-covered archway that everyone knew. There it was, to the west, gleaming like a palliative of hope in the gloom to an eternally tortured soul. She set the alicorns on their flight path, then wrapped the reins around a hook underneath and turned to her examiner.

"What is the thinking distance if you are flying at a speed of five hundred miles per hour in a blizzard?" asked Jane Pottle, quill at hand.

"150 miles." It was the first number that came into her head. Estrella had no notion of the mechanics behind thinking distance, stopping distance, or any length of distance. Unless it was the distance between a person's neck and her mouth, then no other distance mattered to her.

"And the stopping?"

"250.64 recurring miles with a lemon wrapped around a bar of silver?"

Jane Pottle grumbled under her breath. Yet another cross went on to the parchment.

"What does this sign mean?" she asked, holding out a picture of a red triangle with a rather scared young person splayed across it.

"Erm... warning, newbie ahead?"

"And this?" It was a picture of a squashed goose.

"A squashed goose."

"And finally, this." Estrella had to squint at this before she could make any sensible answer. On the other hand, none of her answers had been sensible so it wasn't anything new.

"A small aubergine trying to climb a large tree but can't as it has a pike stuck up its backside?"

"Excellent. The test is finished."

Estrella blinked in surprise. Jane Pottle had either congratulated her on the test, or was breathing a sigh of relief that the test was actually completed. Either suited her, because there was a strange feeling in her stomach. It rumbled. Then she remembered. She hadn't eaten since sunrise, after clearing out Rustavon's game reserve much to Crispin's displeasure, and it was now close to 10 o'clock at deepest night.

"Can I stop off at the Crystal Leaf?" asked Estrella miserably. "I'm a little peckish."

"Certainly not!" snapped the woman, her beak gouging deep holes into what little patience Estrella feebly clung to. "You are still under test conditions!"

Estrella turned away, not wanting to look at the terrifying woman with the aquiline nose any longer. She could feel the deathly adrenaline rushing about her temples, to her mouth, to her limbs, making her hungry. Then suddenly, she heard a voice. It was a little gentler, and the bizarre thing about it was that it was the voice of Jane Pottle speaking.

"I know that things may be difficult for you," the examiner replied. "I went through the same thing a long time ago."

These words were quite queer. Did that mean... but it can't be right, Estrella thought. Crispin said it himself, and Algernon was pretty certain as well. Belladona, Zsarachnor, the Conte de Lissard and Estrella Noble. Not a Jane Pottle. For a start, the name didn't seem right at all.

"I mean, I went on the streets when I was younger," she explained as the alicorns made a U-turn around Minia and flew back towards the Western Ithmia.

"I beg your pardon?" choked Estrella in surprise, just as she had done when the Sheik had addressed her on their ill-fated expedition to El'Jazira.

"First, I thought that if I only had a few, the gold would be enough to pay off my debts. First one, then another, then another... it was sneaky, and I began to love it. The gold was good as well, but it wasn't long before I knew the dingiest of back alleyways from Cyrene to Shallam like the back of my hand because I spent so much time there along the walls. I did work from home at a time, but I decided that it wasn't for me. It got me into the open, and the fresh air was good for your health apparently. It wasn't long before I knew the number of bricks underneath the walkway overlook in Shallam off by heart! I suppose you make a lot of gold out of your rich clients, like that dashing young lord I saw earlier in that estate..." She drifted away into a reverie.

"So, you were a tourist guide?" questioned Estrella, gulping air erratically.

Jane Pottle snapped out of her trance. "Tourist guide? Tourist guide?"

"Yes, a tourist guide?"

"No! I was a lady of the night! Tourist guide, ha!"

There was silence for a while as Estrella reeled back what had just occurred. From talking to a reputable chariot driving examiner to listening to a hardcore whore. Interesting mix indeed, for Jane Pottle had effectively accused her of being a prostitute. Supposedly being part of Algernon Severn's non-existent harem was bad enough, but now Crispin Lapidoth's personal courtesan? She shivered, then suddenly turned to Jane Pottle and said:

"So, did I pass?"

"Gods, no! An asthmatic badger with heavy shopping would have been able to get more points than you, but seeing as you're one of us then I'm bound to pass you anyway! Come to think of it, why don't you get us a bite to eat? Get to know one another a bit more?"

"How very honourable of you."

Estrella nodded her head in understanding, an odd smile plumped on her wanton lips, and steered the alicorns in the opposite direction.

********************

Meanwhile, Algernon Severn and Crispin Lapidoth were playing a game of cards in the Card Room. A box was placed to the side of them as they engaged in a rapid game of poker. Crispin was the dealer, and losing rather badly, it seemed, as the piles of gold were mounting on Algernon's side.

"I'm one of the best players in the Redlight Scabbers Club, really!" pleaded Crispin with round eyes as he lost yet another hand to his friend. Though he was told that he was one of the best players by his society companions and placed up on the list of notable players of the Redlight Scabbers Club, it was because he was one of the best players for winning gold from. Even when the Honourable Talbot Widdlebottom and Lord Coleridge, two gamblers renowned for having fortunes the size of Lord Pentharian's Divine Lampshade, insisted that Crispin, Lord Lapidoth was in fact an incredible player who had obviously suckled his mother dry and gained god-given skills, it was all a lie, and not particularly honourable at all.

If Crispin, Lord Lapidoth ever did win a hand of poker without resorting to blackmail, bribery and cheating, the moon would die of a heart attack and kick the sun's teeth in as it fell.

Algernon scooped up the gold with a rather broad smile. "I'm sure you are. Another hand, Crispin?" he added, tapping the table rhythmically. "Perhaps you might bet this box."

"I'm tired of this," scowled the Druid with some annoyance. He hastily ended the game by taking the cards and returning them to their pack. "Your protège is quite late. I have to meet a rather eminent dealer in herbs tonight and I cannot miss the appointment at all."

"Meaning you're going on the sly to visit Eleanor Shelley?" the Sorcerer spoke as he pocketed the gold.

Crispin's eyes twitched once. "Algernon," he spoke, "you could not be more wrong. I cannot miss this dealer. We are discussing a consignment of bloodroot plants which I am in possession of."

"You are going to have a secret meeting with Ellie. I can see it in your face!"

"What if I am?"

The Sorcerer exhaled deeply, not wanting to reveal too much of his previous conversation with Lady Shelley. "Be careful," he replied. It was a universal warning. "There's something not quite right."

"That would be your posture, dear Algy. Try to sit up properly and not like the lower classes."

It was futile. Algernon knew Crispin would not listen to him. He idolised Lady Eleanor Shelley, and would do anything for her. Nobody could smear her name, even though she was 'happily' married and the heiress to a large fortune. Besides, they had more pressing appointments at the moment. Like who would possess a collection of pictures that would make even the blindest person gasp with astonishment.

"Believe me," declared Algernon, "I think in five seconds or less we'll see Strell walk through those doors with a certificate of achievement held proudly in her hand, and this box will be mine."

"Always the optimist, dear boy, but as per usual - completely misguided. The box is mine, it has always been mine, and will be mine!"

Just then, the door creaked open. The two men glanced up to see the strangely blushing face of Estrella Noble holding a piece of parchment in her hand. Crispin's heart sank faster than a Xoran in Riparium who had just realised the novelty of prickly pears one second before drowning.

"I passed!" she announced, jumping towards the Sorcerer and hugging him tightly.

Algernon embraced the girl with one arm. His other edged towards the box that was on the table. Crispin looked distraught and extremely pale, glancing from the box to Algernon, to Estrella and back again. However, something struck him as rather unusual about the whole entrance, and it wasn't his dress sense.

"I'm absolutely knackered," she added, wiping tears of joy off her rosy cheeks. "That woman was such a slave driver! I don't know how I managed to cope with her ranting and raving and shouting at me. I think I'll go to sleep now. This day's been far too much for me." She moved back towards the doors.

"But you haven't eaten yet, Strell," replied Algernon, looking happier than ever with the box cradled elegantly but securely in his arms.

"Oh, I have. It was such a nice night that I flew over to Thera and had Miss. Pottle for dinner." She waved, yawned deeply, the colour rising like the sun on her cheeks, and slipped out of the room without a sound.

There was silence for a moment. Silence that stabbed into the heart of a man and then stole his pride, dumping it silently into a large dustbin.

"I think this belongs to me, Algy old boy," sneered Crispin Lapidoth, smirking as he took the box containing totally illicit pictures of the wife of an distinguished Hashan official from the arms of a completely crushed Algernon Severn.

FIN