Part Seven
Chapter 1 - The Morning After
Sunlight glimmered on blue and reflected into George's eyes. He squinted into the glare and his vision gradually became clearer until he realised what he was looking at - the sea.
Sitting up, he looked around in puzzlement. He was lying on the deck of the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon. The unmanned boat was surrounded by endless waves. Apart from himself the deck was empty.
George was suddenly filled with fear. What is he was alone in the middle of nowhere. Tears prickled in his eyes. He dragged himself up and struggled toward the cabin. Dizziness overcame him however and he stumbled to the boat side and was miserable sick. Then he sank back into the craft, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Cramps crushed his abdomen and seemed to be spreading to his arms and legs. He was filled still with a dizzy sickness which refused to abate. He gave up and began to cry, wrapping his arms around himself and moaning in pain.
"George?" called a weak voice from the cabin. "Is that you?"
"Yeah." George struggled over to the cabin door, pushed it open and squinted inside. He could see nothing in the darkness but the cracks around the window shutters and Robert's white face, his black-painted eyed looking like empty sockets.
"Robert?" whispered George.
There was no reply.
George began to climb with difficulty down the ladder into the cabin. Eventually he reached the floor and crawled across to shake Robert's slumped body. "Robert? Did you call me? Robert, are you awake?"
Robert lay curled into a ball and made no sign that he heard George call.
George was considering whether or not to hit Robert with a lantern when a strange croaking noise came from the darkest corner of the room. George jumped and brandished the lantern threateningly. The croaking sound continued, and eventually resolved itself into the word "George?"
"Marc?" George hurried into the corner and pulled Marc from beneath a table. "You okay?"
"I guess." Marc leant against the cabin wall and sighed.
George sat down next to him. "You look terrible."
"I doubt I look as bad as you." said Marc, rubbing his red eyes.
"Oh shut up Marc. I look." George broke off as a spasm of pain contorted the let side of his body. ".fine." he finished weakly.
"Is Robert okay?" Marc croaked, poking the aforementioned gentleman in the ribs. Robert moaned faintly.
"He'll wake up in a minute." George said, shaking Robert violently.
Robert opened bloodshot eyes and glared in George's general direction. "What?" he asked crossly.
"We thought you might be dead." explained George.
"Are we in the boat again?" Robert asked, as his surroundings suddenly dawned on him. "How come? What's going on?"
"I have no idea." said Marc hoarsely. "But I feel terrible."
"What happened to the aliens?"
"Well whatever's happened we're going to have something to eat." George said determinedly. "I'm absolutely starving."
"You were only being sick a minute ago." Marc objected. "I heard you."
"Exactly. So I'm even more empty." George pushed Robert. "Make food. Quick."
"You could ask a little more politely." Robert grumbled. "I'm not a slave." Nevertheless he took a deep breath, raised himself up slowly and struggled over to the food cupboards, stumbling dramatically from side to side.
"All right, all right, we'll help." Marc began to light the fire. "Just stop the invalid act." Robert grinned and straightened up.
Half an hour later the three men sat on deck in the twilight eating rather unpleasant gruel. George's make-up was streaked across his face, and he occasionally grimaced with pain. Marc rubbed his swollen eyes and held himself stiffly, looking rather ill when he moved too quickly. Robert rested his head on his hand and stirred his stew weakly. Eventually he pushed the bowl away listlessly. "This is all your fault Marc." He said, pushing Marc in a pitifully feeble manner. "Why'd you have to bring me those hallucinogens?"
"Well you're no better giving me opium." objected George.
"What opium?" Robert puzzled.
"Don't be pathetic Robert. Just admit it."
"But I didn't give you anything." Robert began to get annoyed. "Where exactly am I going to get opium from?"
"Well, where am I going to get hallucogens from?" Marc pointed out.
"Hallucinogens."
"Whatever. I still couldn't get any." Marc paused and frowned. "So, does this mean you didn't give me cocaine George?" George looked offended. "Well, if it wasn't me" he asked "Or either of you, who was it?" "That Dr Furter, stupid." snapped Robert. "We should never have trusted those freaks." "I still don't get it." Marc looked confused. "Why would they give us the stuff?" "So they could do experiments on us." Robert shouted in frustration. "Why do I have to hang around with you two brain-dead idiots." "Hey!" George smacked Robert's arm angrily. "You're just as stupid. You trusted them." Robert threw his spoon at George. "Oh grow up." said George, throwing it back. "Hang on." Marc interrupted. "How long were we with the aliens?" "All night, obviously." Robert replied dismissively." "Why obviously?" objected Marc "Well it was night then and its day now, so today is tomorrow." Robert paused. "Actually you raise a good point." He conceded. "I suppose we could've been there longer." "Surely we'd remember?" said George. "Not if they used weird alien technology on us." "Yeah" Marc agreed with wonder. "If they have a carving knife that moves by itself they could have invented anything." "What if they took us to their planet?" Robert asked fearfully. "We could've been gone a thousand years and not aged at all." "Alien abduction? I think you two are losing it." George laughed. "A thousand years. Honestly." He paused and frowned. "Hey, how come I'm being the cynical one? I thought that was your job Robert." "Can anyone remember what actually happened after the drugs?" Marc asked. George and Robert considered. "I think." began George uncertainly "I remember something, but it's hard to describe. You know like when you try and tell someone your dreams, and you can't explain it." "Yeah, I hate listening to you explain your dreams." "Shut up Robert. Anyway, like I was saying."
Chapter 2 - The Night Before
"I remember a room with lots of metal in it." He frowned. "and a lift shaft too, I think."
"Yeah, I remember that." Marc agreed. "It was so bright it made your eyes hurt. And the tiles were a funny shade of pink." George nodded his agreement. "Robert? D'you remember it?"
"Possibly." said Robert. "I remember being cold." He considered. "Really cold. And I was lying down and Dr. Furter had a green doctors robe on."
"Columbia and Magenta had doctor's masks on." Marc added. "I'm pretty sure."
"Frank didn't." said George. "I remember him looking down and grinning at me." He shuddered.
"Did he do experiments on us then?" Marc asked anxiously. "'Cause I don't remember it."
"Me neither." George agreed. Robert shook his head. "Perhaps" he said quietly "It was too awful to remember." Marc looked even more worried. "This may sound funny." George began uncertainly. "But I'm sure I remember you sort of strutting around playing the guitar on a stage Marc." "Oh yeah." Marc agreed. "It was a gig. There were hundreds of people there." "Really?" George was confused. "I thought it was just an empty room." "Needles." said Robert suddenly. George jumped. "What needles?" ""Frank had a needle, y'know, like a syringe." Explained Robert. "and a rope or something tied round his arm." He paused. "So did you George." George rolled up his sleeve. On his inner arm were seven marks, like pin pricks. George rubbed his fingers across them gently, and looked simultaneously confused and understanding. "Oh yeah." he said quietly. "I forgot." "I remember something else." said Marc. "I remember crying." "Who was crying?" Robert asked. "Everyone. You were screaming and rolling around like a mad man. And you dug your nails into your hands and they bled all over the place." Robert examined his palms carefully. There were many tiny, semi-circular white marks denting his skin. "It was horrible." Marc continued. "You were screaming and kicking the walls, and then you curled up into a ball and kept shivering and moaning." "What about me?" asked George. "When did I cry?" "I don't know when exactly. I just remember you staring at nothing with your eyes all glazed, and your eyelashes were wet." He paused, then added thoughtfully. "It was quite pretty actually. I might write a song about it. But that's all I remember. That and the taste of blood." "Oh yeah, you bit your lip." Robert told him. "And then you used your blood to paint your face." "Robert?" George asked. "Didn't you try and strangle me with your waistcoat?" "Possibly." Robert shrugged. "I'm pretty sure I tried to strangle someone. I wonder what I did that for?" "Do you think we did go to another planet?" asked Marc. "Maybe this is another planet!" George gasped, looking around "How would we know?" "Wouldn't there be three suns, or no oxygen or something?" Robert objected. "Anyway, I thought you didn't believe in alien abduction." "Yeah, well, I was being, y'know, theoretical." explained George hurriedly. "Hey!" Marc interrupted. "Shouldn't we be checking our supplies and stuff. If we've been away for weeks it might've gone off. Or the aliens might've taken it." "Why would the aliens want a bucketful of rotting apples and tonnes of old biscuits?" Robert asked him. George jumped up suddenly, and rather unsteadily. "They'd better not have stolen any of my stuff!" He declared. "I'm gonna check." He hurried into the cabin. Robert and Marc struggled to their feet and followed him.
Later that afternoon the three men sat in the corner of the small cabin writing an inventory of the remaining food. This consisted almost entirely of dry ship's biscuits, corn and rice. There were also three barrels of wine remaining from the six David had given them, and two of water. Besides this there were several loaves of gritty sailors' bread, a dozen extremely old apples, and two geese in a cage. "Well." Robert said as he considered the list. "I hope no-one's too bothered about getting scurvy, 'cause it's definitely on the cards." "We'd better start fishing more often." Said George, taking the list and folding it neatly. "We don't know how much longer we're gonna be at sea. 'specially now we don't know where we are anymore." "We never had any idea where we were. We just knew where we'd been" Marc pointed out, reaching for a biscuit. George removed it from his grasp. "From now on everything is rationed." He explained to the other two. "We don't want to run out now, do we?" "There's no need to be so patronising." Robert assured him. "We can be trusted to only eat what's necessary." "Perhaps you can. Get out of the biscuit barrel Marc." "I only wanted one." Marc complained sulkily. "Anyway, you eat much more than I do. And more than Robert too." "Well not any more." George told him firmly. "From now on we all eat the same." He began to move the barrel into the hold. "We're not gonna let him be in charge of food are we?" Marc protested when George was out of hearing. "It'll be gone in an hour." "I'll keep an eye on him." said Robert. "And don't be so mean. He doesn't eat that much." "Since when have you been against meanness?" objected Marc. "Especially to George." "I'm in a funny mood today." Explained Robert as George returned from the hold. He looked suddenly pale, and in his right hand he held a crumpled piece of silk in bright scarlet and jade, run through with thin golden threads. There were tears in his eyes. "What's wrong?" Marc hurried over to George. "I found it in the corner, behind the goose cage." George said, holding out the limp cloth. "But the necklace is gone." "Oh, your pearls! I forgot." Marc looked around the cabin hopefully. "Maybe they're here somewhere." "Don't be stupid." said Robert. "The aliens have clearly stolen them. Typical." "What d'you mean typical?" George objected. "How often is your jewellery stolen by aliens?" "They'd better not have taken any of my stuff." Marc hurried over to his chest and began to rummage inside. "Well we haven't really got any other valuables." Robert gasped, and his eyes widened. "My locket!" he screamed, running over to search his belongings.
A full search of the boat revealed that nothing was missing other than George's necklace. "From now on I'm going to wear my locket all the time." said Robert as he fastened the chain around his neck and hid it beneath his voluminous jumper. "I'm not risking it being stolen." "I don't see why they had to take my necklace." George was miserable folding and re-folding the piece of silk as he spoke. "Why couldn't they take any of Marc's trashy jewellery or your boring black rubbish?" "Maybe they weren't to the doctor's tastes." Robert suggested. "And my jewellery isn't black rubbish. Some of it's silver and jet and haematite and obsidian and such." "Yeah, and mine's not trash." Marc added. "Some of it's quite valuable." "Really? How valuable?" Robert asked with interest. George sighed, stood up and climbed out of the cabin without saying a word. The door closed firmly behind him. "D'you think he's all right?" asked Marc. "I dunno. That necklace did mean a lot to him. Maybe we should go out and talk to him." Robert opened the cabin door and peered outside. "He looks miserable. "Maybe we should leave it." Marc picked up his guitar. "What are we gonna say anyway?" "Yeah, I guess." Robert closed the cabin door over and climbed carefully back down the ladder, leaving George alone in the gathering dusk.
Chapter 3 - A Night Like This The Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon skimmed across the silver water leaving a shining trail to fade into nothing in its wake. On deck the three men sat in the moonlight. Marc was leaning against the side of the cabin with his legs crossed, his guitar resting in his lap. George sat next to him hugging his knees to his chest. They were listening to Robert, who was sitting at the prow strumming his guitar and singing
"Say goodbye on a night like this
If it's the last thing you ever do.
You never looked as lost as this
Sometimes it doesn't even look like you.
It grows dark
It grows darker still Please stay But I'm watching, like I'm made of stone As you walk away."
When the song was concluded Robert sighed and stared out to sea. Then he turned to the other two. "Well, what d'you think?" he asked. "I wrote it yesterday." George wiped his eyes. "Why are all your songs so sad Robert?" he asked, as he looked for a handkerchief. "Some of them are quite happy." Robert objected. "What about Lovecats? "I thought that was about drowning kittens." said Marc, frowning. "That's what you said." "No, it was based on a story about.oh, forget it. How about Caterpillar?" "Isn't that about lying to someone to make them stay with you?" "Well, yes." Robert conceded. "Okay then, what about Mint Car?" "Mint Car isn't happy." Marc shook his head. "Mint Car scares me." "Well, if you're just gonna refuse to accept." Robert paused as he noticed George staring out to sea in a melancholy manner. "Although maybe I'd better not sing any more just to be on the safe side, if you're going to look that miserable about it George." "Oh, sorry." George gave him a rather weak smile. "I was just thinking about my necklace." He sighed. "It was all I had to remember.everything by." "Well, at least it was only a necklace." Robert offered as comfort. ""It could've been worse." "Sure. And how would you feel if someone stole your locket?" Robert shrugged and said nothing. "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal." said Marc tonelessly. "But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." "What?" George looked confused. "Well thanks for that useless platitude." said Robert coldly. "Where'd you read it? Inside a cracker?" "No. In a holy book actually." Marc told him smugly. "Sounds like the stuff they put in holy books back East." George agreed. "And they're all much the same really. Are you not religious Robert?" "Well.I was head of the Church of Vanaheim, and the link between man and the gods. But other than that, no." "Me neither." George said. "Although I used to like hearing some of the myths and stuff. But I'm not gonna actually believe them. Please." He rolled his eyes and looked amused by the naivety of those who did. "Yeah, our stories were stupid too." Robert admitted. "All battles and monsters and stuff. All the people of Vanaheim are interested in is war, war, war. I mean, as if I'm gonna take part in some great end-of-the-world style battle with a load of evil demons and giants and dragons and whatever. I don't care how many gods and deceased ancestors I have on my side. There's no way." "What use would dead relatives be?" Marc puzzled. "I meant their spirits, obviously. Not their corpses." He paused. "At least, I assume so. All they said was that they'd rise again. There were no specifics." Marc looked nervous. "So.are you going to rise from the dead then?" "Well, it's not due until the end of the world, so you'll probably have plenty of other things to worry about." Robert said, not very comfortingly. "Are you religious then Marc?" George asked. "If you know hold verses by heart." "Oh no." Marc shook his head. "I just picked that up somewhere. It's not even from my religion. It's from one of the newer ones." He waved his hand dismissively. "What does your religion say then?" "I dunno. I never really paid that much attention." "Lucky. Our religion was forced down our throats at school. It was the most important lesson, except for Calligraphy, and Family Values." George looked miserable at the mere memory of his schooldays. "Yeah, I got a lot of it from my tutor." Robert said, frowning. "But that was 'cause of the whole "leader of the faith" thing." "If I were you I'd have just abolished it." Marc said. "I'm not sure I was allowed." "Of course you were. You were a king. They can do what they like." "That's not quite how it works Marc." "You're amazingly ignorant sometimes." George told Marc, rather impolitely. "Did you not pay any attention when you were at court back in wherever it is you come from." "Well..I.er..I wasn't at court very often." Marc said hurriedly, looking uneasy. Not that often. In fact, not very often at all." Robert had been absently strumming his guitar for the last minute or so. Now he stopped and asked, "Whose turn is it to play now?" "Mine." said Marc, before the conversation could be taken any further. "I think I'll play you a song I wrote while I was still living in the South. It's about the end of a relationship." George hugged his knees tightly and Robert rested his head in his hands as Marc began to sing.
"I could have loved you girl
Like a planet
I could have chained your heart
To a star
But it really doesn't matter at all
No it really doesn't matter at all
Life's a gas,
I could have built a house
On the ocean
I could have placed your love
In the sky
But it really doesn't matter at all
No it really doesn't matter at all
Life's a gas,
I could have turned you
Into a priestess
I could have burned
Your fate in the sand
But it really doesn't matter at all
No it really doesn't matter at all
Life's a gas,
I hope it's gonna last."
It was silent for a while. George lay staring at the stars. Robert turned his locket over and over in his hands. Marc rested his head on his guitar and sighed. Eventually George said quietly. "What are the stars? I mean, what are they made of?" "They're bits of ice shattered by the gods." Robert said. "Or so it was said in Vanaheim." "No, they're lamps God hung in the sky for us to see by." said Marc. "Or else it's where the sky's been torn, and the light of heaven's shining through." "In the East." George said softly. "They used to say they were decorations by the gods, and fireworks were man's attempts to copy them." "What's fireworks?" Marc asked. "What kind of deprived childhood did you have, not knowing about fireworks?" "Well I've never heard of them either." Robert informed him. "I don't think they have them in the North." "They're beautiful." George told him. "They're like tubes full of gunpowder and stuff, and you light them and they fly into the air and explode." "I think you'll find they're called bombs." "No Robert, you don't understand." Said George excitedly. "They're only little, and when they explode them turn into hundreds of tiny stars and fall down onto the audience." He demonstrated this with enthusiastic gesturing. "Do they burn?" Marc asked anxiously. "No, 'course not." George laughed. "They don't actually ever reach the ground. They disappear." "Oh good." Marc looked pleased. "That's okay then. In that case seeing fireworks is the thing I'd like to do most in the world, after meeting elves." "I wish I had some. You'd love them. They're wonderful. They're like pictures in the sky, all different colours, and they're shaped sort of like trees and flowers. Some of them are little and like weeping willows, and some of them are big and round like chrysanthemums." "I wish I'd seen a chrysanthemum." Marc said mournfully. "I wish I could show you one." George told him. There was a moment's pause and then George's face lit up and he leapt to his feet and dashed into the cabin. "Where's he rushing off to?" asked Robert, who had been quietly staring out to sea and half listening to the conversation. Marc shrugged. George returned from the cabin bearing a dark, heavy, rectangular object which he lowered carefully to the deck. It was revealed to be a thick, leather-bound book.
"I forgot I had this." He said, opening it gently. "It's a sort of fairytale, romancey thing. They were very popular in the East. Its got really good illustrations.
Marc crawled over to George, who was already turning the thin pages with great care. Robert joined them, bringing an extra lamp.
"That's a chrysanthemum, that the girl's holding." George explained as he lifted the tissue-thin paper covering the illustration. "and that's a kimono like I used to wear. And that's a sunshade, and they're fireworks behind her, although they're much better in real life." He lifted the pages excitedly, telling the story as they went along (since the other two couldn't read the strange characters), explaining what they saw and interrupting himself to tell them short, related stories from his own life and those of his friends and acquaintances. Marc listened with awe, occasionally touching one of the prints gently. Robert asked many questions, mainly concerning the culture and traditions.
The story George read was a tragedy about a young girl who went on a quest for the soul of her lover, which had been stolen by a fox-demon. The demon had tricked the young man by appearing in the body of a young girl. It was rather strange and complicated, but George helped to clarify the more difficult parts. It ended with the girl winning the soul after many hardships and sacrifices, and returning home to find that in the years of her absence her lover had married another girl. Marc found this very sad, despite his own propensity to fall in and out of love with someone in a fortnight. Robert claimed to dislike the girl because when she found out about her lover's marriage she committed suicide, which he considered "weak" (although he looked slightly tearful when George read the part about her sinking into the river and being carried away). However, she redeemed herself in his eyes by becoming a fox demon herself, seducing her ex-fiancé and then destroying his life via bankruptcy, loss of loved ones and a selection of highly unpleasant diseases and embarrassing medical conditions.
So engrossed were the three men that they didn't notice the approaching landmass until it was within a few miles. Robert saw it first and actually shrieked in excitement, after which he looked a bit embarrassed.
"Quick!" screamed George, running to and fro across deck in his panic (which was, incidentally, not in the slightest bit helpful). "Turn around. Set a course for the land. Quick! Well sail past! We'll lose it."
The others tried to point out how unlikely it was that they would lose an entire country, but George would not be calmed until they were sailing along the coastline, as near as they could get to the shore without risking damage to the boat. All that could be seen was a huge, flat, featureless cliff face which seemed to run all the way around the island, and hundreds of sharp rocks around which the sea foamed ominously.
This lack of a suitable landing point was most discouraging. In fact they were beginning to give up hope, and the excitement of having found land was already wearing thin, when George spotted a small lagoon into which a river flowed. "There!" he screamed urgently. "Turn to port! Starboard! Whichever is left! Turn!" Robert and Marc struggled with the boat and managed to steer it into the lagoon, where it floated softly across the mirror-like surface.
"How dramatic." said Marc. "Arriving on a mystery island from across the sea by moonlight. It's like a book. Shame there's no one here to see us."
"Where should we go?" George puzzled, looking around. "I can't see a way through the cliffs."
"Up the river, stupid." gasped Robert, who was still trying to catch his breath after the exertion required in getting the boat this far. "And stop jumping around. It's incredibly annoying."
"And so the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon carried them up the silvery path of the river, between high banks covered in strange flowers and plants, twisting toward the centre of this new land.
Chapter 4 - The Green Grass of Home Trees hung over the high-banked river forming a translucent green tunnel through which they sailed slowly. The rising sun soaked the boat in the viridian light. George leant across to the bank and picked flowers as they briefly passed within his reach. Marc hung as near to the water as he could, watching the fish flickering past. Robert sat at the prow, following the twists and turns of the river.
George's arms were eventually full, and he sat in the centre of the deck weaving the new, foreign flowers into his hair. When he tired of this he decorated Marc's hair instead. By the time Robert had found a spot where the bank was low enough for them to land, all three men wore chains of flowers around their necks, arms, wrists, waists and ankles, as well as crowns made of especially beautiful blooms. This gave them the appearance of an especially eclectic group of shrubs disembarking from a bottle-green craft.
They found themselves in a field of waist-high, silvery-green grass dotted here and there with flowers which looked something like daisies, a little like buttercups, and bore a certain resemblance to pinks. At the edges of this meadow were huge trees, many of them covered in blossom. The river emerged briefly from within these trees, and then disappeared again into their depth. The only sound was the light breeze which made the grasses whisper softly. There was an air of everything having been newly made, as though nothing had ever set foot here.
George, Robert and Marc stood uncertainly on the riverbank. "What should we do now?" George asked, hesitant to speak in such a quiet place.
Marc grinned, grabbed George's hat and ran off through the grass, laughing. George followed, shrieking in feigned indignation at this theft. Robert, left alone, stood awkwardly at the riverbank shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably. After a while he sighed and sat down on a conveniently horizontal section of tree, feeling somewhat left out. The sound of screams and laughter reached him, but George and Marc were hidden from him by the long grass. Their voices sounded strange and distant, freer then they had ever been before in the confines of their cottage or the boat. Robert leant against a tree and closed his eyes.
He was dozing miserably when footsteps approached him rapidly. He ignored them until he was suddenly hit around the face with George's hat, which naturally woke him up. He opened his eyes grumpily. Marc was standing in front of him holding the hat by the brim and grinning broadly. George's voice could be heard in the distance, faintly calling "Marc? Marc! Come here! Hiding isn't fair!"
"What?" Robert asked, in the sort of voice grown-ups use when children are bothering them.
"Come and help me creep up on George." Marc whispered conspiratorially. "He can't find me. It's really funny."
"You are so immature." He closed his eyes again. "And don't hit me."
"Why? What're you gonna do?" Marc hit Robert again and grinned even more broadly.
"Stop it!" Robert tried to grab the hat and missed. Marc backed away, laughing, and waved the hat teasingly in front of Robert, who again tried unsuccessfully to reach it.
"Fine." He said sulkily. "Just go away and leave me alone then."
Marc shrugged, turned around and began to walk back to George. Robert half-closed his eyes, and waited until Marc was off his guard before jumping for the hat. Marc screamed, hit him again and ran out of the trees and almost into George. Dodging him he disappeared into some particularly tall grasses which rose above his head and confused both his pursuers somewhat. They followed, calling out ridiculous threats between their laughter.
By the time the sun had reached the middle of the sky the three of them had collapsed, exhausted. George lay on his back watching the white clouds floating slowly across the sky. Robert was in the shade, lying on his stomach to examine what they had christened a "star-flower". Marc sat cross- legged, the hat perched proudly on his head, chewing a piece of grass and dreaming.
Robert looked up and shaded his eyes. "Too much light." He said regretfully. "My eyes are hurting."
"Shall we go back to the boat?" George asked.
"Yeah, lets." said Robert. But no one moved. Robert closed his eyes.
After a few minutes more Marc removed the piece of grass from his mouth. "It's nice here, isn't it?"
"Yeah." Said George lazily.
"And we all like it."
"Yeah."
"And there's nowhere else for us to go."
"Yeah." said George again, impatiently.
"So." Marc asked hopefully. "Can we stay?"
"Yeah." said George, smiling. "We can stay."
"Robert?" Marc said carefully.
"Yeah?"
"What do you think of it?"
Robert considered in silence. Marc waited nervously. Finally Robert spoke. "I think." he said slowly. "I think that we're home.
End of Part 7. To be Continued.
.
Chapter 1 - The Morning After
Sunlight glimmered on blue and reflected into George's eyes. He squinted into the glare and his vision gradually became clearer until he realised what he was looking at - the sea.
Sitting up, he looked around in puzzlement. He was lying on the deck of the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon. The unmanned boat was surrounded by endless waves. Apart from himself the deck was empty.
George was suddenly filled with fear. What is he was alone in the middle of nowhere. Tears prickled in his eyes. He dragged himself up and struggled toward the cabin. Dizziness overcame him however and he stumbled to the boat side and was miserable sick. Then he sank back into the craft, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Cramps crushed his abdomen and seemed to be spreading to his arms and legs. He was filled still with a dizzy sickness which refused to abate. He gave up and began to cry, wrapping his arms around himself and moaning in pain.
"George?" called a weak voice from the cabin. "Is that you?"
"Yeah." George struggled over to the cabin door, pushed it open and squinted inside. He could see nothing in the darkness but the cracks around the window shutters and Robert's white face, his black-painted eyed looking like empty sockets.
"Robert?" whispered George.
There was no reply.
George began to climb with difficulty down the ladder into the cabin. Eventually he reached the floor and crawled across to shake Robert's slumped body. "Robert? Did you call me? Robert, are you awake?"
Robert lay curled into a ball and made no sign that he heard George call.
George was considering whether or not to hit Robert with a lantern when a strange croaking noise came from the darkest corner of the room. George jumped and brandished the lantern threateningly. The croaking sound continued, and eventually resolved itself into the word "George?"
"Marc?" George hurried into the corner and pulled Marc from beneath a table. "You okay?"
"I guess." Marc leant against the cabin wall and sighed.
George sat down next to him. "You look terrible."
"I doubt I look as bad as you." said Marc, rubbing his red eyes.
"Oh shut up Marc. I look." George broke off as a spasm of pain contorted the let side of his body. ".fine." he finished weakly.
"Is Robert okay?" Marc croaked, poking the aforementioned gentleman in the ribs. Robert moaned faintly.
"He'll wake up in a minute." George said, shaking Robert violently.
Robert opened bloodshot eyes and glared in George's general direction. "What?" he asked crossly.
"We thought you might be dead." explained George.
"Are we in the boat again?" Robert asked, as his surroundings suddenly dawned on him. "How come? What's going on?"
"I have no idea." said Marc hoarsely. "But I feel terrible."
"What happened to the aliens?"
"Well whatever's happened we're going to have something to eat." George said determinedly. "I'm absolutely starving."
"You were only being sick a minute ago." Marc objected. "I heard you."
"Exactly. So I'm even more empty." George pushed Robert. "Make food. Quick."
"You could ask a little more politely." Robert grumbled. "I'm not a slave." Nevertheless he took a deep breath, raised himself up slowly and struggled over to the food cupboards, stumbling dramatically from side to side.
"All right, all right, we'll help." Marc began to light the fire. "Just stop the invalid act." Robert grinned and straightened up.
Half an hour later the three men sat on deck in the twilight eating rather unpleasant gruel. George's make-up was streaked across his face, and he occasionally grimaced with pain. Marc rubbed his swollen eyes and held himself stiffly, looking rather ill when he moved too quickly. Robert rested his head on his hand and stirred his stew weakly. Eventually he pushed the bowl away listlessly. "This is all your fault Marc." He said, pushing Marc in a pitifully feeble manner. "Why'd you have to bring me those hallucinogens?"
"Well you're no better giving me opium." objected George.
"What opium?" Robert puzzled.
"Don't be pathetic Robert. Just admit it."
"But I didn't give you anything." Robert began to get annoyed. "Where exactly am I going to get opium from?"
"Well, where am I going to get hallucogens from?" Marc pointed out.
"Hallucinogens."
"Whatever. I still couldn't get any." Marc paused and frowned. "So, does this mean you didn't give me cocaine George?" George looked offended. "Well, if it wasn't me" he asked "Or either of you, who was it?" "That Dr Furter, stupid." snapped Robert. "We should never have trusted those freaks." "I still don't get it." Marc looked confused. "Why would they give us the stuff?" "So they could do experiments on us." Robert shouted in frustration. "Why do I have to hang around with you two brain-dead idiots." "Hey!" George smacked Robert's arm angrily. "You're just as stupid. You trusted them." Robert threw his spoon at George. "Oh grow up." said George, throwing it back. "Hang on." Marc interrupted. "How long were we with the aliens?" "All night, obviously." Robert replied dismissively." "Why obviously?" objected Marc "Well it was night then and its day now, so today is tomorrow." Robert paused. "Actually you raise a good point." He conceded. "I suppose we could've been there longer." "Surely we'd remember?" said George. "Not if they used weird alien technology on us." "Yeah" Marc agreed with wonder. "If they have a carving knife that moves by itself they could have invented anything." "What if they took us to their planet?" Robert asked fearfully. "We could've been gone a thousand years and not aged at all." "Alien abduction? I think you two are losing it." George laughed. "A thousand years. Honestly." He paused and frowned. "Hey, how come I'm being the cynical one? I thought that was your job Robert." "Can anyone remember what actually happened after the drugs?" Marc asked. George and Robert considered. "I think." began George uncertainly "I remember something, but it's hard to describe. You know like when you try and tell someone your dreams, and you can't explain it." "Yeah, I hate listening to you explain your dreams." "Shut up Robert. Anyway, like I was saying."
Chapter 2 - The Night Before
"I remember a room with lots of metal in it." He frowned. "and a lift shaft too, I think."
"Yeah, I remember that." Marc agreed. "It was so bright it made your eyes hurt. And the tiles were a funny shade of pink." George nodded his agreement. "Robert? D'you remember it?"
"Possibly." said Robert. "I remember being cold." He considered. "Really cold. And I was lying down and Dr. Furter had a green doctors robe on."
"Columbia and Magenta had doctor's masks on." Marc added. "I'm pretty sure."
"Frank didn't." said George. "I remember him looking down and grinning at me." He shuddered.
"Did he do experiments on us then?" Marc asked anxiously. "'Cause I don't remember it."
"Me neither." George agreed. Robert shook his head. "Perhaps" he said quietly "It was too awful to remember." Marc looked even more worried. "This may sound funny." George began uncertainly. "But I'm sure I remember you sort of strutting around playing the guitar on a stage Marc." "Oh yeah." Marc agreed. "It was a gig. There were hundreds of people there." "Really?" George was confused. "I thought it was just an empty room." "Needles." said Robert suddenly. George jumped. "What needles?" ""Frank had a needle, y'know, like a syringe." Explained Robert. "and a rope or something tied round his arm." He paused. "So did you George." George rolled up his sleeve. On his inner arm were seven marks, like pin pricks. George rubbed his fingers across them gently, and looked simultaneously confused and understanding. "Oh yeah." he said quietly. "I forgot." "I remember something else." said Marc. "I remember crying." "Who was crying?" Robert asked. "Everyone. You were screaming and rolling around like a mad man. And you dug your nails into your hands and they bled all over the place." Robert examined his palms carefully. There were many tiny, semi-circular white marks denting his skin. "It was horrible." Marc continued. "You were screaming and kicking the walls, and then you curled up into a ball and kept shivering and moaning." "What about me?" asked George. "When did I cry?" "I don't know when exactly. I just remember you staring at nothing with your eyes all glazed, and your eyelashes were wet." He paused, then added thoughtfully. "It was quite pretty actually. I might write a song about it. But that's all I remember. That and the taste of blood." "Oh yeah, you bit your lip." Robert told him. "And then you used your blood to paint your face." "Robert?" George asked. "Didn't you try and strangle me with your waistcoat?" "Possibly." Robert shrugged. "I'm pretty sure I tried to strangle someone. I wonder what I did that for?" "Do you think we did go to another planet?" asked Marc. "Maybe this is another planet!" George gasped, looking around "How would we know?" "Wouldn't there be three suns, or no oxygen or something?" Robert objected. "Anyway, I thought you didn't believe in alien abduction." "Yeah, well, I was being, y'know, theoretical." explained George hurriedly. "Hey!" Marc interrupted. "Shouldn't we be checking our supplies and stuff. If we've been away for weeks it might've gone off. Or the aliens might've taken it." "Why would the aliens want a bucketful of rotting apples and tonnes of old biscuits?" Robert asked him. George jumped up suddenly, and rather unsteadily. "They'd better not have stolen any of my stuff!" He declared. "I'm gonna check." He hurried into the cabin. Robert and Marc struggled to their feet and followed him.
Later that afternoon the three men sat in the corner of the small cabin writing an inventory of the remaining food. This consisted almost entirely of dry ship's biscuits, corn and rice. There were also three barrels of wine remaining from the six David had given them, and two of water. Besides this there were several loaves of gritty sailors' bread, a dozen extremely old apples, and two geese in a cage. "Well." Robert said as he considered the list. "I hope no-one's too bothered about getting scurvy, 'cause it's definitely on the cards." "We'd better start fishing more often." Said George, taking the list and folding it neatly. "We don't know how much longer we're gonna be at sea. 'specially now we don't know where we are anymore." "We never had any idea where we were. We just knew where we'd been" Marc pointed out, reaching for a biscuit. George removed it from his grasp. "From now on everything is rationed." He explained to the other two. "We don't want to run out now, do we?" "There's no need to be so patronising." Robert assured him. "We can be trusted to only eat what's necessary." "Perhaps you can. Get out of the biscuit barrel Marc." "I only wanted one." Marc complained sulkily. "Anyway, you eat much more than I do. And more than Robert too." "Well not any more." George told him firmly. "From now on we all eat the same." He began to move the barrel into the hold. "We're not gonna let him be in charge of food are we?" Marc protested when George was out of hearing. "It'll be gone in an hour." "I'll keep an eye on him." said Robert. "And don't be so mean. He doesn't eat that much." "Since when have you been against meanness?" objected Marc. "Especially to George." "I'm in a funny mood today." Explained Robert as George returned from the hold. He looked suddenly pale, and in his right hand he held a crumpled piece of silk in bright scarlet and jade, run through with thin golden threads. There were tears in his eyes. "What's wrong?" Marc hurried over to George. "I found it in the corner, behind the goose cage." George said, holding out the limp cloth. "But the necklace is gone." "Oh, your pearls! I forgot." Marc looked around the cabin hopefully. "Maybe they're here somewhere." "Don't be stupid." said Robert. "The aliens have clearly stolen them. Typical." "What d'you mean typical?" George objected. "How often is your jewellery stolen by aliens?" "They'd better not have taken any of my stuff." Marc hurried over to his chest and began to rummage inside. "Well we haven't really got any other valuables." Robert gasped, and his eyes widened. "My locket!" he screamed, running over to search his belongings.
A full search of the boat revealed that nothing was missing other than George's necklace. "From now on I'm going to wear my locket all the time." said Robert as he fastened the chain around his neck and hid it beneath his voluminous jumper. "I'm not risking it being stolen." "I don't see why they had to take my necklace." George was miserable folding and re-folding the piece of silk as he spoke. "Why couldn't they take any of Marc's trashy jewellery or your boring black rubbish?" "Maybe they weren't to the doctor's tastes." Robert suggested. "And my jewellery isn't black rubbish. Some of it's silver and jet and haematite and obsidian and such." "Yeah, and mine's not trash." Marc added. "Some of it's quite valuable." "Really? How valuable?" Robert asked with interest. George sighed, stood up and climbed out of the cabin without saying a word. The door closed firmly behind him. "D'you think he's all right?" asked Marc. "I dunno. That necklace did mean a lot to him. Maybe we should go out and talk to him." Robert opened the cabin door and peered outside. "He looks miserable. "Maybe we should leave it." Marc picked up his guitar. "What are we gonna say anyway?" "Yeah, I guess." Robert closed the cabin door over and climbed carefully back down the ladder, leaving George alone in the gathering dusk.
Chapter 3 - A Night Like This The Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon skimmed across the silver water leaving a shining trail to fade into nothing in its wake. On deck the three men sat in the moonlight. Marc was leaning against the side of the cabin with his legs crossed, his guitar resting in his lap. George sat next to him hugging his knees to his chest. They were listening to Robert, who was sitting at the prow strumming his guitar and singing
"Say goodbye on a night like this
If it's the last thing you ever do.
You never looked as lost as this
Sometimes it doesn't even look like you.
It grows dark
It grows darker still Please stay But I'm watching, like I'm made of stone As you walk away."
When the song was concluded Robert sighed and stared out to sea. Then he turned to the other two. "Well, what d'you think?" he asked. "I wrote it yesterday." George wiped his eyes. "Why are all your songs so sad Robert?" he asked, as he looked for a handkerchief. "Some of them are quite happy." Robert objected. "What about Lovecats? "I thought that was about drowning kittens." said Marc, frowning. "That's what you said." "No, it was based on a story about.oh, forget it. How about Caterpillar?" "Isn't that about lying to someone to make them stay with you?" "Well, yes." Robert conceded. "Okay then, what about Mint Car?" "Mint Car isn't happy." Marc shook his head. "Mint Car scares me." "Well, if you're just gonna refuse to accept." Robert paused as he noticed George staring out to sea in a melancholy manner. "Although maybe I'd better not sing any more just to be on the safe side, if you're going to look that miserable about it George." "Oh, sorry." George gave him a rather weak smile. "I was just thinking about my necklace." He sighed. "It was all I had to remember.everything by." "Well, at least it was only a necklace." Robert offered as comfort. ""It could've been worse." "Sure. And how would you feel if someone stole your locket?" Robert shrugged and said nothing. "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal." said Marc tonelessly. "But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." "What?" George looked confused. "Well thanks for that useless platitude." said Robert coldly. "Where'd you read it? Inside a cracker?" "No. In a holy book actually." Marc told him smugly. "Sounds like the stuff they put in holy books back East." George agreed. "And they're all much the same really. Are you not religious Robert?" "Well.I was head of the Church of Vanaheim, and the link between man and the gods. But other than that, no." "Me neither." George said. "Although I used to like hearing some of the myths and stuff. But I'm not gonna actually believe them. Please." He rolled his eyes and looked amused by the naivety of those who did. "Yeah, our stories were stupid too." Robert admitted. "All battles and monsters and stuff. All the people of Vanaheim are interested in is war, war, war. I mean, as if I'm gonna take part in some great end-of-the-world style battle with a load of evil demons and giants and dragons and whatever. I don't care how many gods and deceased ancestors I have on my side. There's no way." "What use would dead relatives be?" Marc puzzled. "I meant their spirits, obviously. Not their corpses." He paused. "At least, I assume so. All they said was that they'd rise again. There were no specifics." Marc looked nervous. "So.are you going to rise from the dead then?" "Well, it's not due until the end of the world, so you'll probably have plenty of other things to worry about." Robert said, not very comfortingly. "Are you religious then Marc?" George asked. "If you know hold verses by heart." "Oh no." Marc shook his head. "I just picked that up somewhere. It's not even from my religion. It's from one of the newer ones." He waved his hand dismissively. "What does your religion say then?" "I dunno. I never really paid that much attention." "Lucky. Our religion was forced down our throats at school. It was the most important lesson, except for Calligraphy, and Family Values." George looked miserable at the mere memory of his schooldays. "Yeah, I got a lot of it from my tutor." Robert said, frowning. "But that was 'cause of the whole "leader of the faith" thing." "If I were you I'd have just abolished it." Marc said. "I'm not sure I was allowed." "Of course you were. You were a king. They can do what they like." "That's not quite how it works Marc." "You're amazingly ignorant sometimes." George told Marc, rather impolitely. "Did you not pay any attention when you were at court back in wherever it is you come from." "Well..I.er..I wasn't at court very often." Marc said hurriedly, looking uneasy. Not that often. In fact, not very often at all." Robert had been absently strumming his guitar for the last minute or so. Now he stopped and asked, "Whose turn is it to play now?" "Mine." said Marc, before the conversation could be taken any further. "I think I'll play you a song I wrote while I was still living in the South. It's about the end of a relationship." George hugged his knees tightly and Robert rested his head in his hands as Marc began to sing.
"I could have loved you girl
Like a planet
I could have chained your heart
To a star
But it really doesn't matter at all
No it really doesn't matter at all
Life's a gas,
I could have built a house
On the ocean
I could have placed your love
In the sky
But it really doesn't matter at all
No it really doesn't matter at all
Life's a gas,
I could have turned you
Into a priestess
I could have burned
Your fate in the sand
But it really doesn't matter at all
No it really doesn't matter at all
Life's a gas,
I hope it's gonna last."
It was silent for a while. George lay staring at the stars. Robert turned his locket over and over in his hands. Marc rested his head on his guitar and sighed. Eventually George said quietly. "What are the stars? I mean, what are they made of?" "They're bits of ice shattered by the gods." Robert said. "Or so it was said in Vanaheim." "No, they're lamps God hung in the sky for us to see by." said Marc. "Or else it's where the sky's been torn, and the light of heaven's shining through." "In the East." George said softly. "They used to say they were decorations by the gods, and fireworks were man's attempts to copy them." "What's fireworks?" Marc asked. "What kind of deprived childhood did you have, not knowing about fireworks?" "Well I've never heard of them either." Robert informed him. "I don't think they have them in the North." "They're beautiful." George told him. "They're like tubes full of gunpowder and stuff, and you light them and they fly into the air and explode." "I think you'll find they're called bombs." "No Robert, you don't understand." Said George excitedly. "They're only little, and when they explode them turn into hundreds of tiny stars and fall down onto the audience." He demonstrated this with enthusiastic gesturing. "Do they burn?" Marc asked anxiously. "No, 'course not." George laughed. "They don't actually ever reach the ground. They disappear." "Oh good." Marc looked pleased. "That's okay then. In that case seeing fireworks is the thing I'd like to do most in the world, after meeting elves." "I wish I had some. You'd love them. They're wonderful. They're like pictures in the sky, all different colours, and they're shaped sort of like trees and flowers. Some of them are little and like weeping willows, and some of them are big and round like chrysanthemums." "I wish I'd seen a chrysanthemum." Marc said mournfully. "I wish I could show you one." George told him. There was a moment's pause and then George's face lit up and he leapt to his feet and dashed into the cabin. "Where's he rushing off to?" asked Robert, who had been quietly staring out to sea and half listening to the conversation. Marc shrugged. George returned from the cabin bearing a dark, heavy, rectangular object which he lowered carefully to the deck. It was revealed to be a thick, leather-bound book.
"I forgot I had this." He said, opening it gently. "It's a sort of fairytale, romancey thing. They were very popular in the East. Its got really good illustrations.
Marc crawled over to George, who was already turning the thin pages with great care. Robert joined them, bringing an extra lamp.
"That's a chrysanthemum, that the girl's holding." George explained as he lifted the tissue-thin paper covering the illustration. "and that's a kimono like I used to wear. And that's a sunshade, and they're fireworks behind her, although they're much better in real life." He lifted the pages excitedly, telling the story as they went along (since the other two couldn't read the strange characters), explaining what they saw and interrupting himself to tell them short, related stories from his own life and those of his friends and acquaintances. Marc listened with awe, occasionally touching one of the prints gently. Robert asked many questions, mainly concerning the culture and traditions.
The story George read was a tragedy about a young girl who went on a quest for the soul of her lover, which had been stolen by a fox-demon. The demon had tricked the young man by appearing in the body of a young girl. It was rather strange and complicated, but George helped to clarify the more difficult parts. It ended with the girl winning the soul after many hardships and sacrifices, and returning home to find that in the years of her absence her lover had married another girl. Marc found this very sad, despite his own propensity to fall in and out of love with someone in a fortnight. Robert claimed to dislike the girl because when she found out about her lover's marriage she committed suicide, which he considered "weak" (although he looked slightly tearful when George read the part about her sinking into the river and being carried away). However, she redeemed herself in his eyes by becoming a fox demon herself, seducing her ex-fiancé and then destroying his life via bankruptcy, loss of loved ones and a selection of highly unpleasant diseases and embarrassing medical conditions.
So engrossed were the three men that they didn't notice the approaching landmass until it was within a few miles. Robert saw it first and actually shrieked in excitement, after which he looked a bit embarrassed.
"Quick!" screamed George, running to and fro across deck in his panic (which was, incidentally, not in the slightest bit helpful). "Turn around. Set a course for the land. Quick! Well sail past! We'll lose it."
The others tried to point out how unlikely it was that they would lose an entire country, but George would not be calmed until they were sailing along the coastline, as near as they could get to the shore without risking damage to the boat. All that could be seen was a huge, flat, featureless cliff face which seemed to run all the way around the island, and hundreds of sharp rocks around which the sea foamed ominously.
This lack of a suitable landing point was most discouraging. In fact they were beginning to give up hope, and the excitement of having found land was already wearing thin, when George spotted a small lagoon into which a river flowed. "There!" he screamed urgently. "Turn to port! Starboard! Whichever is left! Turn!" Robert and Marc struggled with the boat and managed to steer it into the lagoon, where it floated softly across the mirror-like surface.
"How dramatic." said Marc. "Arriving on a mystery island from across the sea by moonlight. It's like a book. Shame there's no one here to see us."
"Where should we go?" George puzzled, looking around. "I can't see a way through the cliffs."
"Up the river, stupid." gasped Robert, who was still trying to catch his breath after the exertion required in getting the boat this far. "And stop jumping around. It's incredibly annoying."
"And so the Cat Black Fuchsia Chameleon carried them up the silvery path of the river, between high banks covered in strange flowers and plants, twisting toward the centre of this new land.
Chapter 4 - The Green Grass of Home Trees hung over the high-banked river forming a translucent green tunnel through which they sailed slowly. The rising sun soaked the boat in the viridian light. George leant across to the bank and picked flowers as they briefly passed within his reach. Marc hung as near to the water as he could, watching the fish flickering past. Robert sat at the prow, following the twists and turns of the river.
George's arms were eventually full, and he sat in the centre of the deck weaving the new, foreign flowers into his hair. When he tired of this he decorated Marc's hair instead. By the time Robert had found a spot where the bank was low enough for them to land, all three men wore chains of flowers around their necks, arms, wrists, waists and ankles, as well as crowns made of especially beautiful blooms. This gave them the appearance of an especially eclectic group of shrubs disembarking from a bottle-green craft.
They found themselves in a field of waist-high, silvery-green grass dotted here and there with flowers which looked something like daisies, a little like buttercups, and bore a certain resemblance to pinks. At the edges of this meadow were huge trees, many of them covered in blossom. The river emerged briefly from within these trees, and then disappeared again into their depth. The only sound was the light breeze which made the grasses whisper softly. There was an air of everything having been newly made, as though nothing had ever set foot here.
George, Robert and Marc stood uncertainly on the riverbank. "What should we do now?" George asked, hesitant to speak in such a quiet place.
Marc grinned, grabbed George's hat and ran off through the grass, laughing. George followed, shrieking in feigned indignation at this theft. Robert, left alone, stood awkwardly at the riverbank shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably. After a while he sighed and sat down on a conveniently horizontal section of tree, feeling somewhat left out. The sound of screams and laughter reached him, but George and Marc were hidden from him by the long grass. Their voices sounded strange and distant, freer then they had ever been before in the confines of their cottage or the boat. Robert leant against a tree and closed his eyes.
He was dozing miserably when footsteps approached him rapidly. He ignored them until he was suddenly hit around the face with George's hat, which naturally woke him up. He opened his eyes grumpily. Marc was standing in front of him holding the hat by the brim and grinning broadly. George's voice could be heard in the distance, faintly calling "Marc? Marc! Come here! Hiding isn't fair!"
"What?" Robert asked, in the sort of voice grown-ups use when children are bothering them.
"Come and help me creep up on George." Marc whispered conspiratorially. "He can't find me. It's really funny."
"You are so immature." He closed his eyes again. "And don't hit me."
"Why? What're you gonna do?" Marc hit Robert again and grinned even more broadly.
"Stop it!" Robert tried to grab the hat and missed. Marc backed away, laughing, and waved the hat teasingly in front of Robert, who again tried unsuccessfully to reach it.
"Fine." He said sulkily. "Just go away and leave me alone then."
Marc shrugged, turned around and began to walk back to George. Robert half-closed his eyes, and waited until Marc was off his guard before jumping for the hat. Marc screamed, hit him again and ran out of the trees and almost into George. Dodging him he disappeared into some particularly tall grasses which rose above his head and confused both his pursuers somewhat. They followed, calling out ridiculous threats between their laughter.
By the time the sun had reached the middle of the sky the three of them had collapsed, exhausted. George lay on his back watching the white clouds floating slowly across the sky. Robert was in the shade, lying on his stomach to examine what they had christened a "star-flower". Marc sat cross- legged, the hat perched proudly on his head, chewing a piece of grass and dreaming.
Robert looked up and shaded his eyes. "Too much light." He said regretfully. "My eyes are hurting."
"Shall we go back to the boat?" George asked.
"Yeah, lets." said Robert. But no one moved. Robert closed his eyes.
After a few minutes more Marc removed the piece of grass from his mouth. "It's nice here, isn't it?"
"Yeah." Said George lazily.
"And we all like it."
"Yeah."
"And there's nowhere else for us to go."
"Yeah." said George again, impatiently.
"So." Marc asked hopefully. "Can we stay?"
"Yeah." said George, smiling. "We can stay."
"Robert?" Marc said carefully.
"Yeah?"
"What do you think of it?"
Robert considered in silence. Marc waited nervously. Finally Robert spoke. "I think." he said slowly. "I think that we're home.
End of Part 7. To be Continued.
.
