Version # 1

It is easily noticeable how everything in a train rattles.
Even though the entire interior of a train was inevitably once meant to be stuck, it has somehow managed to rattle itself a bit more loose. Not all the way loose, but partly loose. Just loose enough to rattle, basically.
Not an inch more, not an inch less, but, enough of those inches to simulate a one-note beat box.
You would naturally think that the storage compartment above you, the seat beside you, in front of you and behind you would all together (especially with the row at the far back, which seems to be incredibly loose) make a wonderful orchestra.
But a train does not have a sense of rhythm; nothing beats steadily or with any constructive repeat. It just rattles.

Some things that rattle, rattle to tell you that it’s about to loosen from its roots completely. Trains, - I think – rattle because both the exterior and interior of a train simply wants a bit of freedom. A free chair in a dining room can in theory move around as it likes, but a seat inside a train is locked in a certain position.
But seats do not want to be entirely loose, as there would be no use of that. If the train seats were completely loose, they would slam about freely inside the carriages, making the fact that your neighbour is not generous enough with his deodorant suddenly very unimportant. You would actually leave the train with not only your own collarbone broken – but also with somebody else’s broken collarbone. In other words the seats (or the compartment above you or the especially loose seats at the far back) don’t want to be entirely free.
To know that they have freedom of movement, like being a bit closer to be free, is far more important than that they are actually absolutely free. It is to believe that they’re able to be free whenever they want, that matters. So if all of these furnishings can believe they are free and demonstrate it by rattling, it is a small price to pay compared to if they went on strike.
After all, it would be horrible if all kinds of interior in public transport got revolutionary ideas and started to leave. The society as we know it today would break down. Parts of the basic infra-structure in our everyday lives would shatter and fall to pieces.

“Well there is obviously truth in what you’re saying right there Mr.Llabeye” the doctor said smoothly and massaged his temple on both sides with his wrinkled fingers.
“You do, however” he added “forget one thing”.
- “And what is that? If I may ask…?” Mr. Llabeye said, but did not seem offended.
“The obvious importance of their urge to start dialogue” the doctor said and put his glasses on. “If the inventory of a train is interested in demonstrating freedom, break loose from their chains and organise strikes, it seems logical to me that these items would – in other words – want to communicate” He paused for the effect.
They were passing an exceptionally ugly area of forest where all the trees seemed bent or wrong in a way. The doctors eyes skipped back and forth in his eye-sockets as he was tossing glances at the passing trees, following them for the slight second possible before looking at a new tree. He met Mr. Llabeye’s eyes before continuing. “Doesn’t it sound like a language to you?” He raised his voice a notch and added – with a hint of excitement in his old eyes – “They even have different accents! Listen!” he said imperatively, and raised a hand to cut Mr. Llabeye silent as he had drawn his breath to speak. The old man then pointed towards the door at the end of the carriage that was rattling as if urging someone to open it. A wave of excitement spread across the old doctor’s face again as he pointed towards the seat in front of them, that now, in an odd way, seemed to be replying to what the door had just said. Mr. Llabeye thought for a moment, he could’ve thought for longer, because the doctor was now attempting to tap the beat of the door and seat with his pointy, black shoes. The doctor was lost in his own rhythm and his bowler hat was slowly tipping more and more over to one side, his white moustache curling further up as he smiled.
– “There is obviously truth in what you’re saying doctor, it does indeed sound like language, perhaps I should change the approach slightly and add that too” Mr. Llabeye said thoughtfully. “Your suitcase wants to tell you something as well it seems” he added, and smiled (just as much to himself) as the doctor clapped his hands in delight at the suitcase clattering away at his feet.

Tedvard Llabeye, otherwise known as Ted, Tedvard, Mr. Llabeye or as his mother called him “sugarplum” (the nickname he preferred the least) was not a very important person. His late father, Oliver Emmanuel Llabeye, had left Ted a rather enjoyable amount of money when he passed away a few years ago. But Ted was hardly very important anyway, his job as an olive-milker being one of the less interesting jobs you can imagine. Still Ted loved his job, and his Olive farm in Otsep Valley was in his opinion -the best place in the world. Mr. Llabeye leant back in his seat comfortably. He was on a train to Gimpsmock-Fillings, scribbling something on a piece of paper about how a train rattles, as Doctor James Amos Woodchop-Chopling was clapping a disorientated beat next to him. It all seemed like a rather usual thing to take place, except from the fact that it was far from it.
Ted and Doctor J. A. W. Chopling were not going to Gimpsmock-Fillings with an ordinary purpose. People usually went to Gimpsmock-Fillings to get laid with something they didn’t care what looked like, to hide something particularly nasty, something in-between, or sometimes even both. You could also visit Gimpsmock-Fillings if you had no reason to live or if you had an urge to get rid of all your money as quick as possible.
As you might already have realised, neither of these were the reason why Ted and Doctor J. A. W. Chopling were going to Gimpsmock-Fillings, they hardly do seem like that kind of people, do they? A slightly squint academic and an olive-milker often do give the impression of being rather harmless, especially in the company of each other, like these two.
Their business in Gimpsmock-Fillings was in fact, also quite harmless; they had been given special invitations to the annual Baked-Apple and Treacle Festival, and what kind of dumb idiot would ever let go of a VIP-pass to the Fudge n’ Fondue Tent at the Baked-Apple and Treacle Festival? Certainly not these two gentlemen.
In Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s suitcase there was a jar of the Doctors own, homemade, pickled strawberries with liquorice. This very special treat he had brought along to attend the highly respected Alternative-Tea-Treats Competition, with loads of ambition.
Ted had brought a delicate little box of Olive-milk chocolate covered almonds for the Best Home-Grown Speciality Competition. They were sitting, thinking about exactly how many sponsors would toss greenhouses and trolleys after them the moment they had won their prizes. They could live off the money prize for a long while and sponsors could see to the rest. The Doctor and the milker were ambitious and both took for granted that they were returning with large trophies in their laps, as most men do. Blind for reason they had quarrelled their way out of their houses this same morning, wives swinging saucepans menacingly at them as they hit the road.
Running away to attend a festival was perhaps not the most mature thing the two of them had ever done together, but as usual they had currently forgotten that there would be a decent round of beating for both of them when they got home.
The Doctor and his company had in their ignorance a rather enjoyable journey, containing prune-sandwiches as well as raisins, jelly-puffs and Olive-shakes.

As the train made a final, annoyed hoot, it chuffed away from platform 54 at Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station. In fact, the sign dangling above their head actually said

Platform 54 – Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station (Your Last Stop)

Ted felt an uncomfortable sense of regret for ever leaving his safe olive-farm to attend a Baked-Apple and Treacle festival. It didn’t quite seem as tempting now the smell of Gimpsmock-Fillings was polluting his lungs. Even though this entire journey-thing had seemed like a good idea in the morning, it didn’t even seem the slightest good now that they were approaching afternoon. The trip had only taken them about four hours and his quick eyes could tell that there was a train going back to Otsep Valley in forty-five minutes. His hand reached for the elbow of Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s suit, but ended up trying to grasp thin air as the Doctor was no longer standing beside him. It took a bit above four seconds before Ted realised, and by the time he did, he also noticed that he had been ribbed down to his flowery underwear. Suddenly awakened by the cool breeze around his knees he turned around every direction at once, searching for Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s bowler hat that ought to be easily spotted along the masses of strange creatures. But even though he turned around and round, Doctor J. A. W. Chopling was completely gone and Ted then became aware of his inappropriate outfit again.

There was little Tedvard Llabeye could do, standing at Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station one late autumn afternoon wearing nothing but his flowery underwear and his new black top-hat. Also, his travelling companion Doctor J. A. W. Chopling had been missing for about six minutes and thirty-nine seconds, evaporated without a trace to an unknown location. After another two minutes had passed, Ted’s forehead was so covered in deep, worried wrinkles that his eyes were about to be buried under an avalanche of skin. Ted was suddenly forced to think again as he realised he was getting some strange glances from the bypassing Gimpsmock-Fillingers. Some of the looks he was getting were rather unpleasant, especially the ones that were hungry. As a matter of fact, his flowery underwear had caught little attention, except from by a little Fompfer that had now repeatedly attempted to stick its fuzzy head up the left leg of Ted’s shorts. Ted took another annoyed step to the side, the Fompfer following playfully making little squinting noises of delight as it got even closer to the leg this time. With this hairy little creature hopping about around his skinny calves, Ted tried to get his way to platform 3 that was now urging a last call to Otsep Valley. The message was carried over some dodgy speakers that looked poorly hotwired to the network as sparks flew from the audio-system.
You might think that platform 3 is very far away from platform number 54 where Ted currently was, but in fact these two platforms were positioned right next to each other. Most Gimpsmock-Fillingers couldn’t count anyway. It was therefore not important if the numbers descended or ascended in the right way. The important thing was that every platform had a number (they had, however, managed to give two platforms the same number, three times). Ted was made conscious of the fact that the train for Otsep Valley was leaving over thirty-four minutes early, he could though, not blame the poor train. He for one, was certainly sure that he had had more than enough of Gimpsmock-Fillings already.

Meanwhile Doctor J. A. W. Chopling awoke as he heard a screeching noise.
The Doctor could not recall that he had fallen asleep in the first place, or that everything except his respectable underwear (God bless his wife) and his socks had in fact been removed. It seemed, however, more likely that he had been knocked unconscious and mugged. There were few things that the Gimpsmock-fillingers actually did properly as most of the things he had seen of the city had been fastened with duct tape, but mugging they seemed to be able to manage, very smoothly.
A soaring pain appeared in the back of Doctor J. A. W. Chopling’s head and for the first time in thirty-nine years, the doctor could not blame alcoholic beverages or his blessed wife.
He carefully propped himself up with his arms and led one hand to the back of his head. He stroked the painful spot carefully and felt the bump swelling under his thin white hair. He put his hand back down and tried to look around a bit. He found himself being in a very dark place filled with the rests of ancient chewing gums and cigarette stumps. The sudden screeching sound that had awakened him had to be a train. Judging from the smell there was also rotten food nearby. All around him he could also recognise curled up old train tickets which made him draw the conclusion that he had to be underneath the train station.
His eyes were getting more and more used to the dark, only small stripes of afternoon sun coming through slits in the platform above him lit the miserable state of himself and his surroundings. As he untied his legs he suddenly heard a woman’s voice, it was a lot clearer than the muffled conversations coming from above, and so he looked around to see where it came from. Doctor J. A. W. Chopling was still feeling rather delicate so he had been unable to hear what she said the first time. The second time, on the other hand, nobody in the world could get it wrong.
-“I said – Where am I?!” the voice repeated, this time so sharp it could cut steel. He hesitated for a moment, but then heard an annoyed snort (which he recognised as something his wife did too) and gathered himself enough to answer.
-“I d-don’t know m-madam” The doctor stuttered, and looked around anxiously.
-“Miss” the voice corrected stiffly. “And who are you?!”
That was a rather rude approach, the doctor thought, now thinking as she was a “miss” she was probably part of today’s youth which he apparently was supposed to dislike and pass judgment on.
-“I am Doctor James Amos Woodchop-Chopling” he retorted briskly, putting extra weight on the word doctor.
-“I see” she said, with obvious careless-ness in her voice. The doctor sat back with his arms crossed, still unable to see the rude young woman in the dark and intended not to speak to her anymore.
There was silence, only the usual hooting, chuffing and puffing of a train broke the quiet.
“Soooooo” she said finally, after the longest and most awkward death of a conversation she had ever lived to experience. “Are you not going to ask my name?”
The doctor still sat with his arms crossed, looking like a large, insulted baby seal with a moustached pout and a displeased look on his face. He figured it would be to rude to say no – after all, he was a gentleman and he had to pretend like he had a little bit of dignity and politeness left, even though he was ribbed to his underwear. His bowler hat was also missing he realised and started to look around for it as he said:
- “Well then, my lady, do forgive me, what is your name?”
Sounding pleased and softening her voice a bit she said something along the lines of
-“Laurel Lilac Sir, the name is Laurel Lilac”. The tone of her voice indicated that she was blushing. The doctor didn’t really care and just kept crawling around on his knees to find his hat, he was also getting uncomfortably aware of the evening chill that was setting in.
- “so, sir…” Laurel Lilac started, but was cut off.
-“Doctor, if you could be so kind” Doctor J. A. W. Chopling said “I did not spend seven years in a university to be called sir” in the dark you could barely make out that he smiled and there was no menace in his voice, but Miss Lilac seemed to have taken it all the wrong way.
-“Sorry then, doctor” she said sourly “I was just going to ask you where we are”.
-“oh dear, I did not mean it like that Miss Lilac, I was simply correcting for future reference, also, I believe that unfortunately we are at the Gimpsmock-Fillings Central Train Station. Well, we are more like underneath it actually” the doctor said – and had after getting some old candy wrappers stuck to his hand stopped the search for his hat for now.
-“Gimpsmock-Fillings!” Miss Lilac extorted happily “well then at least I am still home, this is not bad at all, that’s wonderful. Puh! I am rather relieved” she giggled nervously. “I was scared right then”. The doctor didn’t reply.
“Are you okay doctor?” she said after breathing normally for a while.
-“No actually. No, no I’m not” Doctor J. A. W. Chopling said “I seem to be in a city that is new to me, robbed, no clothes, and to make it worse…” –“you are stuck here with me” Miss Lilac said. –“oh, no, not at all Miss Lilac, on the contrary, I am very pleased to have company in this hour of distress, but you see, my lady, my good friend and travelling companion Mr. Llabeye seems to have been separated from me”.
He looked down at his hands, feeling a bit lost.
-“Oh don’t you worry Doctor Chopling” Miss Lilac said cheerfully. “I will get both of us out of here, we will get something to wear and something to eat, and we will find your good friend, oh no, don’t you worry about that doctor, don’t you worry at all”.

-“I say it only one more time, sir. You are not boarding this train without clothes and especially not without a ticket or any money”.
The conductor blew his whistle and waved numerous colourful flags, threw his shoe in the opposite direction and put a trashcan on fire to signal the train to leave. The train hooted impatiently as it started puffing away from the station. The conductor grabbed a handle and swung himself on board the train elegantly. Before he disappeared inside he tipped his hat at Mr. Llabeye. Poor Mr. Llabeye was standing cold and frightened on platform number 3, a Fompfer was sticking its head up the left leg of his flowery knickers letting out satisfied little sighs now and then.
The conductor was right of course, he was doomed without any money and he did not have a place to stay either. The only thing he had was his spotless new top hat –oh, wait, no. –It appeared he only had his flowery knickers and a slightly fruity Fompfer up his shorts, completely new to the scariest city on the planet.
Obviously Ted felt lonely and scared, he was a grown man, responsible, quick of mind and experienced, but this was the kind of place where you would rather not be half-naked, broke, alone, or worse; all three of them.
Night was draping its way across the city, still it was as noisy and smelly as ever, just darker now. Ted realised he had no choice but to find a place to sleep, if things got really bad, he could sell the fompfer for a little bit of money. He threw a glance at the fompfer that was now examining his legs closer with its giant black eyes. For a moment the fompfer stopped looking at his leg and instead looked up at him, tipped its head a little and purred loyally. Ted didn’t know why, because even though it was all looking more than just “rather hopeless” (which would have been his usual approach to the situation) he smiled affectionately at the fompfer as he started walking towards the exit.
The train station was considerably emptier now and since he had no pockets or no apparent wallet, he could walk unnoticed through the masses of people on the street outside.

Everywhere around him the night was lit by colourful little lamps, the air was filled with thick scents and fumes, noises, explosions and languages. Ted thought that maybe in all of this, even though it was all very bad, the pulse of the city seemed to give life and energy to him. He found himself being pushed and squeezed like olive bread dough as he walked through the crowd of people. Really he had no place to go, so he thought he might as well explore. The street he was on now, that was named Sees-Smack, and it seemed to go on forever. In the middle of it there was heavy traffic. There were wagons, horses, cattle, and carriages of different sorts, trolleys, chicken, and sometimes the occasional person. Along what people had declared as sidewalk (even though there was no clear line) there were tons and tons of shops. There were people, lots and lots of them, there were stores, stands, booths and… And then, then there was something quite out of the ordinary.
There was something not even a grown man like Ted had seen his entire life. On top of a stack of crates there was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen.

Ted was a married man and so he had been for nearly five years. Those had been nearly five very happy years because he loved his wife very much and Ted was a very lucky man to have her. Together they had a little son and Ted cared for his wife and son very much. Ever since Ted lost track of Doctor J. A. W. Chopling at the train station he had thought about his family and how much he wished he was with them instead of lost in an alien city. Right now though everything about his daily duties of milking olives, his wonderful wife and his growing son seemed to have vanished from his mind completely, he was gob smacked. It must’ve been a strange sight, a man in his mid-thirties wearing nothing but a pair of very flowery underwear, and a fompfer hopping about around his knees. The eyes of this exceptionally tall man were fastened to something very high above him across the street. On top of the stack of crates (that appeared to be going to topple any minute) there was a stand selling ties. Now there is of course something extraordinary about a tower of crates swaying back and forth with a tie selling stand on top of it. But there was something even more out of the ordinary in that stand, there was a woman.
She was very young he reckoned and she had long flowing curls of blonde hair. Yes she was a very beautiful young woman, but what really surprised him was the man standing beside her. It was none other than Doctor J. A. W. Chopling –who would’ve thought they would ever meet again?
-“Doctor!” he bellowed (yes in fact, it was proper bellowing because Ted Llabeye had a very deep voice). “Doctor Woodchop-Chopling!” He yelled, waving his arms frantically. In response the keg-shaped Doctor J. A. W. Chopling grinned broadly and yelled back, relief curling its way across his face: -“Mr. Llabeye! I was sure I would never see you again! My, my am I happy to see you, come up here and meet Miss. Lilac!”

-“So tell me exactly how did you two manage to lose each other?” Miss. Lilac said, the street was just a bit less noisy from up on the swaying tie shop. –“I wish I could say it’s a long story, but really it isn’t” Mr. Llabeye said. “It is all quite simple. We got off the train, we stood around for a bit, I got thoroughly mugged without noticing a thing, when I turned around to tell Doctor Chopling that we better get back home – he was gone! I was feeling quite alone, which is when I met Philip…” –“Philip?” Miss Lilac interrupted, she had a habit doing that. –“The fompfer” Ted smiled. –“Oh, right. The fompfer is called Philip. Heh, Philip the Fompfer” she giggled. Doctor Chopling and Ted’s eyes met for a second and they smiled in the corner of their mouth all ‘she’s not the least bit right’, but these men were not used to today’s youth and did not realise that she could obviously see them. She laughed at them both going – “oh c’mon lads, I’m not all that silly. I just thought it was a bit funny, that’s all” she continued to laugh.

And what happened to the excitement of the story? Why didn’t it take longer for the two of them to meet up? Well, simply because there is something even bigger than the danger of the city against them now, way bigger, and I thought it would be better for them if they were together against that, all four of them.

They all tried the very best they could to settle inside Miss. Lilac’s little residence. It was a small two floor house along one of the side-roads to Sees-Smack. All the houses in Gimpsmock-Fillings had been built so close together they had gone all crooked and bent, leaning over the roads and alleys as if they were going to topple over any minute. On the ground floor in their current home there was a minuscule kitchen in one corner, a set of chairs around a square table, a little fireplace, a broken piano, the walls were covered from floor to ceiling in theatre posters and a little shelf on one wall was filled with ties. There was only one room on the ground floor and all these things were pressed tightly into it. To make matters worse, a massive amount of dirty dishes were stacked around the room so it was hard to find places to sleep. Little flies zoomed around above their heads as they entered, and loud music from some kind of event a few houses down made flakes of paint drop from the ceiling. Even though the first impression of the house seemed less than convincing, the first floor turned out to be a lot better.
A large double bed, a giant bookcase, a dresser packed with clothes, shelves crowded with girly things, two chairs, a soft toy giraffe, a massive mirror, dirty garments, a box filled with Christmas decorations, eight carpets overlapping each other and the worlds most diminutive sofa had been squeezed into the room. It gave the room a somehow claustrophobic, yet charming appeal, in a way only a young woman could make a mess and still make it seem delightful.
Miss Lilac moved about her belongings, she had lifted her upper lip up, clearly showing she was disgusted by her own mess and apologizing at the same time. The smell of Gimpsmock-Fillings had faded once they had stepped into her home, so both J. A. W. Chopling and Mr. Llabeye seemed only relieved about getting inside. The two of them were currently dressed in some old sheets, wearing them like togas, this had not drawn any immediate attention, so it was all good. The moment they got upstairs, Miss Lilac instantaneously started to dig through her possessions to find some clothes for them. Seeing neither of the three now had any money at all, it was hopeless to try to buy anything.
After waving away at least fifty different flowery, feathered and sparkly pieces of clothing, Miss Lilac admitted her defeat against her own wardrobe and she had to give up. Outside darkness had caught its full embrace of the night, but there was still tons of life outside. The Philip the fompfer had made itself comfortable in an old cauldron with burnt porridge scraps along the edges. An old pillowcase with a baroque pattern remarkably similar to the flowery pattern on Mr Llabeye’s underwear had been crammed into the cauldron, which was probably why Philip had settled so nicely in it.
Mr Llabeye attempted to get some shut-eye on the carpet in front of the fireplace on the ground floor, however whatever direction he rolled over he seemed to noisily hit pots and pans. Dr J. A. W. Chopling had fallen to sleep immediately and was snoring generously on the undersized sofa on the first floor. Miss Lilac was drooling munificently in her own double bed, against all odds earlier the same day, it seemed to approach a relaxing night after all.

-“Where is it?!” he demanded, smacking his paperwork about on his desk. He was twitchily walking back and forth in his round office and his head was pulsating with a luminous red. Across the room from him there were three people seated. At least one of them was still seated, the other two had got up so they could bend their necks and look ashamed.
“Well?!” He boomed “None of you seem to be keen to explain this intricate and unfortunate situation to me, or rather, how it could possibly become intricate and unfortunate. Because it was so damn simple, so simple. How could it have gone wrong?! You had a very simple task to do for me, but you screwed up. I want to know what happened and I want to know where the object is, and I want to know now!”
The silence that followed this time was something completely different from what anyone in the room had ever experienced. It was the kind of silences when you don’t know what is loud and what is silent. The sound of your heart pumping blood around your body seems to dominate the use of your eardrums while shouting, screaming and loud noises in general seem to be coming from underwater somewhere.
One of the men that were standing, his name was Sir Joshua Herbert Sherbet, drew his breath as if to speak, but instead of any words coming out of his mouth it was merely a peeping, weak sound of air passing through a pipe. The man at the desk seemed to have lost his patience, the smile curling its way across his exceptionally revolting face gave away that he was planning to do something very mean. Sir Joshua Herbert Sherbet saw this immediately, because he was no dumb man, so Sir Joshua instantly drew his breath again and this time the words coming out of his mouth seemed to never stop.
-“Well you see the thing that happened sir, a case which is obviously horribly regrettable and also pathetic if I may say so myself, is that your consignment – on which you have been waiting ever so unwearyingly for- did not turn up as premeditated. There was difficulty with the train and the crate in which your treasured cargo was kept throughout the journey was not found until after a full search of the entire train sir. The problem was that when the crate finally turned up, it was also empty. There was absolutely nothing we could do but to search the station, it was unfeasible to search every person present though, which I would believe you comprehend, it was rush hour sir. So many people, so much luggage and so much traffic sir. We got a written admission of guilt from the train-driver, but we fully intend to get your cargo back as planned. A written apology and a few gold pieces can not return the treasure which has been lost now, sir. We all understand that, though we do not intend to take full responsibility of the misplaced cargo as it had gone astray way before we even arrived and before it even came into the possession of any of us, sir”. He stood still and waited for an answer in painful anticipation. When the person at the desk finally moved, the two men standing up both winced at the same time.
-“he he” The man at the desk grinned cruelly.
“Your words are as always chosen with care as you are very well articulated my friend Sir Sherbet”. The room was thick with tension, you know the way that you’d rather like somebody to be properly angry, instead of this false content on the outside that could suddenly reveal a fuming inside completely unpredicted.
“Of course neither of you two is forgiven in any way nor will you be before this is over and done with. You will not be forgiven until what I want is on my desk right here. You two are on the job, and you have one week. You’ve got one week gentlemen. Perceive that I have invited a third person into my office today. Gentlemen, let me present to you Miss Marion Eow, better known as Miss M. Eow.”
When the lady in the chair got up, the light from the window behind the desk lit her face. The other two men gasped as they saw her large, green eyes placed beautifully in the face of a cat. She was a woman with a cat face, tall and slender, sexy in a way, having this dangerous attitude about her. “She will be like your parole officer, let’s just say – she’s there to look after you, so if you screw up, I will know – it is the most suitable solution for all of us”. He looked down at his desk. “Lord Melon, since you have not spoken I assume you take a complete side with Sir Sherbet here, which leaves you in the same fully responsible position as him. You three are on this task for now on, I do not care how many people dies, how many Christmases cancelled, how many baby otters have to suffer or how many latte’s you have to drink. The expenses of your personal pleasure during your mission to obtain the objective will be paid for by yours truly. I do this only because I feel very strongly about this particular case, so gold should not be of your concern. You do of course understand that this generosity has a reasonable limit, yes gentlemen, I believe we are done here. You too my lady, so if you would be so kind to get lost, get on with it and leave me alone would you? Thank you”. Sir Sherbet and Lord Melon bowed and scurried hurriedly out of the room, while Miss M. Eow merely nodded before she strode elegantly out of the office. The door closed and the room was only lit by the light from the lively nightlife of Gimpsmock-Fillings coming from through the window. The curtains closed, and alone in the darkness sat Kaptain Kill.

The original draft for "Olives, Trains and a Slightly Fruity Fompfer" is finally posted - note that the intro is very different from the rest of the story, which is why it is removed in the latter versions.