The Pan felt as if the world was collapsing round him. Logic dictated that his feelings for the girl, Ruth, could be nothing more than a crush. After all, he hadn’t even known her name until Lord Vernon told him. Then again, he’d never been one to listen to logic. There was something about her which had taken hold of him. She haunted his dreams and most of his waking thoughts. He realised how little he knew about her or her world, how completely powerless he was to help her.
“Do not waste your time fantasising! She will never love you,” said Lord Vernon spitefully, “good taste aside, her destiny will not allow it. She will have eyes only for the Candidate, or when He is gone, His replacement—for He has chosen her.”
It wasn’t just the Candidate who had chosen her, The Pan thought, sadly.
Lord Vernon went on.
“I should warn you she is also under my protection, so if you try to reach her I will ensure my guards intercept her first. Now, it is time for you to leave. Remember,” he gestured to the two thimbles, standing side by side on the desk, “I will be watching your every move. Your every move, do you understand?”
The Pan stood defeated, crushed and in despair; Lord Vernon had outwitted him on all levels – and then as the Grongle turned his back and walked to the door to summon the guards, The Pan was distracted by something outside.
“APT tubes engaged, please stand clear,” said an electronic female voice. A voice which, in his view, was a very sexy one.
Oh yes.
With an almighty crash, the window at the other end of the room blew in. The snurd, his snurd, was, well ... if not finished then armed and angry. He wasted no time. Remembering to grab his keys and both thimbles from the desk, he ran towards the window, jumped onto the sill and as Lord Vernon made to grab him, leapt out into the darkness. He landed on the bonnet of the SE2 which was waiting for him, top conveniently down so he could jump straight in. If he hadn’t known it was an inanimate object and unable to think for itself, he would have sworn it flipped him up so he landed in the seat. The automatic getaway option engaged and it accelerated at high speed, while The Pan wrestled to get into position at the controls to stop it smashing into the buildings opposite. Yanking at the wheel he careened upwards, the undercarriage almost clipping the mortar.
The snurd’s shadow skipped over the windows and brickwork as it flew and sparks showered past it as both guards fired at him with machine guns and Lord Vernon with a laser pistol. Once at the top, he flipped it over the roof of the building and sped off into the night.
****
Lord Vernon stood at the remains of his office window and looked out over the city. That was a surprise.
Plus points to this situation? The Pan of Hamgee was gone with the most prized of all the portals, but he had no idea how powerful it was or how easy it would make him to follow if he used it. He had a certain spirit and his ability to resist the Truth Serum was unique, but he was a snivelling coward and not his father’s son. Sooner or later, he would use the portal and when he did, he would be traced. Meanwhile, the boffins were making good progress reverse engineering the bronze thimble, and he had the copper one. A temporary setback then, most likely.
The barrel of the laser gun was still warm from firing but had cooled enough to put back in the holster now. He rubbed it on his jacket, to replace the charge, before doing so. The sudden movement made one of the guards next to him step nervously backwards. Time to sort out the logistics.
“You! Wait where you are,” he ordered. He took out his mobile phone and again, rubbed it on his jacket to give the power a boost before pressing the speed dial button for General Moteurs. He strode across the room, phone clamped to his ear and the general answered after one ring. “Tell your troops to apprehend the Chosen One and bring her to me,” he said shortly, and without giving the general time to say anything, pressed the red button. Now ...
He turned to the two guards, flipping his phone closed and dropping it into his pocket as he did so. They had allowed the Pan of Hamgee to escape. He would have to punish them for their failure. He smiled. That would be a treat. Yes, it was important to see the positives in a situation.
They stood, mutely, waiting for orders. He smoothed the suede gloves over his hands and adjusted the rings to maximise their impact. All the while he kept his eyes on them. He allowed his anger to build, gradually revealing it in his face and his expression. They reflected it back, in their fear. Could he be bothered to walk over there and hit them? No.
“Come here,” he said, “both of you.”
They did as they were told.
****
When he was flying straight, with no immediate sign of pursuers, The Pan of Hamgee took a few moments to check his options. No sliding dash any more, just machined and polished metal with rows of buttons and switches, all neatly labelled, many with options The Pan had never encountered. A large green arrow, pointing to a small hole, flashed on and off. Beside the hole was a button.
Well aware that he would be wise to read the instruction manual first, he pressed it.
“Transference drive cannot be engaged, insert portal device into portal plug and try again.” The plastic lip round the hole illuminated blue. It looked thimble-shaped and both the old man and Lord Vernon had called the thimble a portal. What the heck? If he could get to the girl with wheels he would have a much better chance of whisking her away from her Grongolian guards. He put the first of the two thimbles, Lord Vernon’s, into ... yes, he supposed that was the portal plug. It fitted remarkably well.
“Transference drive engaged,” said the female electronic voice. What in the name of The Prophet was a transference drive?
Mmm. Only one way to find out, he thought to himself and imagined the girl – Ruth as he now knew she was called. A small image of her was projected onto the windscreen. She was standing at the top of a staircase in what looked like some kind of public space although what it was for he couldn’t tell. She was talking to another woman who, The Pan noted with relief, wasn’t Grongolian. However, two very tall gentlemen were making their way along the landing behind her about a hundred yards to the right. They were almost but not quite human-coloured; pinkish but pale with a hint of green. Colour aside, the Grongolian army uniforms they wore were a bit of a giveaway.
“To transfer to your chosen destination, press the red button,” said the voice. For all his anxiety The Pan still found the time to notice it sounded sexy.
“Yeh baby!” said his brain, “I’m a little teapot,” said his mouth. He sighed, rolled his eyes and did as the sexy voice instructed. There was a loud sucking sound, receding bathwater style, and a pop, followed by the sound of breaking glass. Oh dear, there had been a window. It wasn’t there now of course, since The Pan had flown straight through it. He landed at the bottom of the stairs, skidding sideways to a halt with a loud squealing of tyres, in a shower of broken glass which continued to fall for some seconds after the snurd had stopped. Hmm. Less of a window, more the front of the building by the look of it. Ah. It wasn’t only the girl who froze at his sudden arrival. Everyone did. She was halfway down the stairs by this time, out at the front of a crowd which was flowing out of – mmm what was that, a temple, a concert hall? Something big, anyway. The two Grongles he had seen were still to her right, pushing their way towards her through the throng of people.
“Ruth!” he stood up in the driver’s seat and shouted. Brilliant! Maybe the Truth Serum had worn off, “I’m a little teapot.” Or not. “Ruth! Look behind you!” shouted his brain, “Ruth! I’m a little teapot!” shouted his mouth. He reckoned she got the Ruth the second time, but stared at him, nonplussed. Of course! She spoke a different language!
“Ruth! I’m a little teapot!” he shouted, in Grongolian this time, the ‘I’m-here-to-rescue-you’ part getting lost in the fog of Truth Serum somewhere between his thoughts and his speech. Maybe it was the urgency in his voice, maybe it was the way he was gesticulating to the Grongles but something made her turn round. They started to jog purposefully in her direction and as they did The Pan leapt out of the snurd, flipping his cloak over one shoulder so it didn’t trip him as he ran up the stairs towards her.
He had to make her understand. The two Grongles behind her were unhooking their guns. He stopped on the step below hers.
“Ruth.” He wanted to explain that she was in danger; that she had to come with him. “I’m a little ...” he began.
By The Prophet’s bogies.
Speaking wasn’t going to work. He patted his pockets.
Arnold’s pants! No pen.
He moved his hands backwards and forwards in front of him in the classic no-no gesture and pointed to the Grongles again. “They’re going to kill you!” said his brain, “I’m a little teapot,” said his mouth.
He grabbed her arm and pulled – he had to persuade her – but, with a look of total disdain, she yanked herself free of his grasp. The Grongles were aiming their guns and with a ping they fired a round. The shot hit the stairs by her feet turning the stone red hot. She looked down as it began to bubble and then back up at him with wide eyes.
Mmm. That might change her mind.
Yes. Judging by the expression of alarm she was wearing, it had. He adjusted the angle of his hat, smiled his best smile, raised one eyebrow quizzically in a way that he hoped would say, “Shall we?” and held out his hand towards her.
She took it, and as they ran down the stairs together she lobbed a tiny handbag into the passenger footwell and then jumped into the SE2 the same way he did, without even opening the door.
“I don’t know who you are but you look safer than them!” A pause, “Of course, that’s not saying much.”
“I can appreciate that,” said The Pan’s brain, “I’m a little teapot,” said his mouth.
“There’s me thinking you were a man. You’d better have an excellent explanation for this, later,” she warned him. Lord Vernon was right. She did speak Grongolian, but unlike any Grongle he’d met. She was witty. He smiled at her.
“Rest assured I shall!” said The Pan’s brain, “I’m a little teapot,” said his mouth. Arnold! When was the Truth Serum going to wear off?
Tyres giving off a plume of smoke which hid them from their pursuers, the snurd squealed round in a doughnut and catapulted itself forward. The Pan pressed the button to convert it to aviator mode, and wings morphed out of its sides. As it left the ground and flew straight back out of the hole in the window it had made coming in, Ruth glanced over at him with an expression of intense misgiving. He gave her a reassuring smile. If anything she appeared even more nervous.
As they flew out over the river, he realised she wasn’t wearing her seat belt. Mmm, safety first. He gestured to where it hung beside her.
“I’m a little teapot,” he said and she buckled up.
**The End**
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