Pete's face fell at the mention of the announcement. " Me? I ain't 'er dad," he protested. "Do I look like a Bunny?"

"As you have resided in the same residence with her mother for more than a year and there is no other adult male, you are in loco parentis."

"You can call me crazy all day long, but it still don't make me her dad," Pete objected.

It was a clear night, so Ignatius suggested they retreat to the balcony on the second floor. It faced north, overlooking the canal just beyond the expansive yard.

"I'll be glad to help you with your research today, Miss Clare. But I will be needing your notes, if you wouldn't mind."

"Notes?" she echoed, still somewhat in a daze.

"Yes, miss. The ones in yer, erm . . . hand. I presume."

Clare looked down her cleavage where her hand was still firmly lodged. "Thatwouldbethisthen," she mumbled as she handed the list to Jim.

He leant just slightly forward, elbows on the table, with his head propped on his hands, as he lazily scanned the plans.

"Gotcha!"

"YIP!" Ignatius jumped so high in surprise, he nearly hit the ceiling. Landing on his feet, he turned with an astonished look on his face to see Linda, smiling evilly with her tongue sticking out.

"Linda OakSquirrel! Is it your usual habit to greet people by grasping their buttocks unawares?"

"Oh, aye, gie's a jaur o olives, wadja!"

"Richt!" Angus called back. He went to the refrigerator, grabbed a couple of bottles of beer and then went to the cupboard. He abruptly pulled the curtain back revealing a stock-still Simon.

"Excuise me," Angus said, reaching for a jar, then closing the curtain and trundling off to the master bedroom where his friend Kenny sat, watching television.

"Absolutely," Johnny answered, pulling the arm on the tap to fill the glass. "News about our little runaways?"

Pete slammed his hand on the bar in front of Jess, genuinely startling her.

"Miss FærFyxe," he said quietly through a smile that showed perhaps a few too many teeth. "We keep a civil tongue in our 'eads round 'ere...

"Aaaarrrrrrooooooooooooo!"

"Sandra! You'll attract attention!" Slide warned.

"That is the general idea! Are you going to join me or not!"

Slide sighed heavily, but still, he stood by his wife and raised his head.

"AaaaarrrrroooooooYipyipyiprooooooo!"

"I feel like a complete and utter prat," Slide said, lowering his head for breath.

"However, to the left, is the brand new staircase to the basement, with a stable door ..."

"A stable door?" interrupted Ignatius. "Surely we wouldn't put an unstable door in a room filled with children, would we?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, Steve, but 'please' is misspelt," pointed out Ignatius.

Underneath the floor was concrete and, pressed into the concrete, when it had still been plastic, were the remains of a human, just as Jess had stated. As the corpse was wearing a suit, the only visible parts of the body itself were the side of the face and a hand, with desiccated flesh tenuously clinging to the skeleton.

"I never said I worked for him," Jess protested. "Although I freely admit that most of them have higher moral standards than I ever did. However, I also like to think I spent a great deal of time and effort in higher education so that I could assume a professional position that didn't involve hands and knees."

"Spoken like a true solicitor," Ignatius complimented.

There are an awful lot of humans about. Why aren't there any Frith? she wondered to herself. And why don't I recognize any of the buildings?
donate,
Then a car whizzed past followed quickly by another.

Dawn's eyes widened considerably. At this point, she decided that she had seen quite enough and didn't want to see any more. She quickly and quietly went back to the cabinet, down (and up) the stairs and into the basement of The tré. Shutting the door to the cabinet, she put her back to it as if to ensure that nothing would follow her through it.

He then tore a slit in each beer mat, halfway through, and stuck them together so that they stood at right angles with each other, one horizontal and the other vertical, forming something that was roughly spherical in appearance.

"Oh, sort of like a plan and an elevation on a blueprint," commented Geoff.

"Right," Steve said. "Now, if I'm a two-dimensional ant, living on the horizontal beer mat, I could only walk on the edge." He ran his finger along the edge of the horizontal beer mat. "But, if I turn at just the right point," his finger went to where the edges of the two beer mats met and now traced the edge of the vertical beer mat, "I can now be on the vertical beer mat. Of course, there is a slight change of direction."

Two hours later, Ignatius was snoring slightly on the canal bank with an empty pint glass in his hand.

Geoff turned her hand over and spilt a drop of blood from the scratch onto the bare floor where no tiles had yet been laid.

"Here, get some mortar on your trowel," he said.

Desiree scooped a little mortar up and held it.

"Spread it down on the floor, like you always do."

She spread the mortar on the floor, covering the spots of blood. Geoff handed her another tile. "Right, now put your tile down."

As Desiree fitted it into place with the spacers, she asked Geoff, "Is there a point to this?"

Deep backstage, in a dark corner, yet still light enough to see if one was patient enough to allow one's eyes to adjust, Angus sat at a small table, his hand supporting his chin. He stared at a little wooden box, silently contemplating his future or lack thereof.

"I thought. . . "

"Gah!" Angus shouted, grasping his heart. "Losh, Vixen!"

" . . . I might find you here," Jess finished calmly.

"Hou'd ye smook up on me like 'at?" Angus asked, amazed. "I didna hear ought!"

"I'm a Fox," Jess explained, patiently. "It's what I do."

She strutted into the lobby wearing thigh-high boots, a miniskirt, a halter top, and a little red cape with a hood.

Pete whistled. "Wha-hey! 'Ello, darlin', new in town?"

"Oh, stop it, Pete," Sandra blushed, tugging her skirt down a bit.

"It's got loads of benches. Must be some sort of meeting hall or town theatre," Grace mentioned. "I wonder if they do Portrayals like we do. Look, there's the stage, up..." Her voice stopped cold. Simon followed her gaze.

Grace screamed. It was magnified by the echo of the large room and was surprisingly startling. Simon desperately tried to put his hand over her mouth to get her to stop but she kept going, pointing to the hideous sculpture she saw above the stage. It was of a human, a ring of thorns piercing his head at a hundred points, with his hands and feet outstretched, nailed to a cross of wood and in obvious agony.

"Simon, look! They must be horrible barbarians! This is where they torture people!"

"Wouldn't you now?" Gina appraised the state of her vessel, found it to be satisfactory, placed it back on the shelf and grabbed another. "Y'know. I've heard rumours about the human lads."

"Rumours?" asked Clare. "What kinda rumours?"

"Excuse me," Ignatius said angrily, "I certainly hope you're not fighting."

As one, the pair looked up to see Ignatius, arms akimbo and looking very upset. Behind him, the sound of a dozen pair of boots found somewhere else to be besides looking out of the window.

"Oh, erm, na, na. Isna like 'at a'tall!" Thaddeus quickly denied.

NARRATOR:
And so it was that the little UNICORN had no one to play with.

Eric pouted and shuffled to centre stage and, at the last second, ripped off his horn, threw it on the ground and stomped on it several times.

Returning home, he seeks the advice of his mother.

"Mummmmyyyy!" Eric yowled, wringing his eyes, although technically it wasn't in the script.

Enter UNICORN MOTHER to stand behind UNICORN

Dawn entered the stage wearing the same little horn as Eric and stood next to him. Although substantially taller than he, it was patently obvious that she was not nearly old enough to be his mother. Thus, she was given some costume that helped encourage the image. The less obvious part was that her mane, which was tied in a bun to make it appear more matronly, was also dusted with flour to affect grey hair. The more noticeable element of the disguise, however, consisted of two balloons, positioned in the lower portion of her shirt, barely above her abdomen. Breaking from character herself, she pointed to the trodden horn that was still on the floor. Eric folded his arms and stomped his foot. Dawn sternly pointed at it again and Eric petulantly picked it up and strapped it on.

"Oh, thank Jack," she sighed, putting her head on his shoulder. "Oh, thank Jack," she repeated as she began to weep.

"Ah, poor dearie, got yersel a wee scar," Angus said as he stroked her head to comfort her. He heard her start to snivel a little. "Na fears, is awrite, dearie, is awrite."

Jess began to bawl uncontrollably.

"Excuse me," Ignatius said politely yet sternly, "are you insinuating that I am wearing a mask?"

"I'm not insinuating it," Anna retorted. "I'm stating it as a matter of fact."

"I must say," Ignatius said, feigning offence, "I feel rather affronted."

"Oh, do you?" asked Anna sarcastically.

"Chris! That was very rude! You apologise this instant!" Dawn scolded.

"I'm sorry," Chris whimpered, pawing at the ground with her boot.

"I don't wish to sound selfish," Grace began, "but what would you want with a picture?"

"Well, just humour an old priest, if you would." He leant forward and said in a conspiratorial tone, "I'd like to show some of my friends who's been helping me along all this time."

"All right," Grace agreed, almost laughing. "I've done things more daft than giving a photograph to a blind man."

In most serious accidents, the amount of time from when one realises that one is about to be in an accident and when the accident actually occurs, is usually quite short, thus there is little time to react. On this occasion, however, Simon and Grace had several seconds notice that they were about to be involved in a serious, probably painful and possibly lethal mishap. Grace held tight to Simon and said simply, "Goodbye." Simon remained speechless.

Fauvel, however, had other ideas. She was a mare in her twentieth year – far from the prime of life – but she was damned if she was going to let herself get run over by an overpriced sedan of foreign origin.

Canter, canter, canter, crouch and...

Fauvel jumped over the railing, right in the middle of the bridge. From the point of view of the road they were on, it was an easy thing, even with two riders, as it was no more than a few feet high. However, on the other side of the railing, it was another matter. Even on her very best day, Fauvel could not have jumped as high as it was from the canal to the bridge, which came to roughly fifteen feet. Fortunately for her, the laws of gravity tend to work in one's favour when one is going down, which was definitely the case. Unfortunately for Fauvel and company, the impact of the ground from a fall at such a height, particularly for a horse, could have very severe consequences.

Linda entered the basement of the Rialto from the cabinet and crossed the floor. Climbing the stairs, she approached a window that was within easy reach. As she had done several times before, she tripped a small switch to disable the burglar alarm and then opened the window.

As it was half past five in the morning, the sun was just broaching the horizon. They had chosen this time for their assignations, as there would be daylight, yet the small road next to the basement window would be devoid of human activity, except for the occasional car.

"Good morning, Stevie," Linda chirped, resting her head on her arms, which were folded on the window sill.

Steve, who was standing on the pavement, two yards away beyond a chainlink fence, turned around and looked down at the window. "Hello, Linda. How's tricks?"

"Haven't turned any lately," Linda replied.