DISCLAIMER: READ
THIS FIRST!

Ignorance can be a wonderful thing.

Just as the fate of Humanity, The World and The Universe hung in the balance over a Precipice of Doom, our intrepid heroes, Secret Agents Arthur Robinson and his enigmatically-named partner X, were sat in relative comfort and blissful seclusion, travelling deep underground en route to their destination inside Europe. Ignorance can also be potentially deadly, as we shall see in approximately two paragraphs...

Arthur and X were on a mission from their boss, Guy, to uncover the actual meaning of the secret riddle 'The dying pilchard bleeds under a turquoise moon'. Thus far, their investigations had led them — in the manner of a Sunday Afternoon Out Shopping With The Missus For Shelving — straight to the nearest pub.

They had arrived in Switzerland several weeks ago, long before the climatic events due to occur shortly beneath Stonehenge¹ begin to take shape.

In the initial stages, then, these passages represent the missing period of time after they left Guy's bedside after defeating assassins sent to kill him. They had selected as their mode of transport one of the old underground travelling tubes from the Red Leicester's original smuggling empire. Now, the thing about these travel tubes is this: in order to be able to traverse the globe in sufficient time as one needs to rule over an international criminal operation, they have to necessarily travel extremely fast.

This was a fact not lost on Arthur and X, who, having chosen to ignore the instruction manual, had subsequently been unable to locate the brake and had shot out of the exit ramp like a cork from a bottle of bubbly. They parked the tube in a nearby tree and successfully negotiated several layers of
branches back down to terra firma and, so having arrived, began to discharge their mission.

Incidentally, the pub that we mentioned earlier where our heroes are currently located is called 'The Blue Moon'. Upon arrival, they surmised this was a reasonable place to start looking for whatever this something called a turquoise moon might be.

The Blue Moon looked like any other pub that might have been plucked from any English Street. One thing in particular marked it out as unique, however; it stood alone in the middle of nowhere. A large flat, empty, green plain stretched away in every direction. There may have been mountains in the distance, or perhaps they were clouds. It wasn't even obvious how the materials to build it had arrived — there were no roads, nor any sign of civilisation whatsoever. Indeed, Arthur and X had only found the place at all due to the pair's legendary sense of direction and because the
curious ability of an Englishman to sense the nearby presence of beer while on holiday is, frankly, uncanny.

The publicans who ran the place certainly knew how to appeal to the hearts and minds of the masses (wherever they were). Across the wooden beam, above the mantle, was the motto "Cold outside. Come inside — drink beer!" There was also, as is tradition, a lone chalkboard propped up hopefully outside — it proudly proclaimed:

THE
ONLY
TOILET

IN
100
MILES!!!

Reasoning that this might come in handy, Arthur and X had decided to go inside and strike up a conversation with whoever was inside...

The door to the pub creaked open. Apart from the traditional smell and monobrowed barman, Arthur and X noticed a familiar someone in the corner.

'I don't believe it,' said Arthur.

'Isn't that —' began X before being cut off.

'Yep, that's him,' sighed Arthur. 'Shawn Daltmooreby.'

The man to whom they referred was a Legend, an ex-member of the Agency Arthur and X served. Once a man's man who always lived forever, Shawn Daltmooreby was fired by the Agency's head, Boutros Boutros-Ghali, when Daltmooreby drifted into alcoholism after his life fell apart. It was either that or Boutros would have had to fire Daltmooreby for his horrifically bad wig, which would fall back over the former spy's head whenever he lifted an eyebrow.

'He couldn't keep it together,' Arthur said sadly.

'You know him?' X asked his partner.

Arthur said nothing and then added, 'Not really.'

'I wonder what he's up to?' mused X.

Arthur changed the subject. 'Come on, let's get a drink.'

The two spies walked over to the bar.

'Can I help you?' asked the barman.

Arthur ordered the round. 'We'll have two pints of your finest lager, please.'

The man eyed them suspiciously, then started pulling their pints. He had a weathered appearance and was built as if he should have been holding up planets, not pulling pints. Arthur had a feeling that he could probably look after himself in a fight.

'I ain't seen you two around 'ere,' the barman said as he pulled down the pump. 'What do they call you?'

'They don't call us anything,' said X in an 'I-do-actually-have-name-but-won't-be-telling-you-thank-you-very-much' kind of way.

'So what suspicious business are you up to? Anyone who doesn't have a name is usually up to something.' The barman pulled down again on the pump, working up a frothy head on the beer.

'We're not up to anything,' replied Arthur. 'We just don't want people to know who we are.'

'Here you go.' The barman put the pints down, and Arthur paid for the drinks. 'Enjoy your business, gentlemen.' The man winked, then went further down the bar to deal with another customer. Arthur and X turned around and went to sit at a nearby table.

Just then, a huge man in a duffel coat with a bearded face arrived through the door forcefully.

'Bloody Nora!' said Arthur as he ducked below the table, spitting out a mouthful of beer.

'What is it?' asked X as he turned around to look at what had happened. He didn't recognise the newcomer. He ducked down to speak to Arthur. 'What’s going on?'

'Get up!' whispered Arthur as forcefully as possible. 'I'm staying out of sight.'

X got up a bit so that it looked like he was bent over his pint.

'Who is that man, Arthur?' asked X as inconspicuously towards his shoelaces as possible.

'That,' Arthur whispered, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, 'is Andrei Sreka. He's from the Russian mob and if he sees me, I'm dead.'

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