When the spectre had perished all the politicians and business leaders who had been inhabiting the bodies of trolls, ogres and goblins burst into flame and died with their host bodies.
Seeing the dead and burned bodies of his most trusted and highly placed ministers in their chairs, Big Brother, the Prime Minister and autocratic leader of The Party, stared in shock. Although he had joined them in their call to fight for the spectre in his darkest hour, he had been shrewd enough to slip away from the crowd who had then started making their way to The Forest of Able. Fortunately his clairvoyant was sufficiently on the ball to have tipped him off about their imminent defeat. That was obviously why he’d got that million pound contract to do the horoscopes for The Daily Moron. I must remember to have the secret service silence him about these matters, he thought to himself.
There was little left of his colleagues bar a few scalded husks, stumps of legs and half-incinerated arms lying either slumped in their chairs or on the floor nearby in the room where they took the indigo pills. In the reality of this realm they had been the victims of that rare and unexplained phenomenon, SHC or spontaneous human combustion. It was going to be difficult for the world to accept that all of them could have suffered this fate at once in one fell swoop, but there it was. Only he had escaped. He made his way through the hall and passed by the reception desk. He was surprised to find that there was no one on duty. Even the major-domo was absent. To his utter horror he found that the glass case which should contain the effigy of the ambassador was empty. In a rising panic he ran through the doors.
In the streets he was confronted with a scene of literal pandemonium in his eyes, all the demons of hell being in one place at once: namely a vast flood of working class people taking his city into their own hands and the police nowhere in sight.
“It’s a typical example of inept British businessmen running away from their responsibilities to a huge work-force that had provided those businessmen with their inflated and undeserved incomes in the first place,” said one protester as he passed.
“These super rich bosses are now making a massive section of the population destitute rather than spreading the wealth that they have stolen from us via the bosses enforced ownership of the means of production.”
“It’s a typical capitalist scenario.”
The words fell on the Prime Minister’s ears like acid, burning them. Which was worse, being confronted with the attacking forces of Eden or these unwashed Anarchists? Where were his police?
Two unarmed coppers were nearby, but were so clearly outnumbered that they seemed to have no intention of intervening on anyone’s behalf. They didn’t appear to recognise the Prime Minister.
“Constable, arrest these people!” the Prime Minister yelled at them. As only an arrogant politico could, he had lost the attitude test.
“We’re waiting for reinforcements, sir, now move along please.”
“Don’t you know who I am?”
Of necessity, no one had known where he had been and his bodyguards had been dismissed before he made his way to the club. Now he was on his own and none seemed to recognise him.
“No, sir,” said the policeman. “Now pass along please before I’m forced to arrest you.”
There was a sound stage on a flatbed truck nearby that was pumping out hard-core tunes. Now there was a chance for The Party’s great leader to make an announcement and try to speak to these ignorant Neanderthals. Greedily he leapt forward. He’d lost all sense of reason. The arrogant young P.M. jumped up on the flatbed truck and stood in front of the mob and tried to grab one of the microphones from an M.C.
Bobby, who had naturally gravitated towards the sounds that had been emitting from the float, jumped up on the platform and removed the Prime Minister’s hand from the mic. He returned it to the M.C.
“I think your actions are very unfair. Exercise a little more patience. None of these people dancing are stopping in the immediate future and you’ll get your turn if you ask the dudes who provided this P.A.”
“Don’t you know who I am?” the young P.M. said.
Shiva jumped up and rounded on him and stared into his eyes in an extremely psychotic manner.
Bobby and Shiva had taken some psylocibe mushrooms and had done rather a lot of MDMA into the bargain. They had each drank at least four or five cans of Lager between them and even now Shiva had a can of Special Brew in her hand. Bobby had smoked nearly a sixteenth of skunk through a pipe and Shiva had had base speed.
Bobby and Shiva’s political oppressor may have looked straight but he was still being affected by his escape from the spectre’s caravan. This was why no one recognised him. His abrupt exit from the spectre’s domain was by way of a pill he had been given by The Worm of Tory Towers and told to use as a last resort if he was ever stuck in Eden for longer than the spectre permitted. He had been warned that it may change his physical appearance on Earth for some time after.
The arrogant young P.M. threw an insult at Shiva and Bobby.
“Scum like you should have their whole family lines wiped out like the rat infestation they are!”
Bobby quite liked rats.
The P.M. looked like he was about to swing a fist at Bobby.
Shiva stared at him in a way that Lucifer could only have dared to dream about. Bobby took a modicum of pity on the fellow. It seemed as though the man’s soul was being gradually sucked into Shiva’s ridiculously dilated pupils. Bobby removed his bowler hat and bowed, cutting a figure of eight pattern through the air with it. Bobby’s whole countenance seemed to be saying ‘welcome to our world’.
This distracted the Prime Minister from Shiva’s ‘evil eye’ and took the edge off the P.M.’s apparently uncontrollable shaking. His policeman mates looked away as if they didn’t want anything to do with the situation. Bobby grinned like the Joker out of Batman. The verbally abusive Leader seemed to be checking his own personality and you could almost hear the sound of cogs turning and pistons hissing.
He raised a fist at Bobby.
Bobby looked at the P.M. and pointed at the M.C.
“This gentleman’s already had trouble today. He told me earlier that some coppers tried to physically remove him from his D.J. set half an hour ago but fortunately he had the drive to get himself back up on the stage. Thankfully the crowd chased them off. It’s not as if this dude wasn’t scheduled to play either. He’s been punctual, polite and hasn’t even run over time or anything.”
Bobby continued. “He’s the M.C. as well as the D.J. and if you want to have a go you should ask him politely. Is that fair?”
The P.M. still had his fist raised.
“You know what I believe?” said Shiva, gesturing towards the now sullen Prime Minister. “He’s Big Brother. The Prime Minister. Our Leader!”
Bobby caught the politician’s arm and spun him round, glaring in his face.
“You’re sure? He looks just like him now you say it. I wonder why he didn’t earlier?”
“I saw it in his soul. You can disguise yourself but you can’t hide your soul. It’s him. Maybe he simply doesn’t look the same in real life as he does on the telly. Nobody else recognised him or he would have been pointed out.”
The dazed politico came to a little and seemed to realise that he might be in danger.
“Look! He’s now actually physically changing!” said Shiva.
“What?” he said, groggily. “The Prime Minister? Me, Big Brother? You must be joking. Do I look like him?”
“Yes,” said Bobby. Other protesters, who had seen the incident, voiced their agreement. “It’s him all right," said one. "I’d know that voice anywhere.”
The Prime Minister was gradually mutating into his normal self.
“I’m not him,” the Prime Minister said, arrogance once again overwhelming any panic that might otherwise be creeping into his words as he looked around for help.
It seemed that the P.M. was some sort of fish about to grab at bait that was on a hook and Shiva was gripping the rod so tightly it was splintering beneath her grasp. The Party’s glorious leader opened his mouth in protest and rage spread slowly across his face. His tongue became visible and the physical world around him started fragmenting.
Shiva’s eyeballs popped out and she caught them in her hands. Watery Tentacles shot out of each eye socket and grabbed the Prime Minister’s tongue. They pulled it out as far as it would go without snapping it but already blood vessels were starting to fracture and burst. As droplets of blood sprang this way and that, Shiva’s tentacles spun around ever so slowly. The swollen, throbbing tongue was twisted and twisted and twisted and twisted and twisted and twisted and twisted and twisted until the Prime Minister physically wet himself.
The tentacles released the tongue and retracted at such a speed that a blink would have missed the moment. Shiva casually replaced her eyeballs into their sockets as the physical plane became less pixilated and more tangible.
Bobby put what he considered to be an hallucination of extreme proportion down to the fact that the mix of drugs he’d had had been boosted by such an adrenal situation in front of such a huge crowd!
The words indigo and pills then sprang to mind.
Shiva carried on staring at the Prime Minister as Bobby grinned. Then Shiva spoke and thunder and lightening cut the air.
“WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?”
The Prime Minister wet himself again and pushed his inflated tongue back into his mouth where it sat like a waterbed. The two coppers disappeared into the shadows. Shiva turned to Bobby and grinned. She seemed to have looked right into his soul and held it under analysis. She had then seemed to give it back. She had a magnanimous look on her face. She looked down at her can of Special Brew.
“It’s only a treat y’know. I’m allowed to drink this stuff and you know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll never wake up in the morning wanting one. I never fucking have and I never fucking will!”
“Y’know why I love you?” said Bobby.
“No.... why?” replied Shiva.
“Because you believe in justice!”
Shiva smiled and took a quiet sip.
Bobby turned to face the P.M. again…
“What do you mean you’re not him?” he said. There was now no physical trace of Bobby’s “hallucination” around him. “You were saying “Don’t you know who I am?” a minute ago!”
Bobby was sweating as he said this. Bobby grabbed a guy rope from the float, looped it into a hangman’s knot and placed it around Big Brother’s neck.
There was a lamppost next to the flatbed.
“Right, here’s a lamp-post and here’s a length of rope. Once this goes round your neck you’re going to be the new Union Jack, matey.”
“Now I know you’re just an infestation of vermin!” the Prime Minister spat at him.
“That I may be,” Bobby admitted. “But I’m not all mouth. I’m going to do the deed because it needs to be done. The answer out of the envelope is going to be ‘Bobby, in Trafalgar Square, with the rope.’ Now, take your medicine.”
Bobby pulled the rope tight around the evil leader’s neck. He then threw the other end of it over the top of the lamppost. It took two attempts to do it, but soon, to shouts from the protesters around them, the other end was in Bobby’s grasp. He tied it to the back of the truck.
The M.C. handed Bobby the microphone.
“Big Brother,” he said. “You are being tried for the following crimes: forgetting that you are a public servant, forgetting that we are all members of the public, forgetting that the public pays your excessively high wages, assuming that the public is here to serve you, putting private property before human life, defending the power of the 3% who own 97% of the wealth, fearing any culture that questions the capitalist system, being prejudiced against drug takers, in spite of the fact that you are one yourself, being prejudiced against racial minorities, women, homosexuals, trade unions, Communists, Anarchists, environmentalists, travellers, squatters, hunt saboteurs, festival organisers and counter culturalists. You are accused of supporting the belief that most of the members of those last groups should be removed from society. You have been responsible for death, torture and poverty!”
Bobby looked at him.
“How do you plead?”
“Not guilty!” replied the Prime Minister with a note of insistence in his voice. Bobby then turned around and faced the people watching and asked,
“What does the jury think?”
“Guilty!” was the unanimous reply.
“I thought just being Big Brother was punishment enough mate, but now we’ve heard the crowd, you’re banged to rights as far as I can see. The sentence is death!” Bobby yelled. The crowd roared with approval.
“And I will carry out the sentence,” he said, pulling on the rope. The noose wrenched Big Brother’s head up, forcing him to gaze at a patch of polluted blue sky.
Shiva touched Bobby on the shoulder.
“I’m getting worried about this,” she said. “Do you think the police are going to let us hang their Prime Minister in broad daylight like this?”
“No, but they don’t know he’s the Prime Minister,” Bobby said, still gripping the rope. “If they see us doing anything they’ll look the other way. They don’t care about us hanging another one of our own. They don’t even think we’re the same species as their precious leaders. They don’t care what happens to us, and right now they think he’s just one of us.”
“But Bobby,” said Shiva. “Don’t you think this is somehow, you know, wrong?”
“No,” said Bobby. “It’s right and we all know that. Look at the things this man has done in his miserable life. He’s supported evil every bloody day. He’s got to pay for that.”
A group of Anarchists then jumped up and stepped forward and an Anarchist woman held his hand, staying his grip on the rope of death.
“Surely we must all forfeit our lives then?” said the woman.
“What?” asked Bobby.
“Surely we must all forfeit our lives as well then?” said the woman.
“What makes you say that? It’s nothing to do with us. He must forfeit his life alone.” said Bobby.
“But we did not prevent his deeds, so surely our lives should also be forfeit?” said a second Anarchist.
“I didn’t prevent him so my life should be forfeit too,” said the woman. “We’re all one race and all live on earth together, if we sit back and let our fellows despoil the environment then we’re guilty as well.”
“You are all as ready to die as all that?” said Bobby.
“It’s not just Big Brother. We’re all in this together” said the second Anarchist.
“But at least we’ve tried to make amends,” said Bobby. “At least we’ve tried to stop the evil politicians and rich bastards.”
“But we didn’t stop them,” said the Anarchist. “We have all played our part in destroying the Tree of Knowledge, so if you kill him then we must all offer our own destruction.”
“Not necessarily," said Shiva. "the Goddess said the Tree will grow again from a single seed, a seed that even now is trod into the ground beneath our feet. Our unfinished fruit has seen to that.”
Bobby felt a familiarity with these concepts but their origin was not wholly clear. It was as if those present were in touch with a greater consciousness that no one of them could fully comprehend. Half remembered glimpses of a garden and all manner of creatures swam across his vision. At length he spoke....
“Our crime of not doing more to stop this little fuck is not down to our lack of effort. I’m sick and tired of waiting for a personal attack by his lackeys before I exact retribution on him! He’s never in the firing line anyway! When are we gonna’ be in the position to do this again? I don’t know how he ended up here but it fucking feels like a gift from the fucking Heavens to me!” At length one of the Anarchists spoke....
“Our crimes, as a species, are so severe that we must surely match them with a penance of equal severity.”
“This is all getting too complicated,” said Bobby. “Don’t you believe in these inhuman monsters paying for their crimes?”
“Yes,” said the Anarchist, “but not at the expense of taking someone’s life unless it is in self-defence.”
“Yes,” said Shiva. “You of all people should know this Bobby, you’re a vegetarian.”
“But he does threaten people’s lives!” shouted Bobby now beginning to lose control. He then paused for a second and then seemed to compose himself a little.
“You’re right,” he said, “I am a vegetarian and I do believe in rights for animals, but animals are innocent and haven’t done anything to deserve the fate we dish out to them. This monster isn’t innocent. He’s got blood on his hands.”
“And that justifies you in getting blood on your hands too?”
The rest of the crowd were either getting bored and drifting away or becoming more frustrated.
“String him up!” someone yelled from the back of the throng.
Bobby’s hand tightened on the rope.
At this point, the crowd parted as a vehicle made its way towards them. Bobby’s first thought was that the police shock troops were arriving to take care of him, but to his surprise a huge, black, stretch limo drew up and to his even greater astonishment, the door opened and out stepped the millionaire, or possibly billionaire, Rock Goblin Raver himself, Jack Migger.
There was mixed response from the crowd, some cheering with support for their idol, others hissing and booing. Bobby could hardly believe his eyes, but he was adequately able to deal with the situation.
“Well, well, Jack,” said Bobby. “We meet again, I see. You may not remember our last encounter, but I certainly do. I’ve got some things to say to you, mate.”
Jack Migger, took off his beribboned hat and shook his thick, curly locks. Flashing his large teeth at Bobby, he put his arm around his shoulder in a fatherly way.
“You shouldn’t be doing this, brother,” said Migger. “In the sacred name of Rock and Roll, please, like, stop the violence, man.”
“As far as I am concerned,” said Bobby, “and I’ve said this before to all and sundry, you, Jack Migger are a fucking traitor to Rock and Roll.”
Some in the crowd booed this but others shouted ‘right on!’ and ‘you tell him!’ Bobby was warming to his subject.
“You have been sucking Satan’s big veiny one for nothing more than cash, Jack, and all the bastards like you are the reason...” he struggled for a word. “‘Streuth, I’ve waited fucking years to say this to your bastard face, I’ve got to remember the wording just right. That’s it, buggers like you are the reason most musicians can’t feed themselves let alone get air-play on the radio or that the capitalist brain control device, television. At least you’ve decided to come with us to a “proper festival” here, but I say, WAKE FUCKING UP JACK!”
“Yeah, far out!” shouted someone in the crowd. Jack Migger blew a kiss to his fans in the audience.
“Migger doesn’t give a shit,” said Shiva. “Face it Bobby.”
“I know he’s done fuck all to prove he gives a shit,” said Bobby, “as I’ve often said, but he’s got to answer for fucking loads of shit!”
“No, look man,” said Migger. “I’m like, here to ask you not to do this terrible thing, man. You’ll regret it, you know? It’s like bad karma.”
“That means so much coming from you, Jack,” said Bobby.
“He’s a good bloke, is Big Brother. I’ve been to his soirees; he’s very generous. He gave me a line last time I was at Number Ten. It was fucking good Colombian, too.”
“It’s all about you, isn’t it Jack?” said Bobby. “What about the fucking workers?”
“Yeah, the workers, right, yeah, okay man,” said Migger. “Here’s something for the workers.”
Migger opened his wallet and drew out a huge wodge of hundred dollar bills. He flapped them in Bobby’s face.
“Go buy yourself some sweeties with these, Bobby my boy. How would you like this? Just let him go and you’ll get lots more. I’ve got plenty.”
“I dare say it won’t be the first time you’ll have heard this phrase in your life, Jack, but put it away, sunshine.”
Bobby made sure the rope was securely fastened to the back of the truck and then he stepped forward, pushing the bills into Migger’s wallet once more.
“Jack, there’s something I always said to my mates that I owed you, and I’m going to pay it to you now. Put your money away, this one’s for free.”
Bobby then pointed to Migger’s hat.
“That’s a nice shiny bonnet, Jack,” he said. “Is that your Easter Bonnet?”
“Yeah, man, d’you like it? It’s a Guappino and Laurence.”
“It’s a very nice and shiny bonnet, Jack, but it’s missing something vital. It needs fertiliser for its pretty flowers.”
At that, Bobby placed the hat on the ground, upside down, dropped his trousers and, squatting over it, left a big, fat, hash-loosened turd inside it. He then picked it up and pushed it down onto Migger’s head the right way up.
“There you are Jack.”
“Oh, man,” said Migger sadly. “Why did you do that to me, man? What have I ever done to deserve that?”
“Jack,” said Bobby, “in the immortal words of Louis Armstrong, if you have to ask, then I can’t possibly tell you.”
The Rock Goblin shrugged his shoulders, hung his head and trudged back to his huge, black, stretch limo. The door closed itself and the car silently drove away.
Bobby stood his ground. The eyes of the crowd turned back to him. An angry man from the back surged forward and confronted Bobby.
“Pull the rope,” he said. “Make him dance. He’s forced all of us into poverty, all of us suffer. He’s killed pensioners, killed sick people in hospitals he’s closed down, he’s thrown innocent people in jail just for being poor. Run him up the flagpole I say and if you won’t do it I will.”
“I’m with you brother,” said Bobby, “but I’ve got to listen to all the opinions around me. We’re not like them, we’re a democratic community of equals, there’s no hierarchy between us. I think it’s right to top him and I’m going to do it in a minute, and your help will be greatly appreciated there because he’ll take some lifting off the ground, but it looks like he’s got an appeal going here and I’ve got to give everyone their say.”
“I’ve seen you refuse to swat a fly, Bobby,” said Shiva. “you’ve said we’re all equal. Think of him as an equal, it’s another human being, you don’t swat them.”
“But,” said Bobby, “I have thrown bricks at riot cops and is that because I think riot cops are less equal to me than a fly?”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Shiva. “How do you justify it?”
“The fly,” said Bobby, “is an individual, but riot cops and politicians are a mass, they are a group thing. If I kill a fly, I’m killing an individual that is just as valid as myself, but if I top a politician I’m not killing an individual because they’ve already given up their uniqueness to become part of the political machine. I’m just destroying a vital cog in an unthinking mechanical object. It’s like hitting an alarm clock with a hammer.”
“But that’s the argument they use for trying to destroy us,” said Robin Hood who honed into view in the crowd. “Look at all the people here in this square. There’s thousands of us. Are we all individuals or are we a mass?”
“We’re all here for different reasons,” said Bobby. “What unites us is our desire for justice, but we are all individuals.” He pointed to the Prime Minister who was gasping for breath like a landed flounder. “He’s dissolved himself into a mass just to suppress justice.”
Bobby’s hand strained at the rope. Half the crowd yelled for the death sentence to be carried out, the others muttered amongst themselves and some turned away.
The music had stopped some time ago and a few saw that as a sign to leave. Many couldn’t see clearly what was going on and had no idea someone’s life was in the balance. These though were mostly down in the area around the fountains. This spectacle was happening in front of the National Gallery.
“Right,” said Bobby. “Enough debate. He’s going up unless anyone has any really serious objections that my personal philosophy cannot resolve. I’m clear on this one.”
“Do you think they’ll let you get away with it Bobby?” Maid Marion shouted. “They’ll kill you too.”
“That may be, but I am doing my duty to the rest of the working class in ridding them of their oppressor. I for one am prepared to sacrifice myself to change history for the better.”
“How do you think Migger knew what was happening and the police didn’t?” Shiva asked as she continued to stand next to Bobby.
“I don’t know,” said Bobby, heaving away at the rope. The Prime Minister’s feet left the ground and he started to struggle furiously to free himself from the noose.
“Here, mate.” Bobby called to the angry man who had shouted his desire for a prime ministerial lynching earlier. “Give us a hand with this rope.”
“Isn’t something strange going on?” said Shiva.
“Yeah you’re right, fuck it, let’s ask for a hand vote.”
“Fuckin’ ada! Make up your mind!” shouted the man Bobby had called to.
At this point, the crowd parted in panic. Something increasingly large was making its way through towards Bobby. Thinking it was the riot police, he felt like pulling on the rope harder, hoping to get the job done before they cut him down. Yet when he looked, Bobby let the rope grow slack. The Prime Minister touched the boards of the float again as they both saw what was coming towards them.
A fifty-foot dragon was pushing its way through the masses of people gathered there. No one could tell where it had first appeared, but it was clear that it was now right at the front of the crowd. Its hide was dark blue with flecks of red and white on it and its scales were jagged and sharp, its wings bat-like and slippery like snake skin. It opened its yellow-toothed jaws and flicked its black-forked tongue at Bobby and brandished its sharp yellow claws. The creature had dirty grey battle armour and Bobby could make out runic obscenities scrawled all over it.
The monster lurched forward, its jaws snapping in the air. Bobby grabbed the rope again and hauled on it as hard as he could. Big Brother’s feet trod the air again. The monster recoiled and hissed with fear.
“Stop, Bobby,” it said in terror. “Stop. I pray to you to stop.”
“I think I know who you are,” Bobby said. “Aren’t you Malthus - the Worm of Tory Towers?”
“I am,” the thing hissed. “Please, let him go. I beg you, let him go.”
“Why should I do anything for you? You’re the worm that rules the Stock Eggs Change alongside the evil spectre in The Desolation of Cain. Your presence has unlocked my knowledge of Eden.”
“I did,” said the monster. “The spectre is dead and I am begging for my life before you now.”
“What sort of trick is this?” Bobby relaxed his grip on the Prime Minister. Almost at once the worm leapt forward, breathing gusts of cold air and particles of ice, its jaws opened wide, revealing the sharp stalactites and stalagmites growing in its throat. Immediately Bobby fell back, almost tripping over and as he did, he grabbed the rope again, using the Prime Minister’s weight to support him. Instantly, the thing shrank back, whimpering.
“I get it,” Bobby said. “You’re worried about him.”
“He is my earthly familiar,” the creature said, hissing as it spoke. “Without me, he will die. Without him, I will die.”
“I see,” said Bobby. “So you want me to let him go?”
“Yessss.”
“Well, what do I get in return?”
“Anything you want,” the creature said. “Riches beyond your dreams, just let him go.”
The Worm hissed angrily. Bobby tightened his grip. The monster started choking.
“I want you to take this scumbag back to Cain and make sure he never sets foot on Earth again. I also want you to make an unbreakable promise. I want you to prove to me that you will leave The Forest of Able alone forever. I also want you to promise never to try and influence humanity ever again. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“Well.... how?”
“I promise to....”
Bobby cut across him.
“No not like that. I want physical evidence that these promises cannot be broken.”
Suddenly a strong wind heralded the arrival of Plato the dragon.
He spoke....
“I think I may be of assistance. While there is a temporary breach in the divide between Earth and Eden we can settle this right here. The energy this demonstration has generated has helped us in our destruction of the threat to Able. We can now offer our services by using Magick to confirm Malthus’ promises.”
Plato looked magnificent as he hovered in the sky above everyone’s heads. He came to land on top of the National Gallery and dropped his long neck and head down the front of the building in order to address the situation. “Magick will compel Malthus to act on your desires Bobby.”
“NOOOOO!” said Malthus.
“You have no choice worm! Your spectre is dead and your army has been destroyed. Your power is diminished and Bobby has the power to slay you in an instant. Look into my eyes!”
Malthus looked into Plato’s eyes.
Both dragon’s eyes lit up like headlights.
“I promise to abide by the requests that Bobby Rewind has made.” said Malthus.
Both the dragon’s eyes returned to their normal colours.
“It is done Bobby.” said Plato.
“A Truth and Binding spell all in one. Very impressive!” said Bobby.
“Well I couldn’t kill him.” said Plato.
“I’m glad I was spared the agony of choosing whether or not to hang the P.M.” said Bobby.
“Fuck that!” said the good dragon. He continued.... “I couldn’t kill him on Earth. The repercussions would upset the balance of things and Cain would have capitalised on that. He has to return to where he came from in Cain and I must return to Eden so I can’t even take him prisoner. This promise and subsequent binding spell is the best option open to us that’s all.”
With that Plato asked the crowd if they minded Malthus taking the P.M. to Cain where he would return to his role as a goblin. He explained that this was the only other option apart from killing him or letting him go. He obviously couldn’t be taken to Eden.
Since everyone who witnessed the arrival of the dragons now had all of their knowledge of Eden immediately unlocked they all knew it was the best offer available. If Bobby killed the P.M. and the dragon died on Earth as a result the whole world would be thrown into psychological instability of a kind that would threaten the safety of the whole Egg.
Everybody agreed with Plato and Bobby took the noose from around the Leader’s neck so Malthus could grab him. He did just this and disappeared in a puff of black smoke. Strangely it reminded everyone of the smell of car exhausts.
“Have fun folks,” said Plato, “and remember that these metaphysical experiences will now be automatically buried in your subconsiousnesses. You will only be able to revisit them as a set of random hallucinations from time to time. These experiences at the end of this demonstration will seem like a half remembered dream.”
He then disappeared in puff of multicoloured smoke that smelt of roses.
The second Plato left everything returned to its normal parameters and everybody carried on as if nothing metaphysical had happened at all.
A few things had subtly changed on Earth as Shiva and Bobby had known it. Big Brother had never existed. In his place was a rather ineffectual Prime Minister called Major John who was as disliked by the majority as Big Brother had been. He was not feared though. He was shortly to be replaced by as equally an ineffectual capitalist stooge called King Tony. It suddenly seemed as if there was a greater chance of undermining the political system. None of those now in power in Britain had anything to do with the forces of Cain in any direct way…. yet. There were still greedy bastards in positions of authority but these seemed to be hanging onto their power in a less effective manner. A greater feeling that British society was on the verge of radical change seemed to be brewing.