LITMIR.BIZ

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of its throat also caused the floor to rise in a wave, wobble a bit, and dip back down. Then an altogether new voice filled the space, startling them all in a completely different way.

      The peppermint-candy, sickly sweet, mouse-type-squeak of a Voice continued. 'In order to obtain the powers of the sun and the moons, of life and death, of Mother Nature, Father Time and Aunt In-Between, to be in command of all that lives and has lived, you must first prove yourselves worthy.'

      Arrabella and Langley exchanged concerned glances, for they had thought their hearts had already proven them worthy. Langley reached for Arrabella's hand once more, needing her touch for reassurance. The only touch he received, however, was that of the still floor-bound prince who grasped Langley's thumb and attached himself to the Lord's muscular leg with a vice-like grip that the dandy little fairy didn't appear capable of.

      Meanwhile the high-pitched Voice was still talking. 'You will embark on a quest that will take you to many lands, where you will endure many trials. Only those pure of heart, bright of mind, clear of conscience, fleet of foot, strong of will and nimble of fingers will succeed.'

      'Surely this aural torture is a trial in itself,' Arrabella muttered, as they all winced, wishing they'd brought some blissbombs to stuff in their ears, and silently agreed that enduring this Voice should make them worthy of the prize.

      'You will find that the entwining of your fates was no mere accident. In order for one of you to be successful, you must all be successful. You must discover what each of you needs most in this world in order to feel complete. Only when you have avenged your losses, found that which has been lost or stolen from you, uncovered truths about your true identities, your true loves and true orientation will the final tasks become clear. Only then may you return here to claim your destinies.'

      Arrabella looked at Langley, Langley looked at Jim who still clung to his leg, Jim looked at Gary and Gary looked at Arrabella. Their heads snapped back and forth, eyes bulging, mouths open like Lavatory Lizards seeking a meal of Merlot Munchables.

      'What do we do now? How do we begin? Where do we go from here?' Arrabella asked the room at last.

      'The power to leave and begin your quest lies with you, fair maiden, seeker of the source, kin to the Cornflaking Queen and possible future ruler of all realms. Simply click your heels together three times and say my name,' said the Voice.

      'Um, what is your name?' Arrabella asked meekly, sure that she probably should already know it. Maybe she did. Did she? Was it Ida, Germaine, Alfonze?

      Arrabella shrugged - quite eloquently.

      'In your heart of hearts, Arrabella Candellarbra, you know my name,' said the Voice.

      Erg, Argh, Arrabella thought, mostly because she was speechless. She turned to Lord Langley, her mouth agape. All he could do was shrug his remarkably shiny shoulders and look dumbfounded. He turned to the new growth beside him but even the Fairy Prince Jim, with all his magical abilities, could not dredge an answer from his ancestral stories. With a leaden heart, he too shrugged his shoulders.

      The three turned to the wise Wizard Gary who said, 'Don't look at me, I don't know.' In a flash he came to his serious-senses, whereon his beardly icicles and stalactites mirrored the sadness his eyes displayed. 'Methinks our fates rest on your shoulders, fair Arrabella. It seems only you know the name of the Voice, and by naming the name you will lead us to our destinies. You alone are obviously the name-knower.'

      Arrabella twisted her hands and tapped her sweaty shoes. She wiped at her tired eyes and willed away the desire to pee. This was it, the beginning of their quest. With one simple name she could begin it all in a moment; or end it all in a flash.

      'Waiting, waiting,' the Voice pleaded.

      'Well, give me a second,' Arrabella snapped, ever-so-sweetly. 'It's not that easy recalling every name I've ever known. Can you give me a clue?'

      'My name is whatever you want it to be. You must name me. Give me a name and save me from the Nothingness. Name me, and your quest can begin.'

      Oh, no pressure, Arrabella thought.

      Arrabella searched her sizable memory banks for the Worthy Names taught her by the Reginas in her teachings; for good names that had Meaning in the magical communities; or Cute Names or Brave Names. But there was nothing in her memory - not even in the corner where she kept her naming lists - about the naming of a really important but faceless and squeaky-voiced Tower; or three.

      Rumpelstiltskin? No, they already roamed the lands of Midas-straw. Falcor? No, she'd have no luck with that one.

      While she searched her heart of hearts for the name, her mind began to play a melody - a soft echoing tune, like an overwound jack-in-a-box, rose from the crevices deep inside her subconscious.

      So, despite the important task at hand, Arrabella continued to hum: 'Mmmm, mmm, oola la lala... buttercup.'

      'Buttercup, baby!' she cried. 'That's your name - Buttercup!'

      Arrabella's companions once again resumed their head-snapping routine, as they glanced from one to the other and back again. Surely she could not be serious. What sort of a name was Buttercup?

      They stared nervously at their feet, not daring to look at the walls lest their eyeballs melt with the rage that the Tower-Voice would surely show at being insulted with such a name.

      Arrabella was serious, however, and even had that faraway look of one who is enraptured by the sight or the sound or the smell of a divine devilation.

      She clicked her heels together once, and said, 'Buttercup.' Then she clicked them twice, and clicked them thrice, each time calling out the ridiculous name - 'Buttercup! Buttercup!'

      Arrabella fell to the floor, tears of joy cascading freely down her beautiful face.

      The four watched - one in raptured glory, the other three in tortured terror - as the patterns in the mosaics began to meld into a giant schwoozh of technicolour, into a swirl of psychedelic wooziness, into a flurry of kaleidoscopic magnificence.

      And then the room began to spin; or maybe they began to spin - no one was really sure. Either which way, their stomachs heaved and their limbs flailed.

      Langley bellowed, more like a beast than a man, but finally lost the green appendage on his leg as Jim spun in a circle around him like the coil of a cremebriole cobra. Gary and Arrabella slipped and slid like a serpentine slip-and-slide that had lost all sense of direction.

      But were they really spinning or was this some kind of test or torture; a decline into madness; or the suck and pull to their new places in the Great Abyss?

      Faster and faster they span. The room with all its sparkly, gemmy splendour became a blur, the crystalline Towers themselves faded into an obscure transparent haze like gladwrap on a toilet seat, and all the while that sickly sweet, higher-than-high-pitched Voice was giggling.

      It giggled, then laughed and finally guffawed with the delight of a child in a choo-choo bar. 'Buttercup, Buttercup, ooh, la lalalala, Buttercup!' it sang.

      Finally, with a thud and a bump and an otherworldly kathump, the spinning ceased and our hapless heroes collided head-on and face-first with the ground. Not the once-mosaiced floor of the Tri-Towers ballroom, but the grass of a lush meadow, green and gold with daisies and dandelions and - oh yes! - buttercups.

      Arrabella, feeling a slight draft across her bountiful bosom, righted herself and adjusted her bodice. Lord Langley, who must have felt a similar draft, righted his loincloth to cover whatever secrets lay beneath it; much to the dismay of both Arrabella and the Fairy Prince.

      Gary rose with a creak and a crackle, several broken once-beardly stalactites remaining on the grassy carpet, which froze and shivered wildly.

      Arrabella, assured that everyone had suffered no more harm than a moment of immodesty, looked about her, seeking the source of the sickly sweet scent that penetrated her nostrils in much the same way that the Tower's Voice had penetrated her ears. She looked

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