by Hugh Macnab
‘My name is Nilrem, and as the only guests I’ve seen in many a long time, you are indeed most welcome.’
Shaking himself from a trance-like state, Shylock introduced himself and the others before asked their host why, if he could transform himself into a pony, didn’t it talk.
‘Authenticity of disguise,’ he explained. ‘All the best disguises work that way. Anyway, I can talk now – and talk I shall. Can I offer you some refreshment as it appears you have been on a long and arduous journey and must be ready for repast?’
‘Mmm,’ said Permission, enthusiastically. ‘That would be wonderful.’
‘Then, without further ado…voilà!’ Nilrem proclaimed, in a loud voice.
Before their eyes, dishes appeared from a door to the rear, floating and dancing their way through the air until finally coming to rest on a large oak table to one side of the giant hall in which they were standing. Closely behind the plates came goblets, cutlery, steaming tureen’s which filled the room with wonderful aromas. Then larger serving dishes arrived with chicken and beef, pasta and rice, vegetables piping hot, all adding to the appetising smells. Each item setting itself gracefully in place on the table until Nilrem declared the meal ready.
‘Perhaps you would like to freshen up . Of course you would, how thoughtless of me. Don’t worry about the food, it will stay hot if I tell it to. Come along, this way,’ he said, and without waiting for their answer, led them up some worn stone steps and into a long corridor lit by brightly blazing torches hanging from the walls. As they followed him he showed them into individual rooms, explaining that in each there was a hot bath and fresh clothes awaiting them, and that they should rejoin him down in the main hall when they were ready.
Fit for Kings
Just as promised by Nilrem, when Shylock and the others reassembled around the table in the main hall, the food was still piping hot and the mixed aromas just as enticing. With Nilrem taking the head of the table, Shylock and Permission sat to either side of him while Bb sat somewhat remotely at the far end of the table, seemingly quite content.
‘So,’ said Nilrem, indicating the wonderful fare in front of them. ‘Please do not stand on ceremony, let us get started. You must be famished, your journey a particularly long one.’
‘You know about our journey?’ asked Shylock, handing Permission a crust of freshly baked bread before breaking some for himself.
‘It is not that I know the details of your journey, which I would very much like to hear from you, but more that I have been expecting you for some time,’ Nilrem explained. ‘You have come for the silver and gold.’
‘You know about the money?’ spluttered Bb, spraying soup in his surprise.
‘I know of your intention to remove it, but not what you would do with it,’ replied Nilrem. ‘Again, perhaps that is something you would share with me. I would indeed be most intrigued.
‘We will be happy to both tell you of our journey, and of our intentions for the silver and gold,’ said Shylock. ‘And would no doubt benefit from your insights.
With this, the four heartily ate their meal while Shylock started at the beginning, Nilrem occasionally asking questions for clarification but mostly content to listen. Only in the telling did Shylock realise how much he and his companions had been through, and that he had absolutely no idea of how long he had been gone. He wondered if anyone back home were missing him.
‘That is indeed some fantastic tale!’ announced Nilrem, as Shylock ended his story with meeting Nilrem himself in the form of a pony. ‘As I suspected, a journey of great purpose carried out with great determination and courage.’
Shylock could feel himself blush at Nilrem’s praise, but could do nothing to prevent it. It was Permission who saved him by asking Nilrem a question. ‘So, now you know of our quest and journey, pray tell us a little of yourself, and why you were expecting us?’
In response, Nilrem suggested that that they move to greater comfort and pushing back his chair, rose and led the way across the great hall to the large stone fireplace. There, he arranged four comfortable armchairs in a semi-circle – or at least had them arrange themselves – then with one single motion of his hand, ignited a healthy flaming fire and sat himself down indicating that all should do likewise. ‘Firstly,’ he started. ‘I am not from here. I am from a place far beyond here, a place far beyond even Wilderment, and I am not like you. Not at all like you, for I am destiny for one of you.’
‘Destiny? Queried Bb.
‘Yes,’ replied Nilrem. ‘For once Earth's coins are removed, my purpose here is fulfilled and I can return home to my own kind, but the care of Earth’s past wealth will fall to one of you in my place.’
‘But all we have to do is get it to the treasury in Wilderment, isn’t it?’ asked Permission.
‘Isn’t it?’ repeated Bb.
Shylock said nothing, already suspecting he knew the answer.
‘In which case, you have nothing to worry about. Just take the money and go,’ said Nilrem. ‘There is one little detail that you may need to think about, though.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Bb.
‘Have you any idea of the size of the World’s hard currency reserves?’ asked Nilrem.
‘Big?’ suggested Bb.
‘Big,’ agreed Nilrem. ‘And it was never reduced along with the rest of us. Something to do with the reduction process affecting DNA or some such thing, and minerals therefore being impossible.’
‘So fine,’ said Bb. ‘The hard currency is still full-size, but where is it?’
‘That’s another part of the problem,’ explained Nilrem. ‘It was basically left wherever it was when everyone was reduced.’
‘In other words, all over the world?’ concluded Bb.
‘Correct,’ agreed Nilrem, casting a glance at the fire, which immediately flickered with renewed self-preserving enthusiasm.
‘You mean it’s okay for us to take it, because no-one wants it anymore, but first we have to collect it, then figure out how to transport it?’ checked Permission. ‘But, I thought you were the keeper and that it had all been put in your safe-keeping?’
‘Oh, I’m the keeper all right. But my safe is the surface of the planet and the fact that I know the money is too large for any of us to do anything with. So it really is safe!’ explained Nilrem.
‘Can you help us with your magic?’ asked Permission.
‘Oh, I don’t think that would be fair, do you?’ asked Nilrem.
‘But if you are our destiny, as you explained,’ said Bb. ‘Then surely it must be al-right for you to help us?’
‘I can help you with advice, but can only leave this island when you have completed your mission,’ explained Nilrem. 'If you would be willing to take advice, I would be glad to offer some.
‘Of course we will take advise,’ blurted Bb, offended that their host could even think otherwise.
'When one seeks and finds, one doesn't always find what one really seeks', offered Nilrem.
'I just knew you were going to say something like that!' burst out Shylock.
'What do you mean?' asked Permission.
'A riddle – always a riddle. In every story I've ever read, the Magician knows the answer but refuses to tell you. Then whoever is trying to find something has to undergo some ridiculously arduous journey into some dark land, overcome impossible odds, conquer horrifying monsters to eventually find what they are looking for,' explained Shylock.
'Seems like we've already done most of that,' muttered Bb.
'Yes, but then just at the end when you would think everything was resolved, there's a final twist.' finished Shylock.
'A final twist?' asked Permission.
'Yes, there has to be for the sequel,' Shylock groaned.
'You mean even when we pay Earth's back taxes, solve the budget deficit, rescue Dilemma, restart Time, and get you back to Earth in your own time – there's MORE!' asked Bb, horrified.
All three travellers went silent as they considered this new problem
, only to be interrupted in their thoughts some moments later by Nilrem.
'Well young Shylock, you certainly surprise with your insight and understanding of we Magicians. We could perhaps possibly be accused of being a little – tiny bit that is - circumspect at times, but things do work out for the best – well, usually anyway,' he told them.
'What if we don't take your advice?' asked Permission. 'If we simply solve our problems without your help?'
'We can't,' said Shylock.
'Why not?, interrupted Bb. 'It sounds like a good idea, doesn't it?'
'No,' said shylock. 'It doesn't matter what we do now, the outcome will always be twisted back to the advice he has given us.'
'Unless we are more clever than he is?' suggested Permission.
'Or, sneakier' offered Bb.
'Sneakier,' asked Shylock, aware of how successful Bb was at creating innovative solutions in Wilderment.
Bb turned back to Nilrem. 'What if we give up?' he asked simply.
'Give up?' said Nilrem. 'What do you mean, give up?'
'Well,' said Bb...
'He means just that,' interrupted Shylock sensing another long-winded multi-explanational diatribe from Bb. 'We just stop doing what we're doing. I'm sure I could settle down in Wilderment, perhaps even join in some of Bb's business ventures. I might even consider marriage,' he suggested, smiling at Permission.
'Bbbut what about balancing the budget?' asked Nilrem.
'Well, it's really not my problem,' replied Shylock.
'But the Ants...' said Nilrem, before he could stop himself.
'Yes?' asked Bb. 'What about the Ants?'
'Oh, nothing – really,' Nilrem responded. 'Not important at all.'
With a look to Bb, Shylock simply suggested that it was time to be going then. Time to get back to Wilderment and settle down to a new life.
As they turned to leave, Nilrem was beside himself. 'Wait! You can't simply stop like this. It's not possible. You must continue. You have to do what the Creator has sent you to do.'
'Well, sorry,' said Shylock, beginning to walk away. 'Not interested.'
'But you must be, or Humanity will be annihilated,' Nilrem shouted.
Shylock, Bb and Permission stopped in their tracks and turned as one. 'Annihilated?' asked Shylock.
Now Nilrem really did look worried. 'I didn't want to tell you, or to add to the burden you already carry,' he explained. 'But your actions leave me no choice. You need to know about Change – the original Change of course.' Why don't we all sit back down, he said, gesturing to the seats round the fireplace.
The Exchange exchange program
Back on Cloud Nine, the three weary travellers had managed to find a Cloud Cafe which sold apple-turn-overs, apple-pie, baked apples, apple strudel and all things apple, and fortunately coffee – without apple.
As they drank, and Bb sampled virtually every dish in the cafe with a curious degree of interest, they considered what Nilrem had told them was happening – why Humanity was at risk.
Apparently, when Shylock had released Change from the Dome, she had filled the void left on Earth by Shylock having stepped into Get Lucky – brought balance so to speak – although Balance didn't have a say in the matter, kind of like a kidnap really.
Arriving on Earth Change had strapped on her skis and headed for the slopes – the Antarctic slopes, where she found the very Antitheses of what she was looking for. Instead of ice and snow covered slopes, she found Ant broads and marshes, gigantic glass structures showing busy Ant colony activities, Ant hills galore and bright warm sunshine. No snow – not a flake!
Regardless of the lack of opportunity to ski, she had however settled down amongst the ants and started to do what she knew best.
Ant-arctica
'So' said Bb, still munching. 'We have to find her and return her to Wilderment before you can return to Earth?'
'What about Earth's hard cash?' asked Permission.
'One thing at a time', said Shylock. 'Let's go meet my other half.'
'You mean your surrogate, substitute, reciprocated personage...' announced Bb, glad to have the opportunity to expound once more.
But, expound as he may, he found himself talking to himself as the others had already left. Running, still a strange experience with these leg things, he caught them up as they waited in a cloud taxi chamber. 'No need to be rude,' he exclaimed, just as a free cloud taxi hovered towards them.
'Where to?' asked the billowing apparition.
'Antarctica,' replied Shylock as the three of them stepped forward into the misty cloud and disappeared from each others view. 'And as quickly as you can.'
The grey cloud cover hung over them, close as a second skin, cool and slightly damp. Their collective mood was overcast with only the foggiest of ideas what they were going to do when they caught up with Change.
It was just as well they didn't have a plan in mind, for when the cloud taxi arrived at their destination and asked them to disembark, nothing could have prepared them for what they saw.
Sparkling machinery – in every direction as far as the eye could see. Copper water wheels went round, golden pistons drove up and down, silver flywheels rotated, mechanical apparatus of all shapes and sizes moved with a cacophony of sound. Bells chimed, cranks cranked, clockwork ticked, engines whirred and even broken machines clapped out.
Between the panoply of machinery, the ants beavered away, either on their own where possible or en masse where a particular task demanded more than was possible individually.
The ants were in their Millions – or more.
Only a question from the cloud taxi shook them from their state of surprise. 'Payment please.'
'Hang on,' said Bb. 'I though currency was no longer used?'
'Oh, that's only below decks. Up here we still like payment for services rendered. Old fashioned I know, but there you are. So, payment please.'
'Well, we don't actually have any money', explained Permission....
'But,' interrupted shylock. 'Bb he can give you an IOU.'
'An IOU,' mused the cloud taxi, as Shylock took Permission by the arm leading her away. “Speak with him,' he said, indicating Bb.
Leaving Bb to discuss IOU's with the cloud taxi, Shylock moved aside with Permission and told her about something that he had noticed. 'Have you noticed what the machinery is made from?'
Permission, initially puzzled by the question, examined the machinery most closely to hand and exclaimed, 'gold!'
'What else?' asked Sherlock.
More examination revealed silver and copper in huge quantities. 'But where is this all coming from?' asked Permission.
'Over there,' Shylock replied, pointing to a series of large container ships sailing in and out of a very busy port. Each ship was heavily laden with currency – hard currency. 'They're collecting Earth's coins, melting them down and using the raw materials to make the machinery. See the smelting works over there on the horizon. The building with flames and bright sparks flying into the sky.'
'But why build machinery? What's it all for?' asked Permission.
'Look down there,' Sherlock directed. 'Down where the trucks are leaving that warehouse.
Permission looked and couldn't believe what she saw. 'Shells!'
'Shells,' agree shylock. 'Military shells. They're preparing for war.'
We need to find Change, and quickly,' said Permission. 'But how?'
She and Shylock frowned in concentration, only dimly aware of the barracking between Bb and the cloud taxi in the background. They were arguing over the exact content of the IOU.
'We could ask the nearest ant where we might find Change?' suggested Permission. 'Or we could look for the centre of this place'.
'No, said Shylock. 'It would take too long. We need to get her to come to us.'
'How do we do that?' asked Permission.
'Hand me that spanner over there, will you,' he asked. 'A spanner in the works should do the trick.'
'But won't that
cause everything to ground to a halt?' queried Permission.
'That's the idea,' said Shylock. 'No movement, no change,' and with this Shylock jammed the rather large spanner Permission had given him into the nearest machine.
The resulting caterwaul was ear shattering as one machine after another ground to a shuddering halt – groaning and straining under immense pressure. They ducked as fly-wheels threw teeth indiscriminately in all direction – with no apparent attention to dental hygiene, they were stained and, well you wouldn't want them in your mouth for sure - further compounding the chaos as they subsequently lodged themselves in mechanical nooks and crannies. Wheels stopped turning, cranks were shafted, pistons seized their moment, and cranes stopped craning – or whatever they were up to.
And Shylock was right. Just as Bb rejoined them, something appeared in the sky on the horizon, moving directly towards them at quite some speed. As it grew closer they could make out the outline of what looked like a chariot pulled by hundreds of flying ants. On the chariot sat a short rotund woman with scraggly grey hair and an old yellow sweater with holes all over the place. Her expression a mixture of annoyance and confusion.
'What's happening' she cried at them as she came within range. 'What have you done? We can't have this – everything standing still, no movement. How can we change things if nothing moves?'
Shylock, Permission and Bb said nothing, preferring instead to wait until she pulled up directly in front of them.
'So, what have you done?' she demanded. 'And who are you anyway?
'Which order would you prefer us to answer those in?' replied Sherlock.
'Why, what have you done of course. I don't really care who you are,' she replied, poking a finger in one of the holes in her sweater and tugging.
'We have revoked your permission to manufacture,' replied Permission.
'Don't be stupid,' responded scraggly hair. 'You need permission to revoke my permission!'
'But as I am Permission, I have already permission to revoke your permission.'
'You're Permission?' asked Change, stepping down from her chariot – much to the relief of several hundred flying carriers, after all she is rotund – not light!
Permission bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement.
'But I still don't understand what you are doing here, and why you have ground everything to a halt?' asked Change.
Shylock stepped forward and replied. 'Because we needed to find you. We need your help.'
'Actually,' interrupted Bb. 'I believe it's more like you need ours.'
'And who might you two be?' asked Change.
Permission did the introductions, with Change not recognising Winston shylock III, but grimacing noticeably when Bb's name was mentioned.
'You,' she hissed.
'Ah, well yes, but I've decided to let bygones by bygones and help you out a little,' said Bb.
'You've decided to let bygones be bygones, hmm, let me see – who was it that sold a certain snow dome to Order...' Change spat out. 'And then charged me for meals-on-wheels and never ending reruns of ball games. There again, I suppose the ballgames stopping was probably my fault.'
'Yes, but as I've just told you, I'm prepared to let all that past trouble go for now,' replied Bb, clearly a little flustered and not quite his usual confident self.
Change