LITMIR.BIZ

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a large expanse of rippling water, a liquid ring, which Arrabella realised, after several seconds, was actually a moat. The sled hiccupped across the small stone bridge that was the only means of crossing the moat.

      'Welcome to me palace!' the Queen exclaimed, waving one long, slender arm in front of her game-show-host style.

      The four gasped in unison at the sight before them. Surrounded by the moat, in a clearing of grass was a very large, shockingly Mary-Kay pink, palace on wheels. A Trailer Palace?

      'It's, um,' Arrabella searched for words to describe the palace, words she hoped would not offend the queen. How does one describe a pink trailer without using the words trash or tramp or ridiculous? 'It's... unlike anything I've ever seen before,' she said at last.

      'I know; bewdiful, aint it? Designed it meself,' said the Queen, pride radiating from every pore.

      She led the way up a small path and through a metallic pink door that chimed as it opened.

      Once inside the Four gasped again, more shocked than they'd been to see the trailer, for surely there was some sort of enchantment at work here. The door had opened to reveal a grand ballroom, every bit as pink as the outside, but palatial and luxurious and, well - huge.

      Chandeliers hung from the ceiling like bunches of a birthday girl's party balloons. Ornate spiral staircases, woven with roses and cherubs and pupae bows, stretched both up and down to other levels.

      The Queen, ever the hospitable host, put her perfectly manicured fingers into her mouth and blew; emitting an ear-piercing whistle that alerted her staff - or slaves by the look - to her presence. There was a silent scurry of activity and, within seconds, a banquet table stretched before them, away across the ballroom and with seating for at least thirty-six. Laid with the finest crystal, the most delicate china, the shiniest silver and the tartiest tuppyware, the table was a sight to behold.

      Several large cuts of meat, glazed until they glowed, were placed as the centrepiece, with every manner of fruit and vegetable, bread and bologna, sauce, gravy and sickly syrup, surrounding it.

      'Two, four, six, eight, bog in, don't wait,' said the queen, lifting a fork and stabbing a cut of pork as large as a prairie prigga onto it. The others watched in horror as she bought it straight to her mouth and tore off a chunk with her teeth, spat it onto her plate and threw the rest back towards the table centre.

      Regardless of their hostess' lack of manners, our heroes were so ravenous that they wasted no time helping themselves to the marvellous feast before them. They even managed, somehow, to ignore the slurping and sucking and false-teeth clicking of the Queen of Turkish Tarts as she ate.

      When at last they had eaten their fill of dinner, and then second dinner, the queen again whistled for her slaves. At once several little mole-like creatures, dressed as penguins with bee-hives for hair, arrived in a frenzy and cleared the table. They were immediately followed by a second shift who replaced the empty platters with exotic desserts of raspberries, strawberries and bosomberries; then pavlova and periwinkle pudding, high towers of plaster cup-cakes and chocolate-doused banana splits.

      Finally the feast was over and, as the day's events had taken their toll on the Fab Four, they literally swayed on their feet with weariness and full-belliedness.

      Arrabella yawned appreciatively and thanked their host sincerely. The queen may have had some strange ways, but the woman knew how to throw a dinner party.

      Gary asked directions to somewhere they could refresh and lay their heads for the evening.

      Obligingly, the Queen whistled for yet another of her slaves. This time a pot-bellied dwarf, wearing a hot-pink gimp mask and carrying a short riding crop, motioned for them to follow him.

      Uncertain, the group had no choice but to follow this strange looking creature.

      'Oi! You, Mr Beast-man,' the Queen called to Langley. 'You can come with me. I told ya I had a surprise for yer. It's waiting. You can catch up wif the others later on.' She smiled sweetly and eyed his muscular body with lecherous eyes.

      Langley turned to Arrabella and shrugged. What was he to do? He had envisioned himself luxuriating in the arms (and possibly legs) of Arrabella for the night. But they were guests of this Queen; she was the sovereign of this land; and his father had always taught him to be polite. Somehow, he managed to convey this to his love, and she closed her eyes and nodded; while a single tear slipped over her alabaster cheek.

      'I said now!' the Queen stomped her foot and stuck out her bottom lip. Her steely gaze reminded Arrabella of a raptor descending on its prey, but she knew Langley could look after himself. He was brave, he was strong, he hid all manner of goodies under that loincloth and he was, after all, the Beast Master.

      Arrabella grasped Gary's hand and watched sadly as the Queen led Langley away. She hoped his surprise would not take long, and that he'd soon be back in her arms for the evening.

      The dwarf tapped his crop impatiently, and along with the now slightly-dishevelled Gary and a not-so-perky Fairy Prince Jim, Arrabella allowed herself to be led in the opposite direction to Langley.

      Along a series of twisting corridors they went, their route taking them down several flights of stairs as well. Down, down, deeper and down they descended; below the trailer and into the earth itself, far below the ground and rapidly approaching the Middle of the Earth.

      There were no windows where they were or where they were going, and no ornate, if somewhat-gaudy decorations. The splendour and grandeur of the upper floors of the trailer-palace were left far behind.

      Arrabella grew frightened. Frightened for herself and her companions but even more so for her luscious Lord, who had been taken goodness knows where for goodness knows what.

      Oh why hadn't she listened to the Voice in the tower? They were strongest together, not apart, Buttercup had said.

      Finally, the little dwarf, who hadn't spoken to them at all (the gimp mask probably had something to do with that) pointed to a small set of stone-grey, grey stone steps.

      'Down there.' he mumbled from behind the lurid leather.

      The hapless three marched down the stairs gingerly to find a dark, dank and really smelly little room. The walls, ceiling and the floor were stone, adorned only by some clusters of filthy hay and a couple of bones. The door slammed behind them, and a key turned in a lock.

      'Ooh, this place is stinky. And the bones are icky. Eew,' Jim wailed, wringing his hands pathetically. 'I don't like these guest quarters one little bit!'

      'Guest quarters?' said Arrabella. 'These aren't guest quarters. That piece of Trailer-Palace-Park-Trash has gone and locked us in her dungeon!'

      Meanwhile, the luscious Lordly Beast Master trailed behind the trashy Turkish tart, his feet dragging with weariness and sadness and a certain amount of unspent lustiness.

      She led him up a staircase, down a short corridor, through one door and then another, up another flight of stairs, round a little bend in a circle that seemed to serve no other purpose than to disorientate Langley… down a long corridor, past several doors until finally, they reached the very last door, of the very last corridor, on the very last floor of the spacious trailer-palace.

      The Queen opened the door with a flourish. 'Ta-da!' she said, pushing Langley forwards so that he found himself in the most lavish, and most lascivious room he'd ever laid eyes on.

      The walls and windows were hung with drapes and sheets and scarves and bras of organza, lace and silk. Mirrors adorned the ceiling and, right in the centre, and the focal-point of the room, stood a heart-shaped, candy-pink bed of gigantuan proportions.

      But it wasn't so much the bed itself that immediately caught Langley's attention.

      Atop the bed, luxuriating in various states of undress and in all manner of seductive poses, were seven girls of surpassing beauty. All but two - who were too busy investigating what the other had hidden beneath their itty-bitty skirts - looked up longingly at Langley,

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