John couldn't believe his eyes. The landscape around him hadn't changed a single bit, and he would have assumed he hadn't actually gone anywhere new at all had it not been for the huge glass buildings which very slightly gave the game away. However, the most impressive feature of all was a huge stone plinth with large, authoritative letters carved into it:

'Do you like it? We had to replace the previous one many years ago after erosion nearly washed it away. I must say I've always thought there's a little bit too much interpretation in the new version.'

Having spent several seconds in a state of extreme bewilderment, John turned round to see that a man dressed in ghostly white had arrived quite silently behind him.

'Who are you? Come to think of it – where am I?'

'I'm Gerald, and you're just outside Swanburyness, capital of the planet Cygnus. You're definitely not from round here, are you?'

'No. I'm from London.'

'Yes, yes – quite a good one, that. I have heard it before, you know. Let me guess – you just floated down on a sacred feather and here you are.'

'Well, actually, yes. I did.'

'Oh deary me... You must be a human – they always do have the strangest sense of humour. Goodness knows how you got here – you'd better follow me.'

The man dressed in ghostly white led the way across the grassy plains, humming quietly to himself as a man in a bright white toga might conceivably do. On the way, they passed several other people, all of whom John might have considered more or less unremarkable save for the fact that they all wore exactly the same painstakingly-immaculate white robes. John was about to enquire exactly what sort of washing powder the people of this planet used when they arrived at the entrance to one of the tall glass buildings, at which point Gerald asked John to give his name to the security clerk. John did exactly that, and then watched as the two Cygnians' jaws dropped in perfect synchrony.

Pyrodaemon's head hadn't hurt this badly since he had last tried to get out of his Vauxhall Astra Merit in a hurry for the reason that both he and vehicle had been on fire at the time. However, back then there had been a definite reason for the concussion that he'd had to cope with; right now he was very much confused as to why he should have to endure such pain. Pyro shook his head and went to get up only to notice that his arms were looking a tad more feathery than usual, and that his ground clearance had been dramatically reduced to the point that he barely reached Galen's kneecaps. This didn't really matter, though, as a few seconds later he had stopped worrying about his predicament, instead choosing to wonder whether it was a nice day outside.

Galen took one last glance at the rather dead-looking Cygnian on the other side of the room, then scooped up Pyro and carried him off towards the portal. Although he still smelt a bit off, Pyrodaemon now had the same brilliant white down that you might expect to see on any Cygnus olor; meanwhile, the Cygnian prisoner was just the first of many who would pay for the injustice done to Galen. It was such a brilliant idea that Galen could hardly believe he'd managed to come up with it – the portal would happily open now that he was carrying a newly-created swan, and with a bit of luck it would deposit Pyro and he in roughly the same time and place as all the other swans. All that he needed now was John Pie's address and preferred mode of death, and Galen would soon be sitting back in his throne with thousands obeying his every word. Most importantly, he'd have someone else to catch the boars for him – he'd never let on, but he was in fact completely useless when it came to farming those disgusting creatures, and he had absolutely no idea how anyone could ever have tamed the things.

On the Subject of Pie Archive

AlexAshman

31.01.08 Front Page

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