Читать книгу Arrabella Candellarbra - A.K. Wrox - Страница 14

Gary's talk of entwined destinies was not really what forced the hands of our adventurers - they simply couldn't stay in the meadow a second longer in their miniaturised state. The danger was far too great. A bumball bee, the size of a small plane, had buzzed dangerously close and was returning for another flyover. Scarier than that, was a black windex spider, spread out like an eight-legged army tank, who was coming their way, trailing a silver web thicker than Langley's thigh behind her.

Arrabella got to her feet and reluctantly walked toward the door, reaching out one delicate hand to turn the wrought-iron door handle.

'Here goes nothing, or something, or anything for that matter,' she whispered, and pulled the door towards herself. She was just about to step forth into territories unknown when one thick, oily and forceful arm shot out and barred her from entering.

'No, my dear heart, love of all loves, fearless and...'

'Blagh!' cried Jim, sticking his fingers down his throat. 'Get on with it before we're all too ill to leave.'

Arrabella stepped aside to allow the smooth-talking Langley to enter first. For all that he looked good though, sometimes she wished he'd keep his pillow-lips closed. After all, she'd been going through doors first her entire life.

Gary and Jim huddled behind Arrabella; Arrabella clung to Langley's waist - because she could; and Langley strode fearlessly through the little door.

The door closed behind them with a bang and slam and the Four found themselves enveloped in a darkness so dark and consuming that they thought they would suffocate.

Jim groped behind him for the door, to open it and allow a little light to penetrate but all he felt was the bark of a tree. 'The door, it's gone!' he cried.

Gary joined Jim, and with much oohing and aahing from the little fairy, Gary also groped in the darkness for the door.

'It is here,' the Wizard said, 'way down near my shoe. The door has shrunk, shrivelled even. Or we've grown. That's it! We've grown. But I don't understand, we haven't consumed any fungus. What is going on?'

Nobody was listening to Gary's ponderings as they searched the darkness for each other to cling to. 'We must stick together!' cried Arrabella, reaching out for Langley's hand.

'My dear, Arrabella,' Langley exclaimed breathlessly, his voice also thick with desire. 'I hardly think this is the time, why don't you hold my hand instead?'

Arrabella, grateful for the darkness that hid the deep flush of embarrassment that burned across her face, dropped the log-like appendage that she'd mistaken for her Lord's muscular arm.

Then quite suddenly and unexpectedly, and given the circumstances a little too soon for Arrabella, there was… a light! A bright light - as bright as a mensa-star and as warm as any of the suns - seared itself through the darkness. Involuntarily, the Four raised their arms to their faces to shield their eyes from the blinding brightness.

A lamp-post. Really?

That incredibly intense iridescent light was coming from a lamp-post. And a rather old-fashioned lamp-post at that; with a tall wrought iron pedestal and a little square glass box containing the source of the illumination, which apparently lit up the entire land around them. A land that was inexplicably covered in snow.

A land-lighting-lamp?

Beside the lamp-post, immobile and dazed, terrified and traumatised, stood an odd little creature with the head and torso of a man and the legs and hooves of a goat.

'Ooh, a faun,' cried Prince Jim, jigging his heel-clicking jig and clapping his hands in glee. 'A fantabulously-furry, hopefully friendly faun!'

Meanwhile over by the lamp-post, the faun shook his bearded head gravely and creased up his eyebrows, taking in each of the warriors in turn.

Finally he said, 'Why have you come here? Why here, of all the lands and grounds and lakes and deserts and circus tents, why did you have to happen into this one?' The faun was wringing his hands as though trying to shake something nasty and itchy and probably a little icky from them.

'The Queen of Turkish Tarts will have your heads if she finds you. And my head too, just for talking to you. You must flee. Go. Flee. Now!'

The little faun, trembling with terror, paced backwards and forwards, sidewards and slantwards, all the while muttering: 'Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,' over and over again. The wretched state of the fretting faun tugged at Arrabella's over-ripe heartstrings so she placed a hand on his shoulder, halting his step.

'My dear friend, whatever can be so awful, so dreadful, so harrowingly, heart-wrenchingly horrid that it would make you behave so?'

'Friend?' cried the faun, coldly. 'Don't call me friend. She'll hear you. Or the trees will hear you and tell her. Or the little birdie will tell the trees to tell her. You must go, run, flee, disappear, skedaddle, get the wiggly-whoops away from this place. The Queen of Turkish Tarts will be making her rounds any moment, checking for intruders and gertruders and tart-stealing pastry chefs. If she finds you she shall surely have your heads, and possibly your necks and shoulders too, for her Cranium Court. Please, please leave! For my sake at least; I'm rather attached to my head.'

Arrabella, being the wily and magical wonder-woman that she was, never could run from a challenge; and this was like a double-dare with torture, kiss and promise. She would not flee from it. Not ever. Never.

For, surely, this was a test. A test on the quest; the quest requested at Buttercup's bequest.

She turned to her faithful three. 'My friends, this little goat-man; um, what is your name, funny goat-man?'

'Bruce,' he lifted his chin defiantly, sure that they would jeer and taunt him for not having a more faun-like name like his brothers Cecil, Cyril and Cedric.

'Right,' Arrabella carried on, not noticing Bruce's discomfort. 'Bruce has warned us of impending danger. A Turkish tart. The Queen of Turkish Tarts.

'Now, my spidey-senses are tingling and they demand that we face this challenge. There is a reason we have been flung into this strange land of darkness and lamp-posts and fidgeting fauns, and we must not retreat or hide. Are you with me?'

Arrabella faced each of her companions in turn. Her lovely Lord, he of the perfect oily manliness stepped forward immediately and dipped his head. 'Always my love; always and forever. I will follow you to the ends of whichever earth we find ourselves.' He flexed his biceps to emphasise his point.

'Of course we are with you, Arrabella,' said the wise Wizard, grasping his Llama-Bone wand in a gnarled, trembling hand. Arrabella wondered if he was ever actually going to use it. Gary seemed to be saving up his magics for an opportune moment, and she was interested to see what sort of fire-power he had.

She turned toward the pistachio fairy and silently asked the question of him, too. 'Of course!' Jim clapped his hands yet again and stretched his hands above his little green head.

At first Arrabella thought he was just reaching for his trusty bow and arrow from his dainty celadon quiver.

But that wasn't at all what Prince Jim did.

With a small grunt, a twist and a hiccup and some rather odd contortionist-type bending of his shoulder blades, followed by a fairy-shudder so brief it could have been an illusion and an audible crack of his neck - Prince Jim of the Fey released his wings.

Arrabella gasped.

Gary smiled knowingly.

And Langley froze, the muscles in his considerable torso quivered and his buttocks clenched in shock. Or was it bewilderment, or a touch of appendage-envy?

Jim stretched his wings to their full extension and winked at Langley. He expected this reaction from the oh-so-manly Lord. It was always the way when a fairy showed off his most-prized possession.

Jim's unfurled wings sprouted from either side of his shoulders like huge hands of the softest, finest, palest-green scrotum skin. They whispered on the breeze as he flapped them suggestively at Langley. The glistening snow reflected the sparkling emerald sequins that formed patterns along the wing-tips and showed Jim's royal heritage like a pea green rainbow against the crisp white carpet underfoot.

Langley remained speechless, while Arrabella said, 'Wow, they're pretty um...'

Jim held up a helpfully halting hand. 'Yes, I know. Impressive, aren't I? But you can tell me how wonderful they are later. I'll even let you stroke them if you like. For now - we must be ready for this Queen of Turkish Tarts, whoever she may be.'

Arrabella, impressed by Jim's sudden Princely-ness, nodded and drew her Inuuku wand.

Silently they waited. And waited. The tension became almost tangible, like a stale fog that hung in the air. Bruce the faun took his own advice and retreated to the shadow. But patiently and stoically, the four heroes stood their ground, awaiting whatever evil was coming their way.

It was the fair Fey Prince who first felt her coming a couple of minutes later. His wings, like giant radar detectors, picked up the vibration before any of them saw her.

'Quickly, quickly my Lord; oh yes, and Arrabella. And Gary. Be ready for 'something', as a 'something' is certainly headed in this direction at tubular speed!'

From nowhere, or somewhere like it, Lord Langley Kilkenny drew a sword of remarkable lustre and length. Adorned with peacock feathers and leather straps studded with what looked suspiciously like human teeth, the blade was all at once rather pretty and terrifying.

'Oh, my Lord, wherever have you been hiding your weapon?' Arrabella asked breathlessly.

'My lady, it has been with me all along,' Langley admitted.

Arrabella's mind boggled as to what else was hiding under the tiny scrap of cloth.

The Four offered any likely foe an arresting sight, armed as they were with Innuku wand and warrior skill; massive sword and rippling muscles; bow, arrows and magnificent wings; Llama-Bone and centuries of wise-knowledge and magics.

And they stood as fearsome warriors, facing the direction Prince Jim had directed in his directions to be at the ready.

Within seconds, a rumbling could be heard. Jim pricked his pointy fairy ears and nodded, drawing his bow. Arrabella sensed hooves, thundering and calompachomping through the snow. In mere moments, her spidey-senses proved her right once again. For out of the Cimmerian Woodland to the north, appeared a splendid sleigh pulled by six galloping Centaurs.

Arrabella's brilliant eyes brimmed with tears. She had never before seen such pitiful creatures. The usually-proud Centaurs were harnessed to one another by titanium chains. Already resistant to most forms of earth-magic, these chains also bubbled with the indigo sparks of a powerful enchantment. In every place that the titanium touched a Centaur's skin, it bit and twisted like a barbed southern squid-jig.

The sleigh itself was made of a luminescent rosaceous pink crystal-like glass, ornately adorned with white gold katerlee roses and ivy and morgantheums. The inside was lined with rich alsinaceous velvet, piled high with soft, fluffy cushions of the same fabric.

Atop all of this, and obscenely-magnificent in her coralline silk gown, titian hair blowing behind her, sat she who could only be The Queen of Turkish Tarts.

She yodelled and whipped the Centaurs with a purpurin coil of leather, demanding they halt so she could address the newcomers.

Never before had any of the heroic questing-quartet seen such poise, such elegance or such an overwhelming regal presence. This woman was nothing short of magnificent and all but glowed with her prestigious rank.

Arrabella could barely look the queen in the eyes, so overwhelmed was she with a wave of unworthiness.

Wise Gary dropped to his knees before the amazing creature atop the candy-floss sleigh.

Flighty-fairy Jim fluttered his wings and floated to the ground beside the wizard.

Lord Langley hesitated for a moment, seemingly drawn more to the wretched Centaurs than by the Queen herself. His chiselled features darkened with waves of painful compassion for the beasts before he too succumbed and fell to one bare and oily knee to pay homage to the woman who held their fates.

Arrabella curtsied low, her eyes cast down toward the ground, unable to speak and thankful that none of her companions had yet dared to. This Queen demanded attention and probably obedience and was unlikely to take kindly to unsolicited chatter.

At last the Queen rose from her velvet settee; in her hand, an ornate glass sceptre carved with the same filigree patterns as the sleigh. She slammed it into the ground, inches from the knees of the prostrate forms before her whereon an orb of the most delicate pink sapphire, which sat atop the sceptre, cast strobes of pink light across the land. It was rather like a salmon-sun shower.

The titian-haired queen stood tall and grand, prepared to make an announcement. She cleared her throat loudly, in a manner most-unbecoming of a lady in her position.

'Oi!' she said, and placed one bejewelled hand on her hip; her posture now askew and jaunty.

'Wadda you lot doin' here? Huh? This 'ere is my joint; ya can't just come wanderin in wiffout my say so. Ya got that?'

The woman's voice was exactly like the squeal of a sexually-stimulated howler monkey on the hunt for satisfaction. It scraped and scratched at the backs of their eardrums, sending shivers and shudders and shockingly savage spasms over their shoulders, down their spines and back again for good measure.

'Whaddaya doin 'ere? Who are ya? And who invited ya? Watch 'ow ya answer me but; coz if I don't like yer answers, I'll af to ave yer spines rammed through yer brain pipes, right?'

Suddenly terrified - because really, how on earth do you respond to someone like that, let alone best them in a fight - Arrabella hoped that one of the others would find some sense, or their voice, and be able to answer on behalf of them all. Arrabella was sure that if she tried to speak, her throat would constrict and all that would emerge would be the strangled mewings of a disknee-mouse.

Thankfully - finally and courageously - the perfect specimen of manliness by Arrabella's side stepped up graciously, though still bowing his ebony head.

'Your Highness,' Lord Langley began, without the slightest hesitation or hiccup in his deep, steady voice. 'Please, forgive our rude intrusion into your beautiful homeland. We are but visitors who hope to be made welcome.' He stole a few glances at the heaving Centaurs.

'I am Lord Langley Kilkenny, of the Laventory Kingdom. My travelling companions and I seek food and shelter; we have travelled many miles and are in need of rest. I am sure your Highness would gladly accommodate us in return for a bushel of strawberry vodka and a shopping tour with my aunt, the Crown Princess of Birthday Land?'

'Birfdy Land, eh? Hmm, never 'eard of it, but it sounds like fun. Will yer aunt be footin the bill?'

Langley nodded sincerely.

'Yeh, well, awright then,' she said, gazing at Langley's bare and shimmering pectoral muscles. 'Besides, I reckon I've got a little sumpfin to satisfy all your urges; you big 'ol hunk o man-meat. Git on in 'ere then.' She patted the seat beside her.

Gary, Arrabella and Jim turned to one another; none quite trusting the strangely-beguiling, yet oddly-ocker Queen of Turkish Tarts. But Langley urged them in after him; waving them forward to join the queen in her cruel but startlingly-pretty sleigh.

Arrabella nodded in agreement; they had little choice but to follow. The tarty-queen was obviously not one to be trifled with. To do so might bring her wrath down upon them, and who knew what form that could take. So they muttered their thanks and climbed aboard the luxurious sleigh.

Besides, Arrabella thought, who's to say this woman was not part of their quest?

Arrabella, Jim and Gary huddled closely behind the Queen, while Langley, much to the dismay of Arrabella, sat up front and not-quite-centre next to the Queen, who licked her lips and fluttered her eyelashes before whipping the sad Centaurs into action. The sleigh jerked to a start.

Langley edged forward, toward the Centaurs, and whispered an unintelligible something which seemed to sooth the ailing beasts.

'Oi! Watcha fink yer doin?' shrieked the Queen. 'Them's mine. You got no right to be talkin to em.'

'What do you mean, talking to them?' gasped Arrabella. 'Nothing he said to those poor creatures made any sense; to me, anyway.'

'My darling Arrabella,' Langley turned around to face her in surprise. 'Did you not know before now who I am?'

Arrabella looked confused. 'Do I know now?'

Langley smiled. 'Do none of you realise? Have you not heard the legends, the stories and tales of my heritage? There are historical scrolls of parchment, lots of them, all devoted to my family tree. Did you not study me in all of your years of training with the Reginas?'

Arrabella shrugged and looked at Jim. Jim looked at Gary, who shrugged too. Gary looked to the Queen, who shrugged with a sneer, looked blankly at Langley and said, 'Nuh.'

Langley sighed. 'My dearest Arrabella and friends. I am the Beast Master. The one and only - of the moment. Every generation there is a chosen one, and my father, before he was killed by the seven-fingered man, chose me. I can speak in the tongue of every beast, every bird, and every bug in every land.'

Prince Jim clapped his hands with glee, almost falling out of their speeding chariot. Arrabella looked so shocked that Gary had to hold her by the shoulders lest she fall to an icy grave. Only he, the wisest of the wise, didn't seem too surprised by this revelation; as though he had known this from the beginning but it had somehow slipped his mind along the way.

'Madam,' Langley said, addressing the now furious queen. 'I was merely thanking these delightful creatures for their services.'

In reply, the Queen of Turkish Tarts growled deep in her throat, swirled something around in her mouth then spat a great glob of rancid booger over the side of the sleigh.

Whereon they rode on in near silence, save for the occasional whispered taunts from Jim to Arrabella. Things like: 'You really didn't know? Aren't you supposed to be soul mates? Didn't he even mention it? Why do you think he didn't tell you before, Arrabella? Does he really trust you?'

Gary glared at the little Prince, wishing with all his might that he could take out his Llama-Bone wand and smite the cheeky imp with the curse of the tongue-tourniquets. But all he could do was pat the maiden's knee with reassurance and flick at the fairy's wings.

Arrabella sat sullenly as the sled bounced over the rocky and bumpy and extremely uneven path. Perhaps Jim was right? How long had she known Langley? Not even long enough to fry a fufu felafel, that's how long. Why had he chosen her, of all the competitors on the field?

For all she knew he could be the enemy. A very muscular, well-oiled, ultra-handsome, perfect specimen of an enemy but...

Arrabella's thoughts trailed off to the secret place beneath that scanty loincloth. What other surprises did he hide down there?

No! Arrabella decided she must refrain from thinking of those places and those muscles and the chiselled good looks until she knew more about him and what other secrets he possessed. He could well have enchanted her with a love potion or, more likely, a lust potion. The Reginas were probably right; love and lust were mere fairytales, told to keep the kingdoms populated and under control.

But still, she couldn't help but wish that Langley, the Master of all Beasts, would master the beast of desire and yearning that growled within her.

After some time, the trees and rocks, crevices and creases, cracks and cokes cleared and they entered a beautiful meadow. Grass as deep as plush-pile piggeries and thick with drops of dew, twinkled in the starlight. Flowers in every shade of pink from damask to flamingo and rose to rumba, blossomed in a carpet that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Arrabella tilted her head to listen to the sweet melodies of the topforty-birds and the gentle humming of bees and dragonflies that must surely be there. She tilted further. And further still, until her head rested uncomfortably halfway to the ground. Gary noticed and dragged her back into the sleigh.

She gave the wizard a meaningful look. There was nothing to be heard. Not a sound. Not a single living creature, besides themselves and the luckless Centaurs, was to be seen or heard anywhere.

Arrabella looked to Langley to see what a Beast Master would make of this and found that he too was leaning at an awkward angle, his ears pricked but unhearing.

The sled moved softly and more slowly than before, across the meadow, as if the Centaurs were afraid of crushing even one of the magnificent blooms.

'Awright you lot, almost there,' said the queen, with the excited animation of a tapping toon.

Before them stretched a large expanse of rippling water, a liquid ring, which Arrabella realised, after several seconds, was actually a moat. The sled hiccupped across the small stone bridge that was the only means of crossing the moat.

'Welcome to me palace!' the Queen exclaimed, waving one long, slender arm in front of her game-show-host style.

The four gasped in unison at the sight before them. Surrounded by the moat, in a clearing of grass was a very large, shockingly Mary-Kay pink, palace on wheels. A Trailer Palace?

'It's, um,' Arrabella searched for words to describe the palace, words she hoped would not offend the queen. How does one describe a pink trailer without using the words trash or tramp or ridiculous? 'It's... unlike anything I've ever seen before,' she said at last.

'I know; bewdiful, aint it? Designed it meself,' said the Queen, pride radiating from every pore.

She led the way up a small path and through a metallic pink door that chimed as it opened.

Once inside the Four gasped again, more shocked than they'd been to see the trailer, for surely there was some sort of enchantment at work here. The door had opened to reveal a grand ballroom, every bit as pink as the outside, but palatial and luxurious and, well - huge.

Chandeliers hung from the ceiling like bunches of a birthday girl's party balloons. Ornate spiral staircases, woven with roses and cherubs and pupae bows, stretched both up and down to other levels.

The Queen, ever the hospitable host, put her perfectly manicured fingers into her mouth and blew; emitting an ear-piercing whistle that alerted her staff - or slaves by the look - to her presence. There was a silent scurry of activity and, within seconds, a banquet table stretched before them, away across the ballroom and with seating for at least thirty-six. Laid with the finest crystal, the most delicate china, the shiniest silver and the tartiest tuppyware, the table was a sight to behold.

Several large cuts of meat, glazed until they glowed, were placed as the centrepiece, with every manner of fruit and vegetable, bread and bologna, sauce, gravy and sickly syrup, surrounding it.

'Two, four, six, eight, bog in, don't wait,' said the queen, lifting a fork and stabbing a cut of pork as large as a prairie prigga onto it. The others watched in horror as she bought it straight to her mouth and tore off a chunk with her teeth, spat it onto her plate and threw the rest back towards the table centre.

Regardless of their hostess' lack of manners, our heroes were so ravenous that they wasted no time helping themselves to the marvellous feast before them. They even managed, somehow, to ignore the slurping and sucking and false-teeth clicking of the Queen of Turkish Tarts as she ate.

When at last they had eaten their fill of dinner, and then second dinner, the queen again whistled for her slaves. At once several little mole-like creatures, dressed as penguins with bee-hives for hair, arrived in a frenzy and cleared the table. They were immediately followed by a second shift who replaced the empty platters with exotic desserts of raspberries, strawberries and bosomberries; then pavlova and periwinkle pudding, high towers of plaster cup-cakes and chocolate-doused banana splits.

Finally the feast was over and, as the day's events had taken their toll on the Fab Four, they literally swayed on their feet with weariness and full-belliedness.

Arrabella yawned appreciatively and thanked their host sincerely. The queen may have had some strange ways, but the woman knew how to throw a dinner party.

Gary asked directions to somewhere they could refresh and lay their heads for the evening.

Obligingly, the Queen whistled for yet another of her slaves. This time a pot-bellied dwarf, wearing a hot-pink gimp mask and carrying a short riding crop, motioned for them to follow him.

Uncertain, the group had no choice but to follow this strange looking creature.

'Oi! You, Mr Beast-man,' the Queen called to Langley. 'You can come with me. I told ya I had a surprise for yer. It's waiting. You can catch up wif the others later on.' She smiled sweetly and eyed his muscular body with lecherous eyes.

Langley turned to Arrabella and shrugged. What was he to do? He had envisioned himself luxuriating in the arms (and possibly legs) of Arrabella for the night. But they were guests of this Queen; she was the sovereign of this land; and his father had always taught him to be polite. Somehow, he managed to convey this to his love, and she closed her eyes and nodded; while a single tear slipped over her alabaster cheek.

'I said now!' the Queen stomped her foot and stuck out her bottom lip. Her steely gaze reminded Arrabella of a raptor descending on its prey, but she knew Langley could look after himself. He was brave, he was strong, he hid all manner of goodies under that loincloth and he was, after all, the Beast Master.

Arrabella grasped Gary's hand and watched sadly as the Queen led Langley away. She hoped his surprise would not take long, and that he'd soon be back in her arms for the evening.

The dwarf tapped his crop impatiently, and along with the now slightly-dishevelled Gary and a not-so-perky Fairy Prince Jim, Arrabella allowed herself to be led in the opposite direction to Langley.

Along a series of twisting corridors they went, their route taking them down several flights of stairs as well. Down, down, deeper and down they descended; below the trailer and into the earth itself, far below the ground and rapidly approaching the Middle of the Earth.

There were no windows where they were or where they were going, and no ornate, if somewhat-gaudy decorations. The splendour and grandeur of the upper floors of the trailer-palace were left far behind.

Arrabella grew frightened. Frightened for herself and her companions but even more so for her luscious Lord, who had been taken goodness knows where for goodness knows what.

Oh why hadn't she listened to the Voice in the tower? They were strongest together, not apart, Buttercup had said.

Finally, the little dwarf, who hadn't spoken to them at all (the gimp mask probably had something to do with that) pointed to a small set of stone-grey, grey stone steps.

'Down there.' he mumbled from behind the lurid leather.

The hapless three marched down the stairs gingerly to find a dark, dank and really smelly little room. The walls, ceiling and the floor were stone, adorned only by some clusters of filthy hay and a couple of bones. The door slammed behind them, and a key turned in a lock.

'Ooh, this place is stinky. And the bones are icky. Eew,' Jim wailed, wringing his hands pathetically. 'I don't like these guest quarters one little bit!'

'Guest quarters?' said Arrabella. 'These aren't guest quarters. That piece of Trailer-Palace-Park-Trash has gone and locked us in her dungeon!'

Meanwhile, the luscious Lordly Beast Master trailed behind the trashy Turkish tart, his feet dragging with weariness and sadness and a certain amount of unspent lustiness.

She led him up a staircase, down a short corridor, through one door and then another, up another flight of stairs, round a little bend in a circle that seemed to serve no other purpose than to disorientate Langley… down a long corridor, past several doors until finally, they reached the very last door, of the very last corridor, on the very last floor of the spacious trailer-palace.

The Queen opened the door with a flourish. 'Ta-da!' she said, pushing Langley forwards so that he found himself in the most lavish, and most lascivious room he'd ever laid eyes on.

The walls and windows were hung with drapes and sheets and scarves and bras of organza, lace and silk. Mirrors adorned the ceiling and, right in the centre, and the focal-point of the room, stood a heart-shaped, candy-pink bed of gigantuan proportions.

But it wasn't so much the bed itself that immediately caught Langley's attention.

Atop the bed, luxuriating in various states of undress and in all manner of seductive poses, were seven girls of surpassing beauty. All but two - who were too busy investigating what the other had hidden beneath their itty-bitty skirts - looked up longingly at Langley, eyes filled with want and bodies arched eagerly toward him.

Langley had heard tell of Seven Girls, just like these, who had once lived peacefully with an ebony haired, white skinned maiden until they were tempted with a piece of fruit and abducted by the vainest of vain queens. Langley had always believed it to be a fairytale, but now he was certain that they truly existed.

'Really? The seven little whores?' he stammered, his loin cloth rising involuntarily.

The Queen nodded. 'Your surprise,' she said, grinning like a Cheddar Cat.

'Beast Master, meet: Candy, Shandy, Mindy, Cindy, Bambi, Barbie and… Dolores.'

'No, no, no,' said Langley, shaking his head vehemently, willing himself to mean the words even as he moved slowly toward the bed.

'NO!' he added a little more forcefully, turning for the door. 'My darling Arrabella, I must go to her. Only she and she alone, holds the key to my heart and my soul and all my other good bits.'

'Consider this a practice match then, awright,' said the Queen. 'Yer Arrabella will be grateful that you'll be so experienced.' With that the queen was gone and the door locked behind her.

Langley pounded his sizable fists against the door, bellowing to be released. But nobody could hear his cries, so deep within the maze of the Trailer Palace's rooms and stairs and corridors, was he.

Nobody with normal, human hearing that is. But, outside in the stables, the Centaurs to whom he had shown a small kindness earlier began to keen.

Langley pounded a little longer but soon realised that resistance was futile, and his energies would be better spent pounding something else. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was his only chance of escape. If he could service these little whores, satisfy their needs, they would let him go. And though there may be seven of them, he should be more than a match for them. He did have, after all, ten fingers, ten toes, a rather nimble tongue and, of course, his nose wasn't simply there for decoration.

He turned towards the bed once more, prepared to meet his fate. He'd take it like a man; for the sake of his companions, of course. Arrabella would understand, be proud of him even, for what would she do without him? He must do whatever it took to be by her side again.

Candy or Shandy, or it could have been Mandy for all he knew, moved slowly and seductively toward him. She kissed him gently on the lips and then slithered her body, snake-like down his, so that every muscle, and one in particular, ached. She led him by the tender bits to the giant, heart-shaped bed where he lay back to await his punishment.

Mindy, or maybe Lindy, stroked the bulging muscle… of his thigh; while Dolores worked on his pointed… toes.

Langley was lost in his lust and desire and insatiable need. He fondled and fiddled, patted and pushed, bucked and...

All thoughts of Arrabella, of his friends and, of his quest, disappeared; washed away in a tide of juice.