ATM II RPG

[Hookbill the Goomba]

The purple riders were at the head of the great army, Pallando the Blue and Alatar the brown were stood somewhere in the midst of things, grinning like mad-men. A horn sounded, then another, and another until the whole land was filled with the ringing noise. The army began to move; rank upon rank, battalion upon battalion, an endless sea of foes. Drums boomed and fell voices cried out. Banners were unfurled and swords were drawn. The Were creatures howled.

The Dwarf and his little band of odd folk stood atop the central hill in the graveyard. The leader of the Mordorian army that were alone here to defend them shivered in his armour. Alli gulped deeply and Aime took hold of a sword. Tollin finished putting The Barrow Wight back together and then drew his Morning Star.

"So," he sighed, "here at last is the end." Tollin breathed deep and looked out over the grave yard.

This was the fashion of the graveyard before the beginning of the battle: it was about a half mile in diameter, circular (almost) and containing many tombs. Grave stones were dotted all about the hillside and atop the great hill was a flattened slab, under which was buried some significant person who probably appeared in ATM 1. There were four gates; North, South, East and West. A fence of iron surrounded the place and spikes of steel had been forced into them.

The army of the Istari was surrounding the Graveyard; the noise of their trampling shook the bones of all who heard it. One of the Farsegul stood at each of the entrances, their purple robes looking like they had been preserved for years just for this moment. But so vast was that force that it was unlikely that they would be finished soon.

All of a sudden, there was a commotion below the hill. Smilog looked down and saw a strange figure forcing his way through the army of Mordor. It was a man who looked battle worn and swamp ridden. He fell at the feet of the Dwarf and panted like a dog who has swum the Anduin lengthwise... against the current.

"Andvari!" cried Smilog, "I thought you were dead."

"Nay, not so," he replied, raising to his knees, "but come, I have found the final clue. The greatest Gold hoard is in our grasp! Come away from this place and have gold a plenty!" The man's eyes seemed to be full of tears and desperation. He panted more and laid a hand on Smilog's shoulder, "We can escape through the tunnels and come to the hoard in a day or two. Shall we leave now?"

The Barrow Wight pointed out over the graveyard and said, "Sorry, Old bean, but can't you see we're a bit busy?"

"And can't you see that I am trying to save your friend from death?" Andvari shook his fists. But then, as if catching himself, he turned back to Smilog and smiled hopefully. "The gold is beyond count, sir."

Smilog stroked his beard and then turned his gaze all about. He looked at the forces of Mordor, gathered against all hope to fight to the death. Tollin, who, until recently, had spent his life in a labyrinth, now ready to die for the same lord who made him live there. The Barrow Wight who... Actually, he wasn't sure why he was here, but it was probably for some knobel and interesting cause.

"I'm sorry," said Smilog, "I have a thing to do here. It may be that I shall die here, this day. But this doom I take. Keep your gold, I do not want it." The eyes of Andvari widened in horror. He turned his head right and left, whimpering.

"You must come!" he cried, "they'll kill me it you-" he stopped and looked away, biting his lip.

"Who?" asked Alli, "who will kill you?"

Andavri made no answer, but stared at the ground. Eventually, he looked up and laughed a deep and haunting laugh. "My masters ordered it!" he cried, "Allatar told me, 'Take the Dwarf far away! He will get in our way. Tempt him with visions of gold and take him away and kill him.' So it was that I have followed you since the beginning. Oh, yes! But if you will not come away..." he sprang forward and landed upon Smilog. There was a yelp of pain and then Tollin tore the man away from the Dwarf. In his hand, Andvari held a knife, now stained with blood.

Smilog cried out in pain and Aime picked him up. The man laughed as the Mordorians pointed their spears at him. "Fools!" cried Andvari, "Fools! You cannot see it can you? Now there is no hope. The Dwarven army will not come for one of their kin shall not be in the battle."

"Yes they shall," cried the leader of the Mordorians, "We saw them mustering not one night ago. They will march with war against the Were creatures. They will be here before dawn."

Andvari twitched in Tollin's grasp. His plans were failing. But then, it seemed, that he laughed, or a voice from within him laughed. He raised his face and they saw that it was white and that his eyes were gone. Then, slowly, he began to chant:

The Great Hound Barked and the world turned white,
The Great Hound Sighed and the forest died,
The Wizard Blew His Horn. The Wizard Blew His Horn.
The snow snake hissed and the world turned round,
The snow snake grinned in his fine cold sin,
When The Wizard Blew His Horn. The Wizard Blew His Horn.
The horse wept blood and the earth did groan,
The tall horse reared from a lake of tears,
To seek a Champion. To seek a Champion.
The world was bleak and the Earth did fear,
The Wizard's Horn, the magic Horn.
So it screamed for a champion! It screamed for a champion!
The eagle laughed and the world grew black,
It stretched giant claws and it snatched the Law!
And the Champion stirred in his sleep! The Champion stirred in his sleep!

Andvari laughed and it seemed that a shadow grew about him.

"Look!" cried Alli, pointing to the North Gate. There stood Pallando with a great horn in his hand. He placed it to his lips and blew. The sound was like a thousand war drums and a thousand screams of terror. Andavri seemed to grow in stature, his face becoming like a hound. He was a Were wolf!

Thus began the Great Battle of the Grave Yard, of which many songs are sung. Few, correctly.
Will our heroes survive until dawn?

[littlemanpoet]

"I love you."

Panakeia had said the words Elempí had hoped to hear ... some day. Today it seemed all too soon, and he was shocked.

"Oh boo hoo hoo!" blubbered Lûgnût. "I'm in romance heaven and all my vicarious dreams have been fulfilled! Kill me now! Boo hoo hoo!"

"Get hold of yourself!" Elempí said. "Nobody's going to kill you. Go find an Orcette somewhere and have your own romance. Just wait till after the battle."

He turned to Panakeia, his little speech to the ninny having given him a wee bit of time to get a grip on his own situation. For he felt something like courage rising from deep inside. It was something he had been sure was part of Anakron, but now that he knew she loved him, he felt like he could face anything, for her, and as long as she was there to stand with him. It was downright derring do! He smiled at her.

"Never doubt my love for you, Panakeia, my Valinor, my Silmaril! Together we can face anything! Even this battle. Come! Let's join the others. All we need is swords!"

"Oh boo hoo hoo!" cried Luggy.

[Hookbill the Goomba]

Andvari's form grew great and terrible. Fear went before him and dread followed his wake. All fled before before his face. All, save one. One figure, tall and broad with a heavy morning star drawn forth stood firm and would not flee before the Champion of Were Creatures.

The Barrow Wight leappad down the hill in amongst the hundreds of soldiers who rushed towards the army of Were Creatures who still poured into the grave yard. On his back, he bore Smilog the Dwarf. Smilog's eyes were bloodshot and his breath was short. He groaned and the rough ride went on. Yet, fortune had an odd plan for them, for at that moment, The Barrow Wight tripped on a stone and he fell forwards; Smilog landed on top of a large creature that was blubbering to itself.

Smilog lifted his head and cried out. Elempi quickly turned from what he was doing and stared at the Dwarf. The Barrow Wight scampered to his side and said, "I say, aren't you that Wizard chap?"

"Erm..." said Elempi, "sort of." Smilog cried out again, as his wound seemed to throw forth more blood. The Dwarf clutched at his shoulder and shrieked in pain. Elempi bit his lip and knelt beside the Dwarf. "There is some devilry in his wound," he said, "Dwarves are sturdy folk and should survive such a wound easily."

"Well?" said The Barrow Wight,

"Well what?"

"You know... do some jiggery pokery and get him on his old feet again."

"Jiggery pokery?"

"Or what ever the devil it is."

~~~

Tollin swung his morning star left and right, snarling as he did so. Andvari stood up tall in all his might; his great arms spread out and his fierce head facing the sky. The Wolf let out a mighty howl and then laughed. He reached behind his head and pulled a large sword from an unknown place (the tales say it was probably magic or something).

"You will not descend from this hill," growled Tollin, "If by my life or death I can hider thee, I shall. Get ye gone to the black abyss!" The Wolf laughed and swung his sword down at the Minotaur. Tollin leappad aside and lifted his Morning star up, spinning it on its chain. The great head of the weapon connected with the right arm of the beast. With a pain filled howl, Andvari thrust his arm into Tollin and pinned him to the ground with a single paw.

"Thou fool," grinned the Wolf, "Fool of fools! I am your doom! Die now and know that all thy trials are vain." In a fit of rage, Tollin bit the leg of Andvari, causing him to stumble backwards. Leaping in the air, the Minotaur swung his morning star down upn his adversary. But Andvari stopped his blow with his mighty sword and he let forth a deafening cry.

A tremor ran through the earth beneath them. Something was on the move. Andvari looked northwards and with his keen sight he saw the Dwarven host fast approaching. With a snarl, the were wolf struck out at Tollin, but he ducked and rolled between the feet of Andvari and then leaped upon his back.

With a cry, Tollin swung his Morning Star down upon the head of Andvari. There was a crack and a thud as the creature fell. Tollin stood atop the great beast and looked down at his fallen foe. With a cry, he leaped down the hill and passed all the forces of Mordor. He swung his great weapon, sweeping aside foes like leaves in a forest.

~~~

"What on earth is Jiggery pokery?" exclaimed Elempi. The Barrow Wight shrugged and stood up.

"You know, magic stuff." The Barrow Wight looked uneasily at the battle before them. "something that can at least get him on his feet for this dreadful thing."

Elempi looked up at Panakeia and sighed, "There is nothing I can do." he turned to the Barrow Wight, "I'm sorry." With bowed head, Elempi placed his hand on the Dwarf's shoulder and said, "I wish I could help. But all I remember is something about... oh, now it's gone again." He sighed again and muttered something under his breath.

With a suddenness that made them all leap back, Smilog sat up. The Dwarf looked at his shoulder and, though it was blood stained, there was no wound. "Looks like there is something left in you yet." said Panakeia.

"The Vala are merciful," muttered Elempi.

"Enough of this," shouted Smilog, drawing his axe, "to battle and death"

"To Death!" they all cried... Thus the winds of change began.

[the phantom]

****At Henneth Annûn****

"You may sit," said King Mardil II.

A dozen or so rough and tired looking Gondorians slumped into chairs surrounding a crude wooden table that nearly filled the small side chamber. Mardil, seated at the head, signaled to a waiting servant and soon the table was set with food and drink.

After the men had finished eating, Mardil rose and addressed them. "You have all performed your tasks admirably. When this crisis is passed and the need for secrecy is gone, your names will be known and honored throughout Gondor."

The men smiled grimly in acknowledgement. The man at the opposite end of the table rose and bowed to Mardil, and answered, "We thank you for your words, Lord. But know that you would have our service without promise of glory to come, or even the silver pieces that you provide as compensation for our efforts. The cause itself is worthy of all toil, and it is honor enough to play a part in ridding Gondor of injustice and evil."

The other men raised their glasses and let out a hearty "Aye!" and drank. Mardil nodded to the speaker. "You and the men of your house are true Gondorians, Bergil III. A happy day it was that King Elessar released Beregond from his service to be a blessing to the House of Stewards."

At that moment a messenger entered, bowed, and spoke to Mardil. "Your father sends his greetings and wishes to inform you that your wife and son are in good health. He also requests a word on the status of the plan."

"You may tell my father that all but one of my team of smugglers has returned. The one who was captured was apprehended entering Mordor, but was caught with nothing but the clothes on his back. He is loyal, and will not utter a word of our plan. And even if he does, it is too late for Roggie, the Blue Istari, or anyone else to stop us now. Operation Vaccine is nearly complete!" declared Mardil.

The messenger bowed again and exited the chamber.

"How soon will the final phase begin, Lord?" asked Bergil.

"When you and those under your command complete your final run into Mordor, I will announce a date for the... procedure," answered Mardil. "All the preparations are made. You have the final list, don't you?" Bergil nodded. "How long do you think this smuggling run will take? Six days?"

"That would be my estimate, sir," answered Bergil.

"Good," said Mardil, smiling in approval. "Go ahead and rest for the remainder of the day. My men will see that you have all the equipment and provender you need for the journey. You leave with the rising of the sun."

[Roggie of Morgoth]

Roggie was less than happy to be called from his steam sauna (originally a shower) to interrogate a political prisoner. He was willing to stake his power on the fact that he'd initially had others hired to do such things. However with Alli gone, the palace in regular motion, war on the brink...

He grumbled as he stalked into the dungeons.

"Man of Gondor, why are you in my country?" The prisoner did not respond, choosing rather to stare at the floor.

One of Roggie's representatives met his lord's eyes and spoke. "He carries nothing but that which is on his back, and this, m'lord."

He handed Roggie the spy's weapon, a beautifully crafted sword. Roggie inspected it with an eye for detail and spoke angrily. "What is your name, Ranger, and what is your business?"

The man did not speak.

Roggie demanded more harshly, leaning in to allow his own heat to draw sweat from the prisoner's brow. The man's discomfort was obvious. Roggie let a small ball of flame kindle within him, threatening. The man's eyes widened, but he did not speak. Even afraid, he was calm.

Roggie scorched the floor around his feet and the man cried out, "No!"

Roggie gestured violently, knocking his enemy's spy to the floor.

"Strip him," he said impatiently, "and find out what of his pretty little toes so delights him."

Roggie's guards were more than glad to find work, having been out of it so long. With Alli gone, their jobs had been to shuffle papers and look busy. One spoke again, hesitantly. "My lord, he said before you came, 'Rest assured that neither I nor my Lord wish to harm you or Mordorian citizens, but I cannot name my errand.' That is when we came for you. You know we would never normally bother you with such trifles..."

The Lord of Mordor grumbled, kindling slightly. He watched impatiently as the man's boots were removed. The man did not struggle, though he might have.

"My Lord!" cried one searcher, "he carries papers!"

Roggie did not touch them for fear of igniting them, but chose rather for the man who had found them to list their contents. If Gondor knew, so could his own men... whatever the contents.

"There is... my lord..." The man hesitated. Roggie growled and he continued. The Ranger spy watched the floor. "They are... drawings... and descriptions."

"Of what, minion? The palace? The casino? The countryside? Is Mardil trying to infiltrate? TELL ME!"

"They are, my revered lord... of a toaster, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, and Chuck Norris."

They questioned the Ranger, yet he refused to divulge his secret, though his name was given almost freely.

"Bergil," Roggie growled. "I have heard of you in my court."

After ordering Bergil to the dungeons for a prolonged period of uncertain incarceration with inattentive guards and less attentive cooks, Roggie disappeared to his chambers to mull.

Upon his desk he found a neatly printed letter, possibly from Lola, though it was uncertain. He had not seen her in a rather long time and had never quite learned to differentiate between her writing and anybody else's.

The sounds of his anger could be heard throughout the palace after he read that Mardil II had declared a Gondorian holiday for the following day, and that every person in the kingdom of Gondor was to travel to the nearest population center.

Roggie feared some dire stroke, but could not think what Mardil could possibly be hoping to achieve.

This post ended, consequently, on an uncertain note, with a smoking King of Mordor fuming in many literal ways within his study.

[Formendacil]

"Hyarmenwë! Lord Hyarmenwë!"

The old Gondorian heard his name being called, and stumbled slightly in his flight. Elrogorn grabbed his arm, and hauled him back to his feet before he could even begin hitting the ground.

"Do not listen!" said Elrogorn in a hiss, "it is a siren!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" said Maika, "that sounded nothing like a police car or ambulance."

"No, it sounded like Angawen," said Hyarmenwë.

"The snotty lady Gondorian?" said Maika.

"The same," said Hyarmenwë with a half-frown. "Angawen!" he shouted into the ever-darkening graveyard, "is that you?"

"Lord Hyarmenwë," pressed Elrogorn, "we really shouldn't pause."

"Right," said Maika. "If we're going to go through with foolishly making for the gates, let's get it over with."

[the phantom]

Mardil II looked up from his desk as his father, Denethor IV, entered the room. "We've been expecting you to join us for some time, son," said Denethor. "Are you almost finished? The entire household is ready to join the holiday throng."

"Yes, yes... I'm just finishing my instructions to Bregor and Gundor. They'll be leaving in the morning." Mardil dipped his quill into a bottle of ink and continued writing.

Denethor sighed and sat down across from Mardil. "So, you still think you can work with him?"

"Yes."

Denethor shook his head. "He's a balrog, Mardil. A BALROG! Nothing good has ever come from his kind. He can't be trusted. You ought- "

"We've been through this before," interjected Mardil. "My mind hasn't changed."

"You say he's not wholly evil, Mardil, but the fact remains that he is moody, aggressive, unreasonable, and is easily upset," argued Denethor. "I'm telling you, you can't deal with someone like that."

Mardil laid his quill aside, pushed his chair back, and rose to his feet. "You forgot one thing, father- Alli. She can deal with Roggie, and talk sense into him when no one else can. All I have to do is make her see the benefits of cooperation, and she will see that Roggie complies for his own good as well as hers."

"Oh, sure, Alli will be great help until the day that, in a fit of rage, Roggie squashes her and fries her to a crisp," retorted Denethor.

"That's never going to happen!" returned Mardil. "I've seen them together. Roggie would never hurt her. Maybe others, but not her."

Denethor stood, walked around the table, and placed his hands on his son's shoulders. "So, you truly believe in Alli's ability to influence Roggie enough to risk the lives of your two most loyal servants?"

"Yes," answered Mardil without hesitation. "And surely my willingness to entrust Roggie with the lives of my men will convince him further that I wish to work with him, and not against him."

Denethor squeezed Mardil's shoulders and smiled. "You are firm in your beliefs- just the way a King should be."

**********

All across the kingdom, in town after town, the residents of Gondor gazed in wonder at drawings and descriptions of anachronisms of all shapes and sizes. The collection of anachronisms was huge- the result of many many smuggling runs by Bergil and company. The rest of the collection was furnished by King Mardil himself, who had spent countless days and nights writing about the various anachronisms he saw during his stay in Mordor.

Slowly and surely, the entire population of Gondor was being vaccinated against the weakening dweomer. For, as Anakron had told Mardil behind closed doors, once an anachronism becomes commonly known in the real and present world, it loses its anachronistic power.

New assignments to Mordor fell to almost nothing overnight. The evil curse of the Blue Wizards was being undone. Roggie's realm was no longer growing.

[littlemanpoet]

Elempí's jaw dropped. His eyes bugged out. He looked very unprofessorial. Especially in a groom's tux. What was Panakeia doing? It was obvious that she was high tailing it, as impressively as any white tail deer, out of the wedding. But what was she doing it for? Elempí was so dumbstruck that he didn't even bother to correct his ungrammatical thought.

Once over the initial shock, his eyes began to rove here and there, noticing the huge throng gathered there, half of them watching the receding high tail of Panakei'a headdress, half of them watching Elempí to see what his reaction would be. How embarrassing! He wanted the Fountains to leap up and drag him down under water. He was humiliated. Humilitated, even. Homogenized and horrificated. Subliminealized. Stumped. His legs gave way and he fell in a heap on the walkway.

"Woe is me. She doesn't love me. She has run away because she has realized just in time that she doesn't want to marry me." Someone kicked him in the leg. Hard. "Ouch!"

"Get up, you ninny!" cried Lûgnût. "She wants you to chase her down! Any orc can see that! She's behaving like any lovestruck orc-lass, she wants to be caught and tackled and pulled brought back by the whisker hairs."

"Don't be silly. Especially when it's disgusting," Elempí grumped. "She doesn't love me."

Lûgnût kicked him again. "Get up, you lousy excuse for an orc!"

"I'm not an orc!"

"Thank Illamatar! You'd make an awful one! Now go get your orc-lass and bring her back!"

"My woman, you mean."

"Whatever, just do it!" Lûgnût turned to the crowd, who had hunkered down close as they could to catch every word. "What do you say everybody, should Elempí go tackle his bride?!?"

"Yes!!!!" came the roaring reply, "Tackle the bride!" The words formed a chant. "TACKLE - THE - BRIDE! TACKLE - THE - BRIDE! TACKLE - THE - BRIDE!"

"All right! All right! Enough already!" Elempí dragged himself back to his feet and began to walk the way Panakeia had run.

"You better run!" cried Lûgnût. As if on cue, or queue, or mind the gap, or whatever, the band that had showed up for the reception, "Plink Foyd", started riffing on Lûgnût's words, and the lead singer was really getting into it.

"You better run all night and run all day....! ..... Run Run Run Run Run!" Mysteriously, a Wall started abuilding right behind the group on which videos of screeching lorries and varied misbehaving hooligans careened from scene to scene. Elempí couldn't help but get into the spirit of it, and he began to run.

[Celuien]

Many heads turned to watch the spectacle of Panakeia running down the high street in her wedding regalia. It wasn't everyday, after all, that a runaway bride turned up.

Out of breath and with aching feet, Panakeia ducked down an alley and leant against a tiny blue building. She ruefully pulled off she shoes, still sparkling under a layer of dust acquired during her flight. This was not the happily-ever-after ending she had wanted. But neither was the garishly over-perfect wedding she had fled. True, it might have been something taken directly from a magazine. But after so many struggles - the battle, Anakron's identity switch, death and undeath - it wasn't right at all. Panakeia simply wanted to leave Mordor fade into a quiet obscurity with her beloved Elempi, never to be heard from again. Except, perhaps, as a rumor in an epilogue.

But would that ever happen now? Panakeia hoped that Elempi would understand her flight was not about doubts about him, but had only been because she was overwhelmed by the setting. If only he could find her now!

But Panakeia wasn't entirely sure that she could find herself. The route she had taken had been haphazard, and Panakeia hadn't been paying great attention to her path. She was lost. She would have to contact someone - somehow!

The answer came as she looked up at the tiny blue building. Public call. She could try to call someone from there, and hope that she could make it back to the Can Sing Ton Guard Inns in time to explain things. Even if it wasn't exactly what she wanted, the noisy display was better than missing her wedding entirely.

Panakeia tried the door. It wouldn't budge. That made no sense at all. Why would it be locked? She tried again, shoving against the door with all her might, and closed her eyes as a curious tingling sensation passed over her.

When she opened her eyes again, Panakeia gasped. This couldn't be the inside of the tiny box. It just wasn't possible.

"What?" she cried.

"What?" came a louder, equally surprised answer from behind an odd structure in the centre of the spacious room. A man in a suit came out from behind the...thing, waving a small, blue-glowing device in front of him. "Not again. Why is it always brides?" He waved the device in fron of Panakeia, and she stepped back.

"What?" she said again, meaning to say, "What is that? And what is this place? And...what are you talking about?" For the man was speaking again, and Panakeia couldn't make any sense out of his rapid commentary.

"Been around things pulled out of time, have you? Leaves a trace. Particles. Sort of a magnetic effect. Must have been what pulled you in here. There. That ought to fix it." He kept waving the little glowing thing in front of her.

Panakeia gasped again as a tiny glowing stream of dust rose from her gown and trickled away across the room.

"You wouldn't happen to want to go to Chiswick, would you?"

"Chiswick? What? No. I was in the Can Sing Ton Guard Inns."

"At your wedding. And you don't want to be late. Right then!" He ran back to the middle of the room and threw a switch.

There was a sudden lurch, and Panakeia nearly lost her footing. Then another lurch, and the man ran back across the room to fling open the door. They were in the Guard Inns, only a little way from the Eat all yen fountains.

"There you are." Panakeia, feeling rather dazed, stepped out the door. She whirled to see it close behind her, and her jaw dropped as the blue box faded into thin air.

She continued to stare, spellbound, at the spot where the box had been, until a noise from the fountains roused her from her daze. Lûgnût and a few scattered guests were running up to her.

The orc started to ask a thousand questions, but Panakeia cut it off with one of her own.

"Where's Elempi?"

"Tsk, tsk," the orc smirked. "Ran away from your own wedding."

"Where is he?" she repeated crossly, in no mood for delay. She needed to explain to Elempi.

"Off looking for you."

Panakeia groaned.

[littlemanpoet]

Elempí ran until his legs ached, then jogged until he could not keep his breath, then walked until he realized that he had no idea where Panakeia might have got to.

"Well that was ripping silly!" he said aloud to himself in his best imitation of Limey dialect (such things were notorious in Dweomer ridden Mordor).

He looked around. He was near a big building surrounded by a tall black wrought iron fence, outside of which was a sign reading Wessman Stabby. A red-robed almbudsman orwhateveryoucallit stood by a gate in the fence, allowing some people through and turning others away (sometimes with an entertainingly swift kick). Elempí went up to him.

"Pardon me sir," he attempted in his best imitation British, "did you happen to see a - erm - bride run by?"

The redrobed man's thick gray brow rose. "A bride, you say?"

"Yes," Elempí nodded encouragingly.

"Running, you say?"

"Yes sir," Elempí nodded even more encouragingly.

"Whatever for?"

Elempí sighed. He was going to have to explain. "We are to marry, sir."

"I dare say not, if she's running, don't you know!" The almbudsman laughed at his own wittiness.

"Sir," Elempí attempted again with extreme patience, "did you see her?"

"Ah, um .... No. I should say not."

"Oh. Well, thank you anyway. I must be-"

"But there was a white robed nun came in just before you got here, and I thought to meself how frilly a nun's getup it seemed."

"Well that might be her then, wot?"

"I'm thinking that it might indeed."

"Spendid! May I go in?"

"I should say not!"

"No? Why not, sir?"

"It's a special day. Rites and observances and all that. Can't go in if you're looking for your bride."

"Oh. But if I was going in to observe the rites, then I could go in?"

"Yes."

"Well then, may I go in?"

"What for?"

"To observe the rites this special day, sir!"

"By all means. In you go!"

"Many thanks, sir!"

"Mind you watch out for the statues! They're a bit lively today!"

Elempí hustled into the Stabby, wondering what on earth the man could mean. He passed through the oversized double doors and found himself in a spacious hall. All manner of men and women were walking about, wearing all manner of styles and periods of costume. There were many empty pedestals. And all the personages seemed to have a gray cast to them. That would make it relatively easy to find a white dressed nun, he thought. One grayish fellow seemed friendly enough.

"Hello there, I'm wondering, sir, if you might have seen-"

"Greetings. And who might you be?" The man's hair was wild and worn over his ears. He wore a frock coat and seemed in bad health.

"I'm Elempí of Umbar, sir, and who might you be?"

"William Wilbur of Forth of Fifth."

"You don't say!"

"I just did."

"Well, so you did, sir. Did you happen to see a nun dressed in white? Or a bride who looked like a nun? Or a n-" Elempí stopped, confused.

"I did. She went to the poets' corner." William put his hand to his mouth to whisper conspiratorially. "Watch out for the busts!"

"Many thanks!" Elempí grinned. He wondered what busts the man was referring to as he made his way down the long, tall, and relatively narrow hallway in the direction of what was supposed to be the poets' corner. He hoped he would know it when he saw it. And he hoped Panakeia would be there.