Jonathan Teatime opened his eyes. He gave them an experimental roll, and blinked twice. Yes, that felt right. The glass eye was still in place. A few ginger experiments reassured him that he hadn't even begun to disintegrate. The body was still warm, and, come to think of it, was….?
Yes. The poker was still there. The only difference was that his chest had healed around it, and pulling it out would mean ripping himself open again. That was a problem.
Add one visit to a dwarf blacksmith.
Subtract one large bag of gold.
Equals Teatime with only an inch of poker sticking out of his chest.
He dressed himself carefully this time, head to toe in black silk and a beaming smile. His last outfit had gotten ever so dusty and torn during that Tooth Fairy escapade. And now, for some religious research.
It didn't take him long to discover that Fate was never officially worshipped, as such. Fate was notoriously difficult to please, and his most fervent followers were generally known by their pathetic desperation to "find themselves". His favourites tended to be those who prided themselves on being ignorant of his existence. Any temple erected in his honour would be almost guaranteed to fall down around the ears of its builders, killing them in the process (naturally).
Teatime had never thought much of Fate, and his research only strengthened his prejudices. Fate was for people who didn't like taking things into their own hands. Life got so untidy if you left it to other people. Not only that, but Fate was a dealer in death, and Teatime didn't like to think that anybody was better at his job than he was.
……………………………………………………………………………………………...
Teatime is dead. I killed him. I know he's dead. Grandfather knows he's dead. So how has he managed to be hired if he's dead? I realise that the gods have certain powers, of course, but even they can't meddle with things like that, can they? Surely not… The whole system would be rendered defunct! It doesn't make any sense…
Susan was padding through the library, looking for Teatime's biography. It was proving to be extremely difficult, as she didn't know exactly how old he was, and it was organised chronologically by birth. There were thousands of entries for every day, let alone every year. She was at the end of her tether when she suddenly caught sight of her own biography on the dusty shelves. She'd never thought to look for it before. Her interest overtook her irritation, and she pulled it off the shelf. It was a big, solid book, bound in sensible black leather. The single word "Susan" was printed on the front in silver leaf.
It fell open at the page of her parents' death. She flicked hurriedly on, only to land on a particularly dull afternoon spent learning the virtues of cabbages in the Quirm College for Young Ladies. She grimaced, and carefully replaced it.
As she did so, the book to the immediate right of it caught her eye. It was a sort of blueish-purplish-black colour, and it shifted in and out of the shadows in a disconcerting way that gave Susan a headache. The date on the spine revealed it to be exactly thirteen seconds younger than her own volume. The name above that read "Jonathan Teatime".
"So you believe it is fated?" He asked, intruiged.
The High Priest of Headless Toki nodded emphatically. "Oh yes. It is all written. One day, the flames will rise from the ground and destroy all the infidels. It is our destiny."
"And is this everybody's destiny?"
The priest looked horrified. "Oh no! Only the strictest Tokiites."
"I see." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "And how would I go about discovering MY destiny?"
"Are you a Tokiite?"
"No."
"Talk to Mrs. Cake," the priest said firmly.
"Thank you," said Jonathan. "You've been ever so useful...
Susan shut the book. She knew where he was now, she didn't need to know any more. She half walked, half ran out to the stables, and called Binky to her. She swung herself grimly into the saddle and set off at a brisk trot.
"We're going to see Mrs. Cake," she muttered.