There, in a universe made of particles of indefinably filthy proportions, a plant man bites one nail off and opens it up as a new-born hook while his comrades of a sort look on, hoping that soon they’ll be able to get out of there and get away in a state of more than one single particle.

“Captain,” Labaguette continues, “the Insatiable Princess would have self-destructed in my presence, it’s just as well she’s gone anyway.  You would have had to choose between me and her.”

“You should have stayed with Spinostress.”

“You would have lost both of us.  You don’t mean that.”

“You don’t count.”

“You’re a moody, bitter fool.  Besides, I don’t need you either.”

“You’ve done nothing but bring trouble.”

“We’ve travelled far together haven’t we?  I speak many a language and—”

“—you sing like a demented bird, speak Jargon English and some other Patois which you mumble, is undecipherable and useless because no one except you understands it, and there—”

“You and I, we’ve discovered new horizons and we now know that it’s perfectly plausible and possible to fall from the Earth.”

“And you’re none the wiser for it, are you?”

“ENOUGH!” Birdseye interrupts.

“I’ve got a terrible itch and a headache,” the King says, “would anyone look at my crown?”

“It’s dandruff,” the Captain continues, “we’ll deal with it when the time comes.”

“A disease?  But—”

“—Stop it King Krackskull!” Labaguette orders, “if your crown is missing, you complain you can’t be recognised as royalty and if it is there for good, stuck to you, it doesn’t suit either, deadly disease or not!”

“You’re dumb!” the Captain says.

“Me?” Labaguette, the King and Birdseye all ask simultaneously.

“Chloroph, how far have you got?  Can you get us out of here now?”

To be continued…



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