The Eye of Zoltar

‘A magnificent pink ruby the size of a goose’s egg. It belonged to a wizard I admire greatly. You can find me … the Eye of Zoltar.’

‘That’s a tall order,’ I said, having absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but keeping that to myself. It didn’t pay to look an idiot in Shandar’s presence.

‘One minute to go,’ said Miss D’angelo, consulting her stopwatch.

‘Do we have a deal?’ asked Shandar.

I didn’t need to think for long. If I didn’t agree to find this ‘Eye of Zoltar’ then Shandar would attempt to kill the Dragons, and we would be honour bound to try to stop him, and that would end in our collective annihilation.

‘I’ll find you the Eye of Zoltar,’ I said, ‘whatever it takes.’

‘Good choice,’ said Shandar with a grin. ‘I knew you’d agree.’

‘Any clue as to where it is?’ I asked. ‘The world is a big place.’

‘If I knew where it was,’ snapped Shandar, ‘I’d get it myself.’

Since the meeting was clearly at an end, I returned to where the Princess and Tiger were waiting for me. From the Bugatti Royale we watched as Shandar talked quietly with D’argento, signed some more forms and eventually, when his four minutes were up, changed rapidly back into obsidian.

The drones quickly crated him up, and the forklift reappeared and placed the crate back into the rear of the cargo aircraft. Once that was done a clothes rail that had been standing unnoticed to one side was approached by the drones, and they deftly jumped back on to their coat hangers, the empty suits returning to what they had been – creatures given life only by the will of Shandar. The human manservant wheeled the clothes rail into the back of the aircraft, swiftly followed by Miss D’argento in the Phantom Twelve. A minute later the rear cargo door was closed, and the engines started up. By this time tomorrow they could be anywhere on the planet.

I tapped the Helping Hand™ to bring it out of sleep mode and it dutifully pulled the wheel around and we drove out of the hangar. We paused on the perimeter track to watch Shandar’s aircraft lumber almost impossibly into the sky with its tiny wings, then headed towards Zambini Towers.

‘The Eye of Zoltar?’ said Tiger when I’d finished relating what Shandar had said. ‘What on earth’s that?’

‘I’ve no idea. The person to consult is someone with a clearer idea of what the future might bring.’

‘I’m no clairvoyant,’ said Tiger, ‘but I think I know who you mean.’

The Remarkable Kevin Zipp

The Remarkable Kevin Zipp was one of Kazam’s most accomplished clairvoyants. When we walked back into the offices at Kazam he was checking out baby futures. Not in a stocks and shares kind of way, obviously, but what a baby’s life had in store for them. It was a good way to earn ready cash, as Kazam was constantly short of money. Two mothers had their tots with them, and Kevin was checking each by holding on to their left foot for a moment.

‘If she wants to go out with someone named Geoff when she’s sixteen,’ he said as the first mother stared at him anxiously, ‘try to get her to go out with Nigel instead.’

‘There’s a problem with Geoff?’

‘No, there’s a problem with Nigel. Ban Geoff from her life and he’ll become unbelievably attractive and she’ll forget all about Nigel, and believe me, she needs to. Nigel is big trouble.’

‘How big?’

‘Really big.’

‘Okay. Anything else?’

‘Not really – although you might consider joining the National Trust and holidaying in Wales. It’s quite nice, I’m told, and not always raining.’

‘Oh. Well, thank you very much,’ said the mother. She handed Kevin a ten-moolah note and moved off. The second mother presented her baby to Kevin, who once again held the baby’s foot. He closed his eyes and rocked slowly in his chair for a moment.

‘This is preposterous,’ said the Princess. ‘I’ve never seen a more ridiculous load of mumbo-jumbo in my entire life!’

‘You’re young yet,’ I said, ‘lots of time to see some gold-standard mumbo-jumbo, and quite frankly, this is the place to see it.’

‘Concert pianist,’ Kevin murmured thoughtfully, still holding the baby’s foot, ‘and make sure he likes boiled cabbage, tasteless stew and runny porridge.’

‘He’ll be a pianist?’ asked the mother excitedly.

‘No, he’s going to murder one – aged twenty-six – so better get him used to prison food from an early age … hence the boiled cabbage.’

The mother glared at him, slapped the money on the table, and left the room. Kevin looked confused.

‘Did I say something wrong?’

‘Perhaps you should temper the bad news with good,’ I suggested.

‘I couldn’t tell them the really bad news,’ he replied. ‘The “concert pianist” thing was their minority timeline; their senior timeline – the most likely one – has them both not lasting the week. Oh, before I forget: this came in today.’

He handed me a letter. It was postmarked from Cambrianopolis, the capital city of the Cambrian Empire, and looked official.

‘Oh dear,’ I said as I read the letter. ‘Once Magnificent Boo’s been arrested for “illegal importation of a Tralfamosaur”.’