It was with a very, very heavy heart that I embarked upon the stair to my study. Upon the empty plane of my desk I most regretfully laid my account statements, my cheque register, a veritable mountain of receipts and vouchers of one kind or another. I lit a candle and settled down to work by its fitful and inconsequential flame.
Oh, Capricious Fate! What evil you do such as I! How can it be that I must stop all creation to fiddle with such low matters as Tedious Finance! This is no fit occupation for a gentleman, certainly not for one of my caliber. How the world suffers for it, how Mankind must suffer at my lack of fit industry. It is not to be borne! I collect my pipe and faggots and fire up the bowl.
A moment of quiet reflection and a comfortable smoke well restored my humor. I set down my pipe, nestled against the cork knocker (quite useless for my purposes) and prepared to set to with a will to conquer my accounts in short order.
There came a knocking at the door.
I froze. When I had entered the room, there was no one else in the house. There could be no knocking at my study door. I had not even a cat for company and cats do not have knuckles sufficient to knock there.
The knocking came again, louder.
Incensed, I thundered, "Who is there?!"
Suddenly, there was a horrific and huge cacophony, as though the house itself were being torn in half, a railroad steam engine run down the hall outside the room, and the door and the wall housing it exploded inward! I dived under the heavy wooden desk, a monumental behemoth carved from a single branch of baobab , as a patter of plaster and patina painted the very chair where I had just been sitting. Through the dust and shrapnel raining down, I saw several persons entering the room through the hole they must have just made, legs clad in outrageously baggy, purple trousers topping intricately embroidered felt boots. Foreign chatter filled the air like a blastwave of boiling brussel sprouts , cheese sauce or no cheese sauce: I rolled out from under my cover, quick as a crocodile, to snatch my saber up from its place in the umbrella stand and face my enemies!
To my surprise, they were not human! A grey, leathery, flat visage met my eyes, mere nostril slits and a slash of a mouth, rimmed with pointed teeth and a flickering tongue like a prostitute from Pillgwenlly. Together we froze a moment in shock. I flicked the point of my blade out at them and they jumped back in terror, allowing me a moment to swiftly turn and race toward the jalousie doors to the small balcony over the street. I immediately heard pursuit begin and exerted myself with purpose, putting down my head and bringing up my arms and running straight through the glass to leap to the rail of my tiny mirador and sail freely into the air and down to the street, where I landed lightly and sprinted down the road toward the waterfront. I heard their despairing cries behind me, then a mechanical roar and looked over my shoulder to see my attackers pursuing me in some sort of sleek airship! Frustrated, I cursed in polite silence and rifled quickly through my familiar knowledge of the streets before me. Where? Where could I go? Feeling the hot breath of fate hard in my ear, I raced around a corner suddenly, my pursuers overshooting and unable to make the turn in their curious and ungainly confection. Far down the street lay a glitter of golden sun on the water, the saltless tang of the river mud rose to my nostrils! I saw a familiar green sign, indistinguishable, but which I knew to represent a drunken sailor surrounded by scantily clad women of soiled repute. I put on a burst of speed and gave it everything I had as the airship roared over the roofs behind me and now kept pace!
I reached my sanctuary and thrust the door open before me, falling into inner gloom. Wooden tables and chairs strewn about the room, a disheartened fiddler barely plucked at his instrument, figures lurched about indistinctly before the bar. Like candles in the dark, bright and feminine faces registered my presence and swayed smiling near, then recognized me and fell in disappointment, to turn away to the bar. The bartender stepped in front of me, heavy dark face full of questions and concern. "Umuh?" he queried.
"I am sorry beyond explanation to bring this on you, my good friend, Jonty! I am being pursued by strange creatures who mean me violence and I must find some way to escape them, may I use the tunnels?"
Jonty, ever a good fellow, nodded vigorously and swept his heavy arm, as thick as a plank, to the small door at the back of the room. "Umuh!" he snapped.
"I must warn you, they may be dangerous! They are not of our world and I believe they mean us harm!"
Before I could go on, his massive brow beetled, his face darkened even further, now the color of a beet, and through gritted teeth he asserted firmly, "Umuh!" and shoved me toward the little green door which read " Ty Bach ."
Once inside, I twisted behind the apparatus there to push against the back wall and its ubiquitous painting of the view out of someone's kitchen window. The wood gave before me, turning on its mechanism to reveal a dark, stone mouth, the stench of the river and moss blown up through it. I forced myself through and into the black.
