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of any,” remarked Freddie, reining his horse in beside them. Leibniz
scampered down and sat on Al’s lap, fingers combing through his hair as if looking
for something to snack on.
    “Leibniz, ouch,” said Al, and
took the primate’s fingers out of his hair, receiving a withering look for his
troubles.
    “Here, Al,” said Freddie and
upended a flask full of water over his brother’s head.
    “What did you do that for?” He wiped
pinkish water out of his eyes.
    “We need to see how badly hurt you
are, you dolt. Lucretia, do you have something that we can clean Al up with and
some kind of cloth to tie around his head?”
    “Do I look like a travelling salesman
to you?”
    “No need to be tetchy, dear.”
    “Just saying. And no, not on my
person. Oh, hang on. I can do this.” She pulled hard and ripped the bottom
of her dress. “Here you are.” She handed the swathe of fabric over.
    “Freddie! You really are hurting me!”
    “Hush now, nearly finished. And there
we go, not so bad after all. Told you, head wounds always bleed something shocking.
Now for the piece de resistance, tah dah!”
    Lucretia sniggered.
    “I’m not sure what you’re laughing at
Lucretia, you were similarly turbaned recently. Not with a head wound granted,
but I do wonder sometimes.” Freddie neatly sidestepped the swipe that
followed.
    “On a scale from one to ten, how silly
do I look?”
    “It’s not so much the striped turban
or the blood on your jacket or the mud on your knees–and no doubt your arse–it’s
kind of …” Lucretia flapped her hands around as if hoping to conjure up
the right words from thin air. “The whole effect is…well, you have looked
better.” She offered her brother her arm and hauled him up. Whereupon he
set to brushing himself off somewhat ineffectually.
    “Well at least the horse is still
here. But I would suggest that you walk, Al. Let me know if your head aches or
your vision is blurry and we will stop.”
     
    *
     
    “You have got to be kidding me.”
Lucretia stood in the middle of the street, if it could be called a street. She
turned slowly and took in what she had already seen, hoping that she had made a
terrible error. But no, everything was still as it had been. A wonky wooden
sign, proclaiming ‘Slough!’ in badly chiselled letters. A dusty road. Trees.
The Inn. The Shoppe. More silence.
    “Oh, Freddie,” she whispered. “What
have you done?”
    “It will be fine. You will love it!”
    She could see right through his bonhomie,
and was about to tell him so, when they were interrupted by a small woman
entirely in white waddling their way. Even her hair, tucked into a prim,
ruffled cap was white. Lucretia supposed she had lots of time to keep on top of
her laundry.
    “Well met, and welcome to Slough!”
She beamed, taking in the tired family, eyes widening when she saw Al, and even
more when she saw Orion, Leibniz, and Lucretia’s monoscope.
    “Oh. I’m thinking that was your
luggage that I saw being driven through here to the old house earlier today?
And look at you, sir, back from some distant war recently? And what interesting
pets you have. My Jim keeps a pig–Jim! We have company!–called Mr. Trotters,
but nothing quite so exotic as the bird and the monkey here. And my, oh, my,
what happened to you dearie?” She walked over to Lucretia and enfolded her
in a bear hug. “It’s not often that I find someone smaller than myself. Ha,
ha! And you, sir, must be the new Astronomer we’ve heard so much of? Very fancy
if I do say so myself. Yes indeed. Jim! Where are you?”
    “Indeed, madam,” replied Freddie,
all decorum and dignity, “and you are?”
    “Bless you, dear. I am Mrs. V, this
here shoppe and inn are mine. And my husband’s of course. Jim!”
    “Where is everybody?” Lucretia
took in the ghost town.
    Mrs. V looked at her like she had lost her
reason. “Why they are all up at the castle, where on earth else did you
think they would be? But then, I suppose