On the Subject of Pie - Episode 12

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Secondary Phase - Episode Twelve

John Phillip Pie! What do you think you were doing, running around like a madman? Did I teach you nothing?

Dad?

Well? What have you got to say for yourself? Trying to save the world or something?

I was just trying to save that invisible swan — I haven't done anything wrong!

Pah. All these years and you're still acting like a child, on the way to your own ruin. I may as well let you get on with it.

smiley - biro

The nightmare started to fade away, only to be replaced by another one. As John regained consciousness he found that Emily was nowhere to be seen and the swan that had taken out his leg had gone from being invisible to just not there. He found it odd how he kept on being rendered unconscious over and over again — it was almost as if his mind were doing it on purpose. After all, he'd only tripped over and fallen on his face — his nose was unbroken, if a little sore, and his head felt only as bad as it usually did. Maybe he had some form of narcolepsy that came with a sense of humour, or maybe his brain felt that he would somehow benefit from the madness of imagining that his father was talking to him from beyond the grave. Whatever it was, he didn't want to dwell on it, so he did the first thing that came to mind.

Two minutes later, he was on Euston Road, having rushed up the escalators, out through the exit and into the pouring rain. Surrounded by apathetic commuters and wet concrete, the inspiration that had led him to think that getting above ground was a wise move suddenly departed and he stood looking hopeless for several moments until an invisible object was caught by the wind and became stuck to his face. It felt like a feather but, unfortunately, it was only that, and had no swan attached to it. John put the feather in his pocket and began to walk back towards his home, several miles to the north. He was in no hurry, and perhaps the rain would cheer him up a little. Things couldn't get any worse, could they?

smiley - biro

Meanwhile, Emily was sitting in the back of a hackney cab with a rather soggy water bird on her lap and wondering what on earth would happen next. She had never been thrown out of a station before, let alone on the grounds that her invisible pet swan was making too much noise — did she really look like the sort of person who owned an invisible swan and took it for rides on the Underground? She wasn't entirely sure as to why this particular swan was so important and the question as to why it was invisible was just too mind-boggling to consider, so she simply reasoned that the Queen obviously did not want to lose a single Cygnus olor. As she mulled over the problem in her head, she completely failed to notice as the taxi hit a puddle and sprayed John Pie with a large volume of dirty water. John, on the other hand, made a particular point of noticing it and resolved never to be optimistic about life ever again.

smiley - biro

Mrs Bewidigeldi found it odd how her two guests had suddenly taken such a shine to wood. They'd hardly said a word to her since they had returned from their little journey, instead electing to create a large pile of logs on her lawn and then decorate it with diesel and lawnmower oil. The whole thing smelt rather peculiar, but Mr Pyrodæmon obviously liked it, as he had chosen to protect it from the rain with Mrs Bewidigeldi's prized green gazebo. The rain was obviously getting to him, as he had then asked if he could borrow the blowtorch — just to keep warm, y'see — and was now making great efforts to keep the pile of logs warm as well. Becoming bored with the events taking place outside, Mrs Bewidigeldi turned back to watch another episode of Murder She Wrote, thus missing the moderately large fireball that had just torched her gazebo as a result of the joint efforts of two fire-casting demons, a blowtorch and an awful lot of flammable material.

smiley - biro

Though his face was blackened and more than just a little burnt, Pyrodæmon wasn't just about to give up, especially after having come this far. He'd found all thirteen Members of the Council and had now ceremoniously added some of the ashes from each one's cremation to the fire and he was now too impatient to worry about any of the business with that swan. If he had accidentally torched it along with one of that Council lot, then so be it — it could hardly interfere with his plans now, could it? He wondered for a moment whether he should add more diesel to the fire to compensate for the swan thing, but then realised that he was being silly. Adding fuel now would be an extremely dangerous and foolish thing to do — he'd get Lluchmoor to do it.

Lluchmoor was sitting in the cab of the tow truck, looking bored and wondering what to do. He was only too keen to help out Pyro with the important part of the job, and hopped down onto the ground without any persuasion whatsoever. All Pyro had to do was give Lluchmoor the remaining can of diesel and then go for a nice sit-down and a cup of tea and wait for the world to end. Lluchmoor, however, had different plans. As he threw the fuel onto the fire, he invoked a chant about his love of baked goods that, while not quite powerful to stop what Pyrodæmon had already started, was enough to have some very odd consequences. As planned, the whole world suddenly fell into darkness, but for some the reason the entire human race did not turn into lizard-like slaves that would answer Pyrodæmon's every beck and call. For starters, the overwhelming majority of them decided they would prefer to consist of rock cakes instead and there was also the matter of two amateur private detectives who, by some amazing coincidence, were both holding on to part of the down of a very special swan.

On the Subject of Pie Archive

AlexAshman

08.03.07 Front Page

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