Chapter 1 — On the first day

The Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon drifted gently under a soft sky. George lay in the sun slowly turning a caramel brown colour. Robert sat inside the small cabin, in the shade, lazily wondering if he should bother making dinner. Marc was at the back of the boat, where the sun couldn't be seen, looking for shapes in the clouds. He was just noticing one that looked like a carrot in a bowler hat when Robert spoke.

"I was just wondering" he said slowly, sitting up "How exactly you walked through that fire yesterday Marc. I was thinking perhaps you're..." he smiled thinly "an evil demon? 'Cause if you are we'd better throw you overboard now."

"What about that weird song of yours?"  Marc objected hurriedly "That was clearly the work of some evil power. In fact, your evil powers would explain why you're so scared of light."

At the front of the boat George laughed. "Evil demons? You two must be getting really bored."

"Well he looks like a demon" objected Marc "All black, and such a white face."

"Surely if I was a demon I'd have the sense not to look like one?" Robert pointed out.

"Well, you're pretty stupid" said Marc

"He's more intelligent that you." said George

"Oh shut up George" said Marc sulkily "Actually, this conversation reminds me. I meant to ask about that dead butcher thing."

"What about it?" George asked warily.

"I was just wondering where you learnt to fight like that?" said Marc casually.

"Like what?"

"There's no point in pretending. I saw you." he turned to Robert "You should've seen it. He was so fast you couldn't see him move. And he screamed something foreign in a really weird way. And then he beat, like, fifty men or something. It was brilliant."

"Where'd you learn to fight like that George?" asked Robert

"Nowhere. I can't fight at all. He's lying. Let's stop talking and...sleep instead." jabbered George.

"You know, it seems to me that there are a lot of secrets being kept here" said Robert "In fact, it's a bit stupid really. Don't we trust each other enough by now?"

"Yeah, you're right." agreed Marc "So what's your mysterious past Robert?"

"I'm not going first" said Robert "George can. He was at the cottage first.

"Alright," George sat at the back of the boat and made himself comfortable. "But only if you both promise to tell me your stories afterwards"

"Cross my heart and hope to die" said Robert

"Stick a needle in my eye" added Marc

"Don't be so horrible Marc" said George "Anyway, here goes…

Chapter 2 — George's story

 "I suppose you always thought I was just a simple peasant like you. But I am in fact the son of one of the most prosperous and important families in the East" began George "I was brought up in the court of the Jade Emperor, ruler of all the Eastern Lands, and descendant of the gods. My father was an important statesman, and so I learnt many Oriental Arts that all noblemen should know, including Martial Arts, at which I attained the rank of Master."

"Did you learn origami?" interrupted Marc, laughing.

"Or how to grow bonsai trees?" Robert added, grinning.

"Of course" said George, looking serious. "I told you, I learnt all the Noble Arts."

Robert and Marc restrained their laughter. George continued."When I reached eighteen years of age I was given a job at court, due to my father's rank. Not very important, but with excellent prospects. Court at this time was very organised and sedate - the Emperor was, after all, eighty-six, and most of his courtiers were, around sixty, like my father.

I only saw the Emperor a few times, from a distance, so the only description I can give you is that he was small and incredibly wrinkled, with a long beard and heavy eyebrows, both died black with some kind of greasy substance, quite like boot polish, which was very shiny and sticky. As a ruler he was staid, thrifty and above all highly moralistic.  

I had little time to learn anything further about him, because six months after I began my job at court he died. He was succeeded by his grandson, a young man of only twenty-one years. It was immediately obvious that the new Emperor was going to be very different from his grandfather.

The new Emperor's coronation cost more than those of the previous four Emperors combined. He insisted on robes made from cloth of pure gold and the finest red velvet, and had most of the best jewellery in the kingdom made of gold, ruby, jade and the like gathered for himself and the members of the procession which followed him. This included hundreds of slave girls carrying golden plates piled high with jewels, tamed tigers in jade collars, hundreds of soldiers in new uniforms, and all the courtiers, dressed in finery paid for by the Emperor. I of course, was part of the parade. My father refused to go, as a protest against the extravagance."

"How tame were the tigers?" asked Marc "Could you ride on them?"

"Certainly" said George "They were, of course, ridden by the most beautiful slave girls, who wore clothes of the finest silk, and glittered with jewellery."

"No one can ride a tiger." protested Robert "They'd be killed."

"Three girls were, while practising" said George "and nine were scarred permanently. Anyway, the Emperor's first act once he was crowned was to order the building of a new palace. It was to be the biggest building in the East, if not the whole of Uluria, and involved hundreds of tonnes of marble, lapis lazuli, gold, silver, platinum, and, of course, jade. Most of the interior decorations, particularly in the rooms which were to hold official ceremonies, were in the Imperial colours: crimson, gold and jade.

The whole compound was surrounded by a huge, decorative wall. At the front of this wall were massive gates of bronze, inscribed with the two most important moral laws of the country: "Of all evils fornication or adultery is the chief." and "Of all good deeds the principal one is filial piety." The gateposts were decorated with two dragons made of both red and yellow gold, and inlaid with jade.

These gates were designed to be very imposing, since they were all that most people ever saw of the palace. Only the Royal Family themselves, the courtiers, their families, and very select servants were allowed inside. It was so large as to be almost a city in its own right, and courtiers often described it as the City of Heaven built upon the Earth, although they only said this in an attempt to please the Emperor.

At this time the people of the East were suffering from food shortages brought on by a series of poor harvests. Disease was widespread due to the malnutrition, and there were reports of several different kinds of plague. But those of us in court lived in virtual isolation behind the brass doors. And court was very different under this new Emperor.

As soon as he was crowned his majesty began replacing the dull old ministers his grandfather had relied upon. By the time, a year later, the palace was complete, there were no old officials left. The new criteria for being a courtier seemed to be youth, good looks and total devotion to the Emperor.   

His Royal Majesty spent very little time bothering with the day-to-day affairs of running the country. He preferred to spend his time holding huge banquets, at which guests were encouraged to wear more and more outlandish costumes as time went on. It became fashionable for men to wear make-up and rather effeminate clothes, and for women to wear men's clothing. Everyone, male or female, competed to impress the Emperor. He had a habit of dismissing and appointing ministers and courtiers on a whim, and although he already had a wife and six official concubines, he was known to often take mistresses. 

"This Emperor sounds like a lucky guy." said Robert, grinning.

"Was he good looking?" asked Marc "Or was it just because he was powerful?"

"Oh, he was gorgeous" said George softly "Absolutely gorgeous." He smiled strangely and stared into space. Robert and Marc exchanged glances.

"Er, George?" said Robert

"What?"

"You were telling us a story."

"Oh right, sorry" said George, flustered "Well anyway, one day the Emperor announced he was holding the greatest banquet yet, to celebrate his twenty-second birthday. Now, at this time I held the same unimportant role in court as I had two years ago, and the emperor had never even looked at me. I resolved that at this banquet I would stand out, and be spoken to by his Royal Majesty. 

For the banquet I invented a completely new hairstyle - many thin plaits decorated with pieces of     ribbons and things . I wore this with a weird hat that I made, which I still have now. You know, the black one ? I also wore a huge amount of make-up, especially eye-shadow and lipstick.

When I arrived at the Great Hall the Emperor was sitting on his red and gold throne, wearing a beautiful emerald velvet cloak designed especially for the occasion and talking to his chief advisor. I spent most of the banquet trying to attract his attention, as did everyone else in the room, but he was too far away, and never even looked in my direction.

I had given up all hope when suddenly the emperor clapped his hands, and a group of musicians immediately entered the room, kow-towed to the Emperor and began to play."

"How do you kow-tow?" asked Marc "It sounds disgusting."

"It's a really low bow, where you sort of kneel and put your forehead on the floor" George explained.

"Sounds stupid to me." said Marc

"Well what do you know? You talk to chickens."

Marc looked offended, but Robert prevented an argument by insisting on the continuation of the story.

"So anyway" continued George "The musicians started playing and people got up to dance. The dance floor was right in front of the emperor, and most people were trying to impress him. But His Royal Majesty simply looked bored. So I thought "What have I got to lose?", and I got up and danced too." Robert began to laugh .

"What's funny?" demanded George, looking annoyed.

"I've seen you dance." said Robert.

"Oh shut up." George turned his back on Robert and continued talking. "So, I'd hardly started to dance when suddenly the emperor began to laugh. Everyone stood totally still and silent, as was the rule, and waited uncomfortably while the emperor laughed. Eventually he managed to stop, pointed at me and said..." George stopped and looked away in shame "and said… "That's the funniest thing I've ever seen." And then he got up, and left the room." George rested his head in his hands miserably.

"I'm beginning to quite like this Emperor guy" said Robert, grinning.

"You don't understand" said George, tears forming in his eyes. "It was the worst thing that ever happened to me. I was too ashamed to ever show my face in court again. Next day I didn't dare go to work. I stayed in bed instead and planned how to kill myself." 

"You always were a drama queen." said Robert.

"Will you stop interrupting." said George grumpily "For Gods' sake. Anyway, so I was just working out how I could hang myself from the doorframe when a messenger arrived. I was ordered to present myself to the Emperor…" George paused dramatically, then continued "...in his bedroom."

Robert and Marc looked less than impressed by this revelation. George, annoyed by this lacklustre   response, explained impatiently " It was a great honour. According to tradition only the Emperor's wives and concubines were allowed within the Imperial bedchamber."

Robert raised an eyebrow. Marc giggled, but tried to hide it.

"Well from that day forward the Emperor and I were the greatest friends." said George, smiling.

"Yeah, sure, friends." said Robert. Marc giggled all the more.

"In fact" continued George "he insisted I give up work immediately and move from my living quarters to the most luxurious rooms in the palace, after his of course."

"Whose rooms were they before you moved in?" asked Robert.

"Oh, his wife's" said George dismissively. Robert raised his eyebrow again. "What happened to her then?" he asked.

"Oh, he moved her somewhere further away from his bedroom" said George "The best thing was that he let me keep all her jewellery and dresses. He said I looked much better in them than her. Oh, he was so nice to me."

"Yeah, I'm sure" said Robert grinning. Marc tried unsuccessfully to suppress his laughter.

"Look, I'm not going to bother telling you if you're not going to take in seriously Robert" said George "And I don't know what you're laughing at Marc, of all people."

"Sorry" said Marc "It's not the story, it's Robert. He's making me laugh." Robert raised his eyebrow again and Marc descended into giggles.

"Babies" said George "So, anyway the Emperor was really nice to me. He even let me call him by his real name, not one of his sixteen official ones."

"What was his name then?" asked Robert.

"Oh, Jon." said George "anyhow, he was wonderfully generous. He gave me four palaces of my own, and hundreds of servants and jewels and stuff."

"Four palaces?" interrupted Marc "That's just greedy."

"No it's not." objected George "It was one for each season actually."

"Oh well, in that case…" muttered Robert sarcastically

"You're so lucky" sighed Marc "No Emperors ever fall in love with me. Only stupid normal people." He looked sulky.

"Yeah, it was brilliant." agreed George. "That was when I started writing music properly. I wrote songs for Jon mainly, to sing to him when he came to visit me at one of my palaces. His favourite was the one that went…" he began to hum tentatively, and then sing:

"Desert loving in your eyes all the way
 If I listen to your lies would you say
 I'm a man without conviction
 I'm a man who doesn't know
 How to sell a contradiction
 You come and go
 You come and go

Karma, Karma, Karma, Karma, Karma Chameleon
You come and go
You come and go
Loving would be easy
If your colours were like my dream
Red, gold and green
Red, gold and green

Didn't hear your wicked words every day
And you used to be so sweet I heard you say
That my love was an addiction
When we cling our love is strong
When you go you're gone forever
You string along
You string along

Karma, Karma, Karma, Karma, Karma Chameleon
You come and go
You come and go
Loving would be easy
If your colours were like my dream
Red, gold and green
Red, gold and green

Every day is like survival
You're my lover not my rival
Every day is like survival
You're my lover not my rival

I'm a man without conviction
I'm a man who doesn't know
How to sell a contradiction
You come and go
You come and go

Karma, Karma, Karma, Karma, Karma Chameleon
You come and go
You come and go
Loving would be easy
If your colours were like my dream
Red, gold and green
Red, gold and green"

"That's disgusting" said Robert

"Well I thought it was very sweet actually...oh wait" Marc grinned "I get it."

George blushed "Well, Jon liked it anyway" he said. "Anyhow, there I was sitting around in palaces all day with nothing to do, and servants to do all the work for me, and obviously I got bored. So I spent most of my time laying around in bed smoking opium and waiting for Jon to visit."

"Doesn't sound too bad a life to me." said Marc "How come you left?"

"Oh well, I didn't plan to" explained George "But one day I was lying in bed smoking and I suddenly felt like trying on some of my expensive dresses. So I rang for a servant to help me. But for some reason no one answered. I would have gone to see what was the matter, but I'd smoked an awful lot of opium that day, so I just went back to sleep. When I woke up I realised immediately something as wrong."

"Why? Was the palace filled with a strange and unnatural silence?" suggested Robert

"Or did you just have an inexplicable sense of foreboding?" asked Marc.

"No. My room was filled with people stealing my things." explained George, looking annoyed at the memory "They looked quite nasty, so I crept as quietly as I could out of bed, and snuck past them and out of the room. Fortunately they were too preoccupied with my possessions to notice me.

I walked around the palace looking for help, but everywhere I went was silent, and also empty due to the servants looting everything. So I decided to go to the Jade Palace, which was were Jon lived, and get him to kill all my servants for stealing my things. Fortunately I was staying at the time in the autumn palace, which was within the Jade City, rather than one of the palaces in the countryside.

When I got outside it was horrible. My palace grounds were full of people ruining the ornamental garden and trying to rip off the ornamentation of the building, which was made of fine quality red gold. And the city outside was even worse. There was rioting in the streets, and everyone was shouting things about revolution, and destroying the aristocracy."

"Good time to be the Emperor's favourite" said Robert wryly.

"When I finally reached the Jade Palace" George continued "the bronze gates were wide open, and peasants were running all over the place in horrible, cheap, tacky, clothes." He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "They were getting mud on all the beautiful things , and stealing anything that looked even vaguely valuable. It was obvious that Jon wasn't going to be any help. I was just beginning to panic when suddenly I recognised one of the peasants hurrying past. He looked a lot older and more worn than when I had last seen him, but it was definitely my father."

"Oh yeah, I forgot you had a father." said Marc

"How can you forget he had a father?" asked Robert "It's a bit obvious isn't it?"

"Well, you know, I forgot in the context of the story he had a father. I mean, obviously he had one, but…"

"Yeah, shut up now" interrupted Robert "Get on with it George"

"Well, I ran after him, calling out, and eventually he turned around and I sort of fell on him" said George "By this time I was crying and I tried to hug him, but he shrugged me off and looked at me strangely. Then I realised I was still wearing a silk nightdress and loads of beautiful jewellery. I was also wearing quite a lot of perfume, but you could still smell the opium underneath."

Well, I thought I'd better say something to get on his good side, since I needed his help, so I began by asking where he'd been. It turned out that when he'd lost his job in the palace with the rest of the old officials he hadn't been given a pension. He'd had to go and live in a horrible mud hut with my mother and beg for a living. Naturally I felt terribly guilty, and tried to give him some of my jewellery to sell, but he wouldn't take it. I thought perhaps he was angry because we'd lost touch, although that was common then for younger sons, so I said I was sorry I hadn't seen him for a long time, but I'd been busy at the palace.

When I said this he looked at me strangely, then drew himself up to his full height, looking quite as proud in his old, darned peasant clothes as he had in his silken courtier's robes, and said slowly "Busy at the palace? Yes, the whole city knows what you've been doing at the palace. You have disgraced your family, and you have disgraced your name. I will die before I will call you son again. May the mob tear you into a thousand pieces and leave you for the dogs." And he spat in my face, and turned away." George began to look tearful, and took out a handkerchief.

"So, have you still got all this jewellery?" asked Robert with interest.

"What jewellery?" said George, wiping his eyes.

"The jewellery you mentioned you were wearing. Is it valuable, and do you still have it?"

"It's extremely valuable, and no I don't have it." said George, looking annoyed.

"Oh." Robert sighed and sat back.

"Actually" said George "It was ripped off me by the mob while I was trying to get out of the city. I escaped by stealing a boat and sailing down the river."

"So, no jewellery then?" said Robert

"No!" screamed George

"Sorry, I was only asking." said Robert, looking disgruntled.

"I did manage to keep one thing actually." George admitted. He stood up and headed into the cabin. Then he searched through his wooden chest and removed a small bundle of cloth, which he carried back to the other two. It was a torn piece of scarlet and jade silk, woven with gold thread. He slowly unwrapped it and held out the contents cupped within his hands. It was a necklace of round, white stones, their surface shimmering with the colours that surrounded them.

"They're called pearls"  said George "They come form inside shell-fish."

"Shell-fish?" said Marc, touching a pearl uncertainly. "Still, they are pretty, even so."

"Well, that's the story really." said George "I landed the boat quite near to the forest, and found the cottage after a few days walking, and I've been there ever since. Until now, obviously."

"So, was the cottage empty?" asked Marc

"No" admitted George "There was an old man in there, but he was pretty dead, so I moved in."

"Dead?" Marc shuddered "Did you have to bury him yourself?"

"Yeah. I put him in the garden and planted cabbages over him." said George. Marc looked disgusted.

"So, what happened to Jon then?" asked Robert.

"I don't know." George sighed, "I never saw him again. I suppose the mob killed him." Tears which had been forming in his eyes fell slowly down his cheeks, and he hid his face in his hands and began to cry. Marc comforted him, and Robert rushed to make some hot, sweet tea.   

When George had recovered somewhat the three men sat thoughtfully sipping their tea. Eventually, George said softly "He used to have a nickname for me."

"It's nothing disgusting is it?"  said Robert, wrinkling his nose.

"Or all cutesy?" added Marc

"No, no." George wiped his eyes. "He used to call me his chrysanthemum." Marc and Robert looked puzzled.

"It's a flower form the East." said George "Although I saw one in the forest the same day that, you know, the mob thing happened. I knew it was a bad omen."

The three men sat in silence, the setting sun casting a warm red-orange glow over their faces.

"It's getting late." said Robert, standing up "I guess I'll tell my story tomorrow." And he hurried inside before anyone could object.

Chapter 3—On the Second Day

Robert's hand hung lazily over the side of the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon and trailed in the calm water. It was dusk, so he had finally agreed to leave the small cabin in which he spent the daylight hours.

George sat at the front of the boat, considering the inventory of supplies he had spent all day      compiling. Marc was in the hold, having been instructed to carry up a sack of lentils for the evening meal.

Robert rested his head on the boat's side and stared thoughtfully at the grey surface of the sea. It would have been beautifully peaceful where it not for the sounds of George muttering under his breath as he read the inventory to himself and Marc struggling up the ladders which led from the hold to the cabin, and then from the cabin to the deck.

Eventually the cabin door opened slowly and hesitantly and Marc emerged, wobbling under the weight of the sack he held.  "Well don't help me or anything." He dropped the sack heavily to the deck, causing it to rock slightly and put his hands on his hips petulantly.

Robert looked up wearily. "It's your job, not mine. You never help me with the cooking."

"But I can't cook" objected Marc. "Anyway, you only had to open a door."

"Well I didn't want to, dwarf-boy" said Robert, who was rather short-tempered that evening.

"I think short men can be very attractive actually." said George

"I'm not short" Marc stamped a small foot, causing the boat to rock again. "I'm small. Short people are all tubby and shaped like barrels. I'm in proportion."

"Depends what you call proportioned." said Robert, flicking his hand lazily through the water "Perhaps you're to small. You're a lot smaller than me anyway."

"Well maybe you're too tall" suggested Marc.

George finished whatever it was he was doing with the inventory and threw it carelessly into the cabin. "It's about time you told us you story now Robert, it's getting pretty late." he pointed pout, yawning as if in confirmation of this fact.

"Tell about how he came to the cottage first" said Marc eagerly, sitting cross-legged in front of George and staring at him with intently.

"If you like." said George. "Okay, well...it was about six or seven months after I'd found the cottage. I was on my way back from market in the cart. There'd been a big storm the night before and everywhere was really wet and muddy, so I had to drive quite slowly and carefully. Which was pretty lucky actually, 'cause otherwise I might not have seen Robert laying in the road until I'd run over him.

I didn't realise he was a person at first, 'cause he was all wrapped up in a black cloak. And when I pulled the cloak back he was so white I thought he was dead. But I checked, and found he was breathing, so I put him in the cart and took him home."

"But what if he'd been a mad psychotic killer?" said Marc anxiously. "He could've chopped you up into little bits and hidden them under the front step."

"Yeah, well, he wasn't." said George, looking rather puzzled. "Once I got him inside he woke up pretty soon and he was lovely. He was really apologetic for bothering me." George smiled at Robert. "I was glad of the company and he didn't have anywhere else to go, so I let him stay."

"Didn't you ask him where he was from?" asked Marc.

"Yeah, but he didn't want to answer, so I left it. Anyway, I was more interested in why he wore such weird make-up."

"Why?" asked Marc

"I don't know. He wouldn't tell me that either."

There was a silence. George chewed the skin around his fingernails, Robert continued trailing his hand in the darkening water and Marc twisted his hair around his fingers.

It was almost ten minutes before the silence was broken by George. "Robert? You haven't forgotten you've got to tell your story have you?"

Robert sighed and sat up. "Well I guess I might as well get on with it." He said resignedly.

 Chapter 4—Robert's Story

"as you have probably already guessed I come from the North." Robert began. "In fact, I was born in the Palace of Niflheim, which is situated in the Gleipner Mountains. I, like George, held an important position in court. In fact, you could say I held the most important position. You see…" Robert looked slightly embarrassed "...I was the King."    

            "A King?" said George, rather doubtfully "You could have mentioned this before Robert. I mean, being a King is a pretty big secret."

            "Were you an important King?" asked Marc excitedly. Robert nodded "King Robert II of           Vanaheim, the most powerful man in the North." he said unenthusiastically.

"Really?" asked George looking impressed. "Then how come you're stuck in a tiny fishing boat in the middle of nowhere with us?"

"I have to admit it's not what I expected of my life." said Robert. He shrugged. "Anyway, I became King at the age of 9, when my father died, and I reigned for another 12 years in total. And being King of Vanaheim was a pretty boring job. I was 21, and I had never left the vicinity of the palace. I wasn't even allowed outside the grounds unless it was for the purpose of a religious ceremony I had to officiate at, and even then I was always accompanied by a huge retinue of people."       

"So, was it a beautiful palace decorated with silks and jewels and stuff?" said George

"Did you have a golden throne and expensive clothes and loads of jewellery?" asked Marc eagerly.

"No." Robert sighed again "The castle was a horrible, spiky, black building made of granite. It was very big, very empty, and very draughty. And it was always incredibly cold. They had to keep fires burning permanently in all the most commonly used rooms, to stop us freezing to death. It didn't help much that all the walls were just bare stone, which never seemed to warm up, and there was hardly any furniture in most rooms, so there was nothing to stop the wind. Some of the rooms were really nothing more than caves. Apparently when it was first built it was always full of people, and there used to be dances and   parties, and people would come from miles around just to see the wonder of the palace. But that was in the time of my forefathers, and only a few of the   oldest courtiers claimed to remember this golden age of Vanaheim.

In my experience, Vanaheim was a horrible place. I lived in a mountainous region of the country, where it was always dark and cold. We didn't really have seasons as such that far North, just a cold part of the year and a really cold part of the year. Naturally very few plants grew in those conditions, so the people were hunters. This was a hard job, especially since finding any animals in the mountains meant travelling for days on end, and risking avalanches, frostbite and attack from any of the animals you were trying to hunt. So the greatest men in Vanaheim, the most admired, were the greatest hunters. And pretty much everything revolved around hunting in some way. The songs the minstrels sang, the stories of the elders, the poems they recited in the evenings, they all described a brave hero who killed some huge animal or monster and ended up becoming King.

The people of the North tended to be strong and violent and pitiless, since these were the most         admired qualities. The peasants in particular spent most of their time outdoors, and thus were well adapted to the weather, being squarely built with rough skin and thick hair. I used to watch them from my window as they prepared for their hunting trips, although I wasn't expected to speak to them personally, being the King. And frankly I don't think I would have wanted to."

"Why not?" asked Marc "They might have been okay when you got to know them."

"They were barbarians." said Robert angrily "They lived like animals, and behaved like them. Nothing but war, pillaging and rape."          

"You didn't pillage and rape did you Robert?" asked George nervously.

"Of course not, I was the King." Robert assured him. George looked more comfortable.

"I had other things to do." Robert continued "Mainly attending sacrifices." George looked less comfortable.

"You didn't kill chickens, did you?" Marc asked, picking up Betsie anxiously.

"Oh yeah" said Robert "Chickens, lambs, boars, bulls, bears. Anything really. And, every now and then, just occasionally, humans."

"Humans!" screamed George, backing away and reaching for anything he could use as a weapon. Marc edged away from Robert, his eyes wide with fear. 

"Calm down. You don't understand." Robert tried to reach out to George, who shrieked and jumped away, nearly falling out of the boat in the process. "I didn't kill anyone." he protested. "Other Kings did, not me. Honestly."

George sat down again, but still looked distinctly nervous. Marc also returned to his place, clutching Betsie fearfully.

"Did you have to scare me like that?" said George, looking annoyed. "I thought I was trapped on a boat in the middle of nowhere with a crazed serial killer"

"Sorry." said Robert, rather sheepishly. "Sorry Marc."  

" 'S all right" said Marc "I wasn't scared" George began to laugh.

"Well anyway" said Robert "I had to attend a lot of these sacrifices. Non-human sacrifices." He looked pointedly at the other two. "There were sacrifices for everything. For the weather. For luck. For tradition. For prophecies. Often for no reason whatsoever, as far as I could work out. And the worst thing was that as King I was traditionally considered the link between Man and God. Which meant I had to taste the sacrifices." 

"What d'you mean by taste exactly?" asked George suspiciously.

Robert sighed in resignation. "Well, basically I had to drink the blood." He explained, rather reluctantly. "That's what the lipstick symbolises. That's why I wear all the weird make-up. It's because I represent the demons they worshipped."

George and Marc wore looks of puzzled disgust. Robert looked uncomfortable. "It's not that I wanted to." he pointed out "It was tradition."  He shrugged. There was a pause, while George and Marc considered this.

"Well" said George eventually "If it was tradition, I guess it wasn't your fault." 

"Well anyway, it's not important" said Robert hurriedly. "What's important is Fuchsia."  

"Fuchsia? I thought everything was black and dark in Vanaheim." said George.

"Not the colour fuchsia." said Robert angrily "Fuchsia was a person." He looked suddenly sad.

"Fuchsia was a girl I loved." he said slowly "We were going to get married." He stopped and      began to fiddle with his sleeves.

"What happened?" asked Marc. Robert continued to refold his sleeve pointlessly, his eyes lowered.

"Robert?" said Marc. Robert shrugged his shoulders. There was silence.

"It's not fair" said George, anger rising in his voice. "You said you'd tell your story if I told mine." His voice wavered "You said you'd tell Robert." He began to shake Robert by the arm. "I told you    everything. It's not fair if you don't tell. You can't keep secrets Robert." He began to wheeze      painfully.

"Calm down George" said Marc, attempting to pull him away from Robert. "You'll have another one of those asthma attack things."

"But he has to tell"  said George, with difficulty "I told everything. It's not fair."

"She's dead." said Robert suddenly. His voice sounded heavy and tired. He turned his face away.

George sat down heavily, breathing in a high, panicky way. Marc sat uncomfortably between the. After a while he went into the cabin, and returned with a paper bag, which he handed to George, who breathed into it until his breathing had returned to normal.

Throughout this Robert remained staring out at sea. Eventually Marc moved next to him and put one arm cautiously around his shoulders. The two sat awkwardly, the silence broken by George's wobbly breaths as he recovered.

The first to speak was Marc. "Robert?" he whispered softly. Robert turned slightly towards him.

"You're crushing my arm." said Marc apologetically 

Robert stared at him in confusion. Then he began to laugh and cry at the same time. George began to giggle rather breathily. Marc grinned. "And you've cried all over my satin jacket." he added.

Robert grinned shakily. "Actually" he said, looking serious again "I wrote a song about it. D'you want to hear?" He looked hopeful.

"Sure" said Marc, settling down. Robert picked up his guitar.

"This is just a little thing I wrote" he explained, looking slightly embarrassed. "It's called "The Drowning Man." And he began to strum the guitar, and then sing:

"She stands twelve feet above the flood

 She stares

 Alone

 Across the water

The loneliness grows and slowly

Fills her frozen body

Sliding downwards

One by one her senses die

The memories fade

And leave her eyes

Still seeing worlds that never were

And one by one the bright birds leave her...

Starting at the violent sound

She tries to turn

But final

Noiseless

Slips and strikes her soft dark head

The water bows

Receives her

And drowns her at it's ease

I would have left the world all bleeding

Could I only help you love

The fleeting shapes

So many years ago

So young and beautiful and brave

Everything was true

It couldn't be a story

I wish it was all true

I wish it couldn't be a story

The worlds all left me

Lifeless

Hoping

Breathing like the drowning man

Oh Fuchsia

You leave me

Breathing like the drowning man

Breathing like the drowning man

That night the three men lay in the small cabin, each wrapped in blankets against the chill night air. Robert lay by the door, his white face peering from among his many layers of blankets, staring wistfully at the moon. The light made his wet eyes glisten softly.

Across the room George shuffled to get comfortable. Marc yawned quietly. Then he softly whispered "Robert?"

"What?" Robert whispered back, puzzled. At night he usually kept to himself, and discouraged conversation by ignoring it or replying with insults.

"Why don't you sleep over here by the lantern, with me and George? You must be freezing lying by the door all on your own."

Robert hesitated. "It's perfectly safe you know." said George, grinning "We won't bite."

Robert carefully edged slightly closer to the other two. He hesitated, then shuffled a little closer. He room was silent.

"Robert." whispered Marc.

"Yeah?"

"It was a good story."

"Thanks" Robert hesitated. "Goodnight then" he said, rather uncertainly.

" 'Night"

" 'Night"

In the darkness, Robert smiled.

Chapter 5 — On the Third Day

George sat at the front of the small boat, watching  the approaching fog nervously. It was their last day of clear sailing and he was getting worried. Robert was, naturally, hiding in the cabin. Marc was also inside, since the weather was getting steadily worse as the boat approached the fog.

Eventually George rose and struggled against the wind to reach the cabin. Once he had climbed     inside it took several minutes to force the door closed, since the wind was inconveniently blowing in exactly the right direction to hold it open.

"I was thinking" he said, as he sat down. "Maybe we should turn back"

"That's gonna be hard, with a wind like this" Robert pointed out.

"I know, but it seems stupid to just keep sailing when we don't know where we're going."

"Well there's nothing we can do about it now." said Robert "If the wind dies down tomorrow we can think about it then."

"I guess." said George reluctantly. "But I can't help worrying about it."

"Well we could take our minds off it by listening to the end of Robert's story" suggested Marc "He never explained how he got to Rarn."

"Not much to say really" said Robert dismissively "I couldn't stand the castle any more after ...everything. Y'know."  He hesitated. George and Marc did their best to look understanding and      sympathetic.

"So anyway, I decided to go exploring. I thought maybe I should do something I could be                  remembered for, as a King, and it got me away from Vanaheim. So I got a fleet of ships ready and sailed away to explore and, I dunno, conquer places or something. You know, King stuff." He shrugged dismissively. "But I guess I wasn't very good at it, or I chose bad sailors or something, 'cause we only got as far as the North-West coast before we were wrecked. I'm not really sure how, I never understood sailing really.

It turned out that the sailors weren't terribly loyal to their King when their lives were at stake. In fact, they refused me a place in the lifeboat, stole a lot of my expensive things and threw me into the sea. Which was lucky really, because the boat was overloaded, firstly with all the things they had stolen from me and secondly because they insisted on all travelling in the one boat, since none of them were willing to be separated from the valuables.

They were wrecked about forty minutes after they left the ship. I could only see them from a distance, where I was hiding behind some rocks in case of further treachery, but I was near enough to see them sinking lower and lower in the water, and bickering over who they should throw out. But before they could reach an agreement a particularly large wave hit them, and the weight of all the people and cargo sliding to one side overturned the boat.

Well, I waited to see what would happen, and after about fifteen minutes the screaming seemed to have stopped. So I swam over and climbed on top of the boat. I tried to turn it over but it was too heavy, so I just clung on and waited. Well, it drifted off, rather unsteadily, and I stayed where I was for hours and hours. And then eventually I saw land. I waited until it was close enough, and then I swam until I reached the shore."

"Were all the sailors drowned?" asked Marc fearfully. Robert shook his head.

"When I swam over I saw two of them fighting over a chest of mine. The older man was trying to rip the younger one's eyes out, and the younger was covering the older one's mouth, to smother him I think. I guess they thought it was treasure."

"Why? What was it?"  asked George

"Just papers. And not even that, it had been in the water so long. Just paper mush."

"So none of them got any treasure then?" said Marc. Robert considered.

"Depends how you look at it. I did see one man, tangled in some rocks, all covered in blood and salt water, screaming about diamonds. I think he had some piece of jewellery of mine." Robert shrugged. "He sounded happy anyway, in between the screams of pain."

"Poor man." said Marc sadly. Robert looked annoyed. "What d'you mean poor man? He tried to kill me."

"But still" said Marc "You must feel a little pity for him."

"Not really" said Robert "More for the old man and the young man fighting over the chest."  

"I don't see why." said George "They died through their own stupidity. They could have shared the money and lived."

"Well, it's not exactly pity." said Robert thoughtfully "Closer to fear, or disgust, or something like that." The other two looked less than convinced. Robert tried to elaborate. "See, I'm not sure, I didn't know the sailors very well, but I think that the two men were father and son."

George and Marc looked shocked. "Are you sure?" asked George hopefully. "You could easily have made a mistake"

"Maybe." said Robert. "They were defiantly friends at least. And I'm pretty sure...but what does it matter anyway? It's got nothing to do with my story.

So anyway, after the wreck I swam ashore at the coast of Rarn, although obviously I didn't know that then. I couldn't see any houses around, but there was a road... well a track really. So I followed it hoping to find someone. And I walked and walked until I collapsed. And then George found me. And that's it really. Nothing exciting."

"I think it was a brilliant story." said Marc "You should write a book Robert. One with me in it." Robert rolled his eyes.

"Well at least it sort of explains the dislike of light." said George "If Vanaheim was such a dark place. But I still think you're making a fuss."

"It's not that simple." objected Robert "My eyes aren't used to light, so they adapt to it slowly.          Although I guess I make it worse by always insisting on complete darkness. If I spent more time in half-light I suppose I'd gradually get used to full light."

"It has been getting better during this journey though." admitted George "I've seen you sit out in the dusk loads of times."

Robert nodded "Well, it's hard to avoid the light entirely on a boat." He said.

"What about that weird singing thing?" interrupted Marc. "How come you can do that? Are you a wizard?" He looked hopeful.

"No, 'course not" laughed Robert "It's hereditary. There's a story that the Royal Family of Vanaheim is descended from a God, who gave the mortal woman he loved the power, as well as the kingdom."

Marc appeared satisfied by this explanation, although George looked doubtful. "So, are you saying you're descended form a God?" he asked.

"Obviously not. That's just a story."

"So how come you can do that singing thing?"

Robert shrugged. "Who knows. Maybe it is magic. They say in the old days there were hundreds of    wizards and fairies and sorceresses who could cast spells and stuff. Maybe it's true."

"Don't be ridiculous. They're just fairy stories."

"Well I believe them." said Marc. "There wouldn't be so many stories if some of it wasn't true. I'd love to meet fairies. Although who I really want to meet is elves." He sighed. "Although I don't suppose I ever will, because no one meets elves unless the elves want to meet them."  George shook his head, but declined to comment.

"Anyway, isn't it your turn to tell your story Marc?" said Robert.

"First tell about how I arrived the cottage." said Marc "Then I'll tell my story."

"But we all know how you arrived at the cottage." objected Robert "We were all there."

"Yeah, but I want to hear it from your point of view" explained Marc "I like a story told properly. So, how long had you been at the cottage before I arrived?

"About three, maybe four months." said Robert "Not long, but I'd got settled. I remember it was a really horrible stormy night, and George and I were toasting marshmallows in the fire when you knocked."

"Oh yeah" George nodded "I was eating the pink ones and you were eating the white ones. And we were arguing about who got the toasting fork."

"And you wouldn't answer the door 'cause you said it was just the wind blowing the tree's branches." said Robert "You are so lazy."

"Well you wouldn't answer it either" George pointed out. "And how was I supposed to know it wasn't the trees? I mean, no one ever knocked at the cottage. I wasn't expecting it. And I seem to remember it was me who answered it in the end   anyway."

"Only because I threatened your life." objected Robert

George ignored him and turned to Marc. "I thought at first you were a villager who'd got lost" he said "But I realised almost immediately you weren't from Rarn."

"What gave it away?" asked Marc

"None of the villagers ever wore glitter eye-shadow" said George

"So anyway" said Robert "Are you gonna tell us your story now?"

"Sure" said Marc

Chapter 6 — Marc's Story

"I am originally form the South" began Marc "But I'm not a King, or a Royal courtier or anything interesting like that, like you guys. We don't even have a Royal Family where I come from?"

"But who decides what happens in the country, if there's no King?" asked Robert.

"A democratically elected Parliament." said Marc.

"Oh yeah, and I bet that works." muttered George. "Democratically elected Parliament.      Honestly." Marc frowned at him.

"Anyway, I think the best way of telling you my story is to sing you a song I wrote" he said "It's in third person, but it's about me really" He picked up his guitar and began to strum it, and then sing:

"Prince of Players, Pawn of none

 Born with steel reins on the heart of the sun

 Gipsy explorer of the New Jersey heights

 Exalted companion of cocaine nights

'Cause he's a Dandy in the Underworld

Dandy in the Underworld

When will he come up for air?

Will anybody ever care?

At an old eighteen exiled he was

To the deserted kingdoms of a mythical Oz

Distraction he wanted, to destruction he fell

Now he forever stalks the ancient mansions of hell

'Cause he's a Dandy in the Underworld

Dandy in the Underworld

When will he come up for air?

Will anybody ever care?

Now his lovers have left him, and his youth's ill spent

He cries in the dungeon and tries to repent

But change is a monster, and changing is hard

So he'll freeze away his summers

In his underground yard

'Cause he's a Dandy in the Underworld

Dandy in the Underworld

When will he come up for air?

Will anybody ever care?

"I'm guessing some of that was metaphorical." said Robert. "Unless you're actually claiming to have been born in the sun."

"Yeah, that's just something they say about Southerners" said Marc "'Cause of the way we can walk through fire. But I thought I used it in a very meaningful way."

"Is that anything to do with the way you always refuse to sit facing the sun?" asked George. Marc nodded.

"Yeah, you see, I can look at the sun without blinking, or squinting or anything, and I tend to do it by accident and unnerve people who aren't from the south" explained Marc "It's kind of related to the walking through fire thing. Fire and stuff just doesn't bother us."

"Yeah, but how can you walk through it and stuff?" asked George "It doesn't make any sense."

Marc shrugged. "I don't know really. You'd have to ask the scientists. They were always doing tests and stuff on everything, including fire resistance. Personally I never understood a word they said. The generally accepted reason was that since it was so hot in the south, we just sort of evolved like that."

"That's ridiculous." objected Robert "How can you just evolve some kind of magical fire resistance?" He laughed "It doesn't make any sense."

"Oh shut up" said Marc, pushing him "It's no stupider than you saying that the gods gave you your power."

"That story has been handed down for generations." said Robert indignantly "And don't push me"

"I said shut up" said Marc "I'm trying to tell a story. Anyway, I wasn't Royal or anything, as I said, but I had enough money to live by. And I was young. So I spent most of my time hanging around with the other kids, dressing up and making music and stuff. It was just a laugh really, but we had fun. There was a group of us who were always trying to outdo each other with more flamboyant and weird clothes and more popular songs. But it was kinda friendly competition really.

Anyway, life was a gas. I spent all my time falling in love with one person or another, writing songs, going to parties, playing gigs…" he sighed wistfully "I had a great time. Not only as a singer. I did acting and modelling too, and I wrote poems all the time. 

I know it couldn't have gone on forever. I mean, I was only a kid messing around really. I expected that one day I'd have to grow up, and decide what I wanted to do properly, and be responsible and stuff. But I never thought it'd end like it did."

"How did it end?" asked George, who was listening and hemming a pair of trousers at the same time.

"I told you in the song" said Marc impatiently "I was exiled"

"What for, your dress sense?" interrupted Robert, laughing.

"Shut up" Marc shouted "I took your stupid story seriously"

"What d'you mean, stupid story?" Robert screamed. "That was my life. Right, that's it." He rolled up his sleeves. "I'm gonna teach you"  

"Oooh, what are you going to do you big, nasty man" squeaked Marc in a mocking falsetto "You won't hurt wittle me will you?"

"You won't think it's funny when I've beaten you to a bloody pulp." threatened Robert, rather           unconvincingly.   

Marc began to laugh, but was quickly stopped by Robert punching him in the mouth. He screamed in pain, and hit Robert with the lantern he was holding. The glass side broke, and a small chip of it flew into George's left index finger. He would have complained, but he felt his situation was less serious than that of Robert, who had been set on fire by the lantern and was running around shrieking.

"Stop running" screamed George "You'll set the boat on fire and kill us all." Robert appeared not to hear this, and continued shrieking in terror. He was only calmed when Marc returned from deck and threw a bucket of seawater over him.

Robert collapsed onto the cabin floor making small moans of pain. George glared in annoyance over the edge of the paper bag he was breathing into and Marc jumped around trying simultaneously to put out the few remaining flames smouldering in Robert's clothes, mop up the blood from his split lip and apologise to Robert repeatedly.   

George's breathing finally returned to normal, allowing him to shout at the other two "For Gods' sake, that's my second asthma attack in two days. Are you two trying to kill me?"

"Don't blame us" said Robert "If you hadn't spent so much time smoking opium I bet your asthma wouldn't be half as bad."

"I take it you weren't seriously hurt then?" said George grumpily.

"No, but look at the state of this shirt" Robert plucked at the black edged tatters of cloth.

"Well at least it was a horrible shirt." Marc said cheerfully.

"I liked this shirt" said Robert sulkily.

"Oh sorry" said Marc, looking embarrassed "It's, er, quite nice really. I mean, when you look at it properly. Not that it looks bad on you if you don't look properly, I just mean…"  He paused "I'll shut up now then."

Robert, who had been ignoring him and trying to peel the strips of burnt shirt off himself, sighed. "Have we got any ointment or anything?" he asked.

George shrugged. "I could try and make some, but we haven't really got any ingredients. Is it bad?" He reached forward to touch one of the burns.

"Get off" said Robert angrily, moving back "It's not so bad. It'll heal."

Marc looked sheepish. "I'm really sorry Robert." He said, patting his forearm. Robert shuddered in pain. "Oh sorry" Marc patted Robert's right foot, which was the nearest unburnt thing to him. " I didn't mean to burn you, I just didn't think."

Robert, who was now having cold water poured over him by George, looked up at the anxious Marc. "Yeah, sorry for punching you." he said, rather  grudgingly "And sorry about your lip."

" 'S all right"  said Marc "I'll go help George with the ointment."

Later that evening the three men sat in the cabin. Robert glistened with ointment in the lamplight as he examined his burns. George was crossing off from the inventory the items eaten at that night's dinner, and looking worried. Marc sat cross-legged in the corner trying unsuccessfully to brush his hair with a soft-bristled brush George had lent him, and absently sucking the cut on his lip.

George sighed and put the list down, looking serious. "Well" he said "It looks like it's bran mash for dinner tomorrow."

"But that's ridiculous" said Robert sulkily "I mean, for a start you can't even digest bran mash         properly."

"Well, we could kill one of the chickens." Suggested George "Kitty Hen hasn't been laying well for a while."

"Great. I'll kill her tomorrow if I can move my arms enough to swing the axe" said Robert, looking more cheerful.

George shuddered. "Don't you mind slaughtering Kitty, just a little? He asked.

Robert shrugged. "It's only a chicken." he pointed out.

They were interrupted by Marc throwing the hair brush violently across the cabin. "Having difficulty?" said Robert, rather smugly.

"Oh shut up" Marc threw himself sulkily onto the floor "I've never once seen you even try to brush you hair."

"Oh for Gods' sake don't start another argument" said George.

"But I'm bored" moaned Marc, kicking the floor of the cabin petulantly.

"Well why don't you finish off your story from before?" suggested George "You didn't explain what happened after you were exiled." As he spoke he rummaged through his sewing basket, selected a sock with a hole in the toe and then began to thread a darning needle.

"Well" said Marc, settling down "I was exiled to a horrible little island off the South coast. I had to live in this tiny underground room, like a prison." He shuddered at the memory. "It was a really small island, with only about four trees, 'cause it was so hot. Occasionally they brought prisoners who weren't natives of the South, and they usually got heatstroke after about three or four days. And the sunburn was terrible. They ended up actually burning off so many layers of skin that they bled." He frowned "I'm really glad that doesn't happen to me.

I lived on the island with all the other prisoners for about two years. By that time I'd got quite used to it really, although I did miss all my friends. The worst thing was that some nights, when the wind was blowing in the right direction, you could hear music from the mainland. It was like being the only person not invited to a party, but living close enough to hear everyone having fun.

Well, eventually one day the officials decided to move me and some other prisoners. I wasn't told why, because as I was exiled I was no longer a citizen, and had no rights. The Governor of the island did sometimes let a little information slip, since I was kind of a friend of a friend. He knew this guy I kinda knew, called David. But this time he told me nothing.

Being prisoners, we got the cheapest boats possible, and the cheapest equipment. The boats were all roped together, with guards in every second or third, to stop us escaping. But a storm came up, and some of the chain were wrecked on the rocks around the coast. Also, a lot of the ropes got caught in the rocks and snapped. The boat I was sharing with five other guys was swept away from the others, and carried off westwards. The sea was terribly rough, and I was afraid of being washed overboard, so I crawled between the bench and some of the luggage, where I was safer. Some of the other guys hid too, and others tried to steer the boat, even though it was impossible in those conditions.

I guess I must have fainted, or been knocked unconscious or something, 'cause I don't remember what happened after that. When I woke up the boat was still, and everything was quiet. When I pushed the chests aside and crawled out I found I was all alone in calm, fairly shallow water, a few miles from a coast. The other five had disappeared, and so had the oars and the lantern. I suppose they were washed overboard and drowned, or tried to swim for it. Maybe some of them managed it , and perhaps landed at Rarn, but I never heard anything of them. But then I guess I wouldn't. They were criminals, so they'd be hiding presumably.

Well anyway, I looked through the luggage and found a sheet, which I made into a sail. It was quite difficult, but eventually I managed to sail in the general direction of land. I landed eventually in a bay by a forest. Then got my belongings out, and walked and walked, looking for help. But there was none."

"Until you found us." said George, with satisfaction.

"Exactly" said Marc "So here I am." 

"So I'm the only one of us who's not a fugitive from the law" said Robert. Then he frowned. "Hang on, what exactly did you get exiled for?"

"Well, there was the cocaine business, and y'know, stuff." said Marc, shrugging. 

"Have you got anything from the South you kept as a memento, like I saved my necklace?" asked George.

"Well, I have got one thing, I suppose." said Marc "Hang on, I'll get it." H hurried over to his chest, in the corner of the cabin, and rummaged around inside. Then he pulled out a smaller box and carried it over."

"It's really pretty" said George, running his fingers over the carved surface "What's it made of?"

"Cedar" said Marc "With velvet lining."

"It smells really strange." said Robert, wrinkling up his nose

"Yeah, it's scented with spices" said Marc "There are loads of spices and stuff in the South." He unlatched the small silver clasp, opened the chest and carefully removed its contents. It was a black mask, made to cover the upper part of the face. Attached to one side was a long, white handle shaped like a claw. The mask itself was of an ugly horned creature.

"What's it made of?" asked Robert, touching it gingerly

"Metal" said Marc. "Except for the handle. That's human bone." Robert looked impressed. George looked disgusted.

"It's for wearing at masquerade balls" said Marc. He placed it carefully back in the box.

"It's a shame you didn't keep anything special from Vanaheim Robert" said George.

"Well maybe I did, but I didn't want to tell you." said Robert, in an unnecessarily grumpy manner.             

"Well did you or didn't you?" asked George.

"Yes actually" said Robert coldly.

"Ooh, show me, show me, show me." said George excitedly.

Robert sighed and went over to his own chest. From within it he produced a small piece of rough, black cloth, tied up with string to form a bag. He untied this string, and unfolded the cloth to reveal a small silver locket on a chain.

"It's lovely." said George "Why don't you wear it?"

"I don't want to break it." said Robert, lifting it up gently by the chain. The small shining oval of metal spun slowly.

"Who's in it?"  asked Marc

"No one" replied Robert, opening it carefully and holding it out to the others. Inside was nothing but a tiny golden key.

"What's it the key to?" George asked.

"I don't know" Robert turned the key over with the tip of his forefinger "Fuchsia gave me it. She said she'd found it somewhere, but she couldn't find anything it opened. So she gave it to me. She said maybe I'd find something it fitted." He sighed deeply. "That was the way she thought." he explained "She thought every key had a lock."

"So it doesn't fit anything then?" asked Marc. Robert shook his head.

"How depressing." said George "Thanks a lot Robert."

As he spoke a sudden chill descended on the boat, and a cold wind swept through the open window and blew out the fire. The smoke drifted upward and mingled with the air, which had become strangely think and grey. George began to breath strangely, and looked around for a paper bag.

"What's going...on." wheezed Robert with difficulty, feeling like he was trying to breath cotton wool.

Marc crossed over to the window and stared out into the misty air. Then he sat down unsteadily. "I think we've...entered..." he choked, and then continued "...the fog."