Having dispatched his surviving vassals to escort Marie to his stronghold's dungeons, Vardun stalked into the audience chamber and summoned his senior warlord.

Tall and immensely powerful,  Karzil Li was nevertheless a study in obsequiousness as he bowed deeply, while surreptitiously taking note of the absence of a sword at his master's side.  "I trust your trip was successful, my lord?"

Vardun regarded him with a cold look.  "In so much as it brought the Blade closer to my possession, then yes.  The weapon will soon make its own way to Volanda; we must prepare a suitable reception.  Double the guard around the perimeter of the building, and ensure the dungeons are secure.  At the slightest hint of any attempt at unauthorised entry, I am to be summoned immediately, day or night.  Intruders are to be met with extreme force."  Pushing back his cowl, he locked eyes with Karzil.  "Should any escape detection, I would be most...displeased."

The hulking warlord swallowed.  "I will not fail you, my lord.  May I ask, what nature of intruders are we expecting?"

"The Blade is currently in the possession of a decrepit old man and a callow youth.  They appear a most unimpressive pair, however they are not to be underestimated.  As weak and inexperienced as the boy may be, he wields the Blade, and while the ancient one may seem ready for a coffin, he is still wickedly crafty.  Be prepared for anything."

I always am, in your employ.  "We shall be, my lord."

"I sincerely hope so.  Now, what news of the uprising in the Zamar Valley?"

"I am pleased to report that it has been utterly crushed, my lord.  I received a dispatch not half an hour ago.  The ringleaders have been captured and killed, and the villages of the rebels have been put to the torch.  Resistance has been eliminated."

"All of the leaders?" asked Vardun, his expression thunderous.

"My lord?"

"Tell me, you sniveling cretin, have all of the leaders of the uprising been killed?"

Karzil's worried expression cleared, as understanding dawned.  "No, of course not, my lord.  In accordance with your instructions, the two highest ranking rebels have been kept alive.  They are bound and waiting in your...ah...your interrogation room."

"And my tools?"

"Cleaned, sharpened and all laid out for you, my lord."

Vardun's features returned to their usual serene state.  "Excellent.  I will attend to them in the morning.  Now, I shall retire for the evening, but do not forget—I am to be notified instantly, at the slightest hint of anything unusual."

"State your full name."

"Huh?"

"State your full name."

"Do what wif me name?"

"State it."

"Dunno what that means, yer honour."

"Just say your name."

"But I already said me name, a bit earlier.  You was there."

"Yes, but now you have to say it again."

"Why's that, yer honour?"

"Don't call me your honour.  I'm a police officer, not a judge."

"Sorry, yer orificeness."

"Are you trying to be funny?"

"No, yer orificeness.  Do yer want me to be?  I knows a joke about a milk-maid and a gryphon."

"Look, just say your name."

"What, again?"

"Yes!  I'm recording this interview, so I need you to state your name, for the recording."

"Fer the what?"

"Just say your bloody name!"

"Right, sorry yer orificeness.  Me name is Ergan Pu.  Likes I said before."

"And your date of birth?"

"Me what?"

"When were you born?"

"Oh, ages ago."

"Yes, but on what date?"

"Huh?"

"What date were you born on?"

"What date?  I don't think I was born on a date, yer orificeness.  Dates are a bit small for that kind of thing, don't ya reckon?  If ya was gonna be born on some food, I reckon somethin' big would be the go.  Like, maybe a pumpkin.  Me uncle grew a really big turnip once, big as ya head, it was.  But I reckon even that might be a bit of a squeeze.  Dunno."

"What I'm asking is, when exactly were you born?"

"Oh right.  It were when I were a baby, yer orificeness."

"Yes, but when was that?"

"Oh, ages ago."

"Fine, so am I to take it that you are unaware of the exact date of your birth?"

"Huh?"

"Look, just say 'date of birth unknown'."

"Right you are.  Date of birth unknown.  How was that, yer orificeness?"

"Good, but you have to stop calling me that."

"Sorry, yer orifice...er, yer honour."

"Bloody hell, I don't get paid enough for this.  Just call me officer, okay?"

"Yes, sir.  Officer Okay, it is."

"And people wonder why police brutality exists."

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that, Officer Okay.  You was mumblin' a bit."

"Look, I'm going to ask you some questions about the events of tonight.  Just answer them as truthfully as you can."

"Right you are, Officer Okay."

"Why were you at 28 Fairway Drive, this evening?"

"Where?"

"28 Fairway...the house where we found you."

"Oh right.  We was after the Blade, mate.  Er, I mean, Officer Okay."

"What blade?"

"Yer know—the Blade."

"Do you mean the sword we found in the attic?  The one next to the wardrobe?"

"Nah, that was my blade.  Not the Blade."

"So which blade is the Blade?"

"Sorry?"

"Which particular blade is the Blade?"

"Well, the Blade.  Yer know."

"Hmm, let's try a different approach.  Why did you want this Blade?"

"Mine?  Fer sticking inter people, o'course.  What else?"

"No, not your blade, although it sounds like we'll need to come back to that.  I mean, why did you want the Blade?"

"Oh, right.  To give it to me master.  It was him what wanted it."

"And who is your master?"

"Lord Vardun Ri, o'course."

"Lord Vardun Ri?"

"That's him, Officer OK."

"R-r-right.  So why does this Lord Vardun Ri want the Blade?"

"Now, are you tryin' to be funny?"

"I'm not in the business of trying to be funny, Mr Pu.  You are in very serious trouble, and if you know what's good for you, you will answer my questions."

"Sorry, sorry, Officer Okay.  I promise I'll d-do whatever ya want.  I'll be good.  P-please just keep that k-kid away from me."

Safely ensconced in a comfy armchair, warmed by a blazing fire, George could have easily forgotten that he was in a whole new, foreign world.  Not to mention, in the bottom of a trunk.  Or at least he could have, until a gnome in an apron bustled into the room and offered him a bowl of corn chips.

"Here you go, mate.  Get some of these into you.  Mexicana flavour, so they'll warm you right up."

George was on to his third handful before the obvious question occurred to him.  "Corn chips?  Lob, where did you get these from?"

The little man looked slightly shifty.  "Whipped 'em up myself, lad.  Old family recipe."

"Corn chips are an old family recipe?"

"Um, yeah."

"Mexicana corn chips?"

Lob  hung his head.  "Er...hmm."

"Lob?"

"Well, I might have kind of found 'em.  Um, in the pantry."

George shook his head.  "So that's why mum is always accusing me of eating all the corn chips.  Let me guess—donuts are an old family recipe as well?"

Lob smiled sheepishly.  "Sure are.  Sorry mate, but a gnome's gotta eat."

"Lob, compared to all the other stuff going on, I'm not too worried about a few midnight kitchen raids.  Particularly given that it was Grandpa who stuck you in here."

"When you two are done nattering," said Grandpa, "how about passing that chip bowl along? Once we've had a bite, we should all get a bit of shut-eye.  Tomorrow's likely to be a big day."

"Where do we sleep?" queried George.

Grandpa pointed at a doorway.  "In one of the bedrooms, of course.  There's any number of 'em down there.  Take your pick, boy."

"Grandpa, how is that possible?  Where are we, exactly?

"In the trunk of course.  Don't you remember climbing in?"

"Of course I do.  But the trunk is only small, and this place...isn't."

"Georgie, don't ask me to explain.  Partly because it's been so long since it was explained to me that I've forgotten half of it, but mostly because I never really understood in the first place.  There's some sort of spatial-temporal distortion magicky thing going on.  The trunk gets bigger the further you go on, or we get smaller, or space stretches, or some such nonsense.  I always found the best approach is to not worry about it.  Provided it keeps the rain off and is a good place for a kip, then who cares?"

"Yes, but— "

"Look, just think of it like that thing that belongs to Dr What, or whatever his name is."

"Who?"

"Oh yeah, that's the one."

"Huh?"

"No, that's not it.  Whoever heard of a show called Dr Huh?"

"What?"

"Is it?  I thought you had it with 'who'.  Dr What?  Dr Who?  Anyway, the show with the box that's bigger on the inside than it is on the outside.  It's just like that.  Except real.

"Oh, you mean the TARDIS.  But— "

"Georgie, that's enough for now.  It's been a big day, and I'm not as young as I used to be.  I'm knackered.  Let's get a good night's sleep, and I'll explain everything tomorrow."

"But— "

"Good night, boy."