Empire of Fashion

[Pleater]

As the afternoon wore on, and we became more dispirited, I asked about the method used to transport the people away, and presumably bring us here.

They looked at the quiet one of the Committee.

'They do not talk about the equipment used to open the doorways between the worlds, not in front of Others.'
He put in the capital letter to give it significance.
'However, we have managed to gather some intelligence about it. We have even managed to gain access to it and so bring you here, though I am sorry that, in order to be certain of finding suitable men for our purpose, we also brought you ladies. It could not be helped and we do apologise for it.'

'I take it that we will not be able to return home unless we succeed in this venture.'
There was an awkward pause.
'Or is even that not at all certain?'

The civil servant smiled. 'You do have a knack of asking awkward questions.' he declared. 'I do suspect that we will be staying here for some time.'
'But you could return us to the time of our departure.'
'No. The ring will make a way into another reality, but it is at the present time, there is no way to move back in time.'
'Of course,' I agreed.
'But we do not intend to fail, we will be leaving after dinner to visit some people, that is the gentlemen will be going. We must leave you to your own devices, but we should be back by morning.'

I bit my tongue, endured another dreadful meal and wished them well as they set off into the night. They has some tiny carriages each pulled by four diminutive ponies. They were of the New Forest type, but rather smaller than the ones I normally see at home.

They were not back by morning. The women were very concerned and kept a constant watch for them. Eventually about noon three boys came with the vehicles and a note. They had gone to Wales. Nothing more could be discovered, and so we just had to wait for them to return.

[Pleater]

I gathered up a heap of dry dead plants and used my reading glasses to focus the sun onto some fine wisps of grass. It was soon burning merrily, spreading across the walled garden and removing years of neglect.

The women came running from the House in alarm, and tried to beat out the flames with brushes and mops.

'You'll bring the Fashion Police!' they shouted at me.
'Why? Surely they wouldn't be concerned by a garden fire.'
'They watch everything, you must not do anything to attract their attention.'
'How do they watch?'
My question was answered by the sound of an aircraft engine, and a small helicopter came into view over the high walls. It's pilot found a place to land and two of the passengers came to where we were all assembled. I had been pulled along by the household women, which was not wise.

The Fashion Police in their turquoise uniforms are arrogant, cocksure and they smirk - but the women were so meek and apologetic that I could have slapped them.

Fortunately there was a dirty old broken bottle lying on the burnt area, and the men concluded that it had caused the fire. They did not wish to get their boots dirty, I could see, so they took the first explanation which fitted the facts as they saw them.

Unfortunately the pilot kept the engine running downwind of the fire, and when it came to be time to take off, the revs would not increase. I assumed that the smoke had clogged the air filters, but the pilot seemed to have no clue about the possible causes of the problem.

They raised the alarm using a radio, I went to have a look inside whilst the Fashion Police were having a rather intense discussion on the other side of the aircraft. The company colours, turquoise and gold were used everywhere, and their rather artistic looking logo was on everything, even the material upholstering the seats.

The floor of the aircraft was littered with wrappers and dropped or discarded items. I picked up a pen and tried it on my hand, it did not work, so I swapped it for the identical, but working one on the clipboard in the pocket inthe pilot's door. I found a notebook under the seat, lots of sweets - someone did not like the yellow ones, a few coins, something sticky I did not want to know about. I put the pen and notebook in my skirt pocket, and retreated.

[Pleater]

Not wishing to walk past the Fashion Police, I used the helicopter as cover and moved away from everyone.

The three of me had agreed to use a tree as a rendezvous point, it was a weeping cherry and had a large area beneath its branches where nothing grew, but around it there was a ferocious tangle of brambles. To gain access to the centre of the branches it was necessary to walk through the old grotto, a place full of nooks and corners, and if you knew where to turn you'd be able to duck under the archway and be under the canopy.

As I ducked I sensed that there was someone on the other side, and paused.
'Who's there?'
'Us.'
I stepped out and looked around at the Captain and the Chorister. The Chorister was holding a sturdy branch. The Captain was empty handed, but there was a bow and quiver set against the rockery, and a garden trugh with a good number of rabbits laid in it. She saw where I was looking, and grinned
'One more microwaved meal and I might have done something drastic, like gnawing off my own leg. As you're here, can you kotch them? My knife is useless for kitchen duties.'

I drew my knife and began to clean and skin the rabbits. The chorister made a face and a sound full of vowels and doubleyous. I told them that the helicopter was broken.
'They'll probably send a recovery crew out from wherever their base is. I hope they are efficient, I want to cook these.'
'What in?' I enquired grimly, 'There is only the microwave.'
'Spitroast perhaps.'
I looked at the insides of the first rabbit, and spread them out a little more.
'I don't think that this is a rabbit as I know them.' I said slowly, 'It isn't a vegetarian.'

The stomach contents proved to be part of a small bird, insects and what could have been a small fish. The Captain decided against eating rabbit from this reality, and I cleaned my knife, then remembered the notebook and pen.
'Look, I got this from the helicopter whilst they were arguing - pen and paper.'
'Anything interesting in it?'
'Just paper.'
The Chorister took it and flipped the pages. I had looked at it from the wrong side, there was writing on pages at what I had thought was the back of the notebook.