‘Reminds me of the time I was hunting Frazzle in East Anglia,’ he whispered. ‘Vicious blighters. Tracked a male for almost nine hours, you know.’
‘Impressive,’ I said sarcastically, ‘given the Frazzle’s agility, great speed and ability to outwit predators.’
He looked up at me and narrowed his eyes.
‘Do you mock me, girlie?’
I certainly did. A Frazzle is a cross between an armadillo and an elephant seal. Hugely ungainly, and well armoured. If he’d been tracking it for nine hours, he must have done it riding a tricycle.
‘What’s that noise?’ said the colonel, looking up.
‘I didn’t hear anything.’
Actually, I did. I leaned across and peered in the open window of the abandoned car and found the intelligent mauve eyes of a Quarkbeast staring back at me. The leathery scales that covered its back were partially raised in defence, and acidic drops of saliva hissed where they splashed upon the corroded metal. I placed my finger to my lips and it wagged its tail twice to say that it understood. This was bad news as Quarkbeasts have weighted tails, and it thumped against the old car like a drum.
In an instant the colonel had spotted the Quarkbeast and raised the gun to his shoulder. He didn’t get to fire. Instead, there was a bright flash of green and a deep whoompa noise – and in an instant, myself and the colonel were rolling end over end in the long grass.
I sat up and looked around. The Quarkbeast had vanished, but that wasn’t all that had changed. The remains of the abandoned car – every last mangled part of it – were now perfectly transformed into caramelised sugar, and the grass within the immediate vicinity was bright blue. I looked at the colonel, who now had his string vest and boxer shorts on the outside of his uniform. I was grateful that this had not happened to me, but noted that I had not been totally spared: my clothes were now on back to front, which is uncomfortable and disconcerting all at once.
‘What was that?’ asked the colonel, who seemed unconcerned that I now knew he had pictures of dancing hippos on his underwear.
‘I have no idea at all,’ I told him as I picked myself up. ‘Nope, none. None at all. Nothing whatever. Zip.’
‘Hmm,’ said the colonel, ‘think the Quarkbeast has gone?’
‘Long gone.’
I walked with him back to the house and borrowed the downstairs loo to put my clothes back on the right way – and was mildly perturbed to find that my clothes had been untouched and I had been turned back to front. I was now right handed and the small mole on my left cheek was now on my right. I’d have to ask Moobin if there might be any long-term health issues.
I drove back to Zambini Towers deep in thought, mostly about the Quarkbeast. I had lied when I told the colonel I didn’t know what we’d just witnessed. The beast had escaped in a short burst of wizidrical energy that had caused randomised passive spelling, hence the caramelised steel, clothing manipulation and my mirroring. Quite why it might suddenly do this I had no idea.
Quarkbeasts were weird, but up until then I had no idea how weird.
The King’s address
I wandered into the Palm Court as soon as I got home to see whether anyone had managed to unravel Lady Mawgon or unlock the passthought, but they hadn’t. Full Price was there among a pile of old books attempting to figure out a solution, and just to add more frustration to the mix, the Dibble Storage Coils were now at 60 per cent capacity and still rising. They’d vent crackle when they were full, and start to make cloud shapes[29] over Zambini Towers.
‘Any idea what caused the surge?’ said Full Price.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘It had gone by the time we got there.’
‘You look different.’
‘I got blown back to front by a sudden burst of wizidrical power.’
‘From what?’
‘A Quarkbeast escaping in a panic. Did you know they could do that?’
‘No – but then there’s much we don’t know about them,’ said Full, returning to his work.
‘Is it dangerous?’ I asked
‘Is what dangerous?’ he asked, without looking up.
‘Being reversed.’
‘Not at all. We could try and change you back, but as with all complex procedures, there are risks. Unless you’re unhappy, I’d stay as you are.’
I told Full Price I’d see how it felt being right handed and let him know, then went to the Kazam offices, where I found Kevin Zipp staring into space.
‘Anything?’ I asked.
‘I’m afraid not,’ replied Kevin. ‘A possible winner at the three twenty at Haydock Park, something about a friend hidden behind a green door and that warning about Vision Boss again.’
‘But nothing about the Great Zambini?’
He shook his head so I jotted what he’d seen in the Visions Book under codes RAD097 to RAD099.
I was doing paperwork and dealing with messages when Tiger reappeared.
‘How did the Mysterious X like the zoo?’ I asked.
‘So-so,’ he replied, ‘but then it seemed to be saying that the cinema might also help clear its mind, so I took it to see Rupert the Foundling Conquers the Universe.’
‘Hmm,’ I mused, wondering whether perhaps Mysterious X was simply milking the situation to get a day out, or had decided to take Tiger out on the sort of day he wanted. Unsurprisingly, the Mysterious X often worked in mysterious ways.
‘Is X any closer to helping us?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘It was worth a try. You’d better put it back in its room.’
‘Okay, then,’ said Tiger, and walked off, inflated bin-liner in hand. Perkins and Patrick wandered in a little later, and presented their B1-7G forms to be processed. All spells had to be logged, listed and presented to the Minister for Infernal Affairs. It was as boring as dusting, but like dusting, necessary.
‘Your first form,’ I said to Perkins, stamping and countersigning the B1-7G, ‘congratulations. You can get your mother to stick it on the fridge.’
Supper was always early, and once the jam roly-poly had been left uneaten for the sixty-eighth consecutive day – a new record – Moobin had all those involved in the bridge gig convene in the Palm Court. Both Full and Half were there, Patrick, Perkins, myself and Tiger – oh, and Lady Mawgon and Monty Vanguard, but strictly in a non-speaking capacity. We were there partly to have a meeting, and partly to watch a repeat of the King’s early evening Television Address to the People.
He usually used the address to tell citizens to consume less water, buy more shares in Snodd Industries or simply to announce another tedious milestone in Princess Shazza’s very public upbringing. Today’s big news, however, was that Conrad Blix was Court Mystician. Blix was there on the telly next to him, trying to appear dignified and stately but actually looking smug and odious.
‘It was to be expected,’ I said, reviewing the footage sadly. ‘The King likes to publicise almost everything he does.’
‘I know,’ said Moobin, ‘but look carefully in the background.’
We craned closer as he ran the six-minute address again. As was usual, the address was filmed wherever the King happened to be, and he was surrounded by whoever he happened to be with. On this occasion he was naming a new landship and there, standing suspiciously close at hand, was the King’s Useless Brother, Lord Tenbury – and Mr Trimble.
29
Unusual and realistic cloud shapes were the usual method by which bursts of wizidrical energy could be detected. The cloud shape above the experimental forty-megaton wizidrical detonations in the Cambrian Empire was a staggeringly realistic rendition of an