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After a few months travelling from Spain to France in their quest for the dragons, with already two visa applications for China rejected, endless unkind mocking laughs or condescending looks from strangers, and having had to pawn temporarily the sabulmantium to buy Vincentius a shirt, Arona and her motley family were thinking it was time for a turn of fate.

It didn’t take them too long hopefully.
Of course, the sabulmantium was recovered as soon as they had realized it was actually more lucrative in this dimension to have Vincentius take off his shirt in shady bars at night for a few meals and lodging, and some little extras. Mandrake had been kind to provide ample squeaking mice supplements, which Arona had politely declined, for which Mandrake faked each time the saddest of disappointments. All in all, so far their life on the roads had been easier than she would have thought.
Of course, they’d lost Sanso a few times as he couldn’t stay at one place for too long, and keeping track of his movements was near impossible. So they relied on trust that he would always find his way, which surprisingly enough, he did every single time.

He had been the one to provide them with the way to the island actually. One day, after weeks without news, he’d reappeared, hammering at the door of their little room at the top of their 9 storey hotel in Paris, near the St Honoré Market Place. He was wearing the quaintest bright violet velvet surplice, and was carrying a bottle of glowing green liquor.

To settle in a lovely island of the Ocean they called Pacific… It didn’t take too much convincing: Paris was starting to get boring, and far too cold. Arona missed the moist glowing warmth of Leormn’s cave, that was so good for her skin. She didn’t miss the riddles though.

The entry point of the tunnel was inside the catacombs, and they’d almost got lost a few times, she could have sworn, although Sanso was ever confident they were on track, even when a few dead-ends were staring at him in the face with toothless skulls grins. But after a few hours, the tunnel actually broadened, and glowed a lovely shade of orange.

It was funny, traveling through the Earth’s crust, made her almost feel at home. If all the dragons of this realm had left, and were hidden somewhere, she was certain it had to be to such a place. It gave her hopes again to meet one in this strange land which had forgotten magic.

“Blimey! The Pope, eh? Are you teasing me again?”
Vera didn’t answer.
“Oh come on! Don’t give me that need-to-know-basis treatment, as much as I love a good riddle, I hate secrets! Are we going to look for the reincarnation of a famous Pope à la Little Buddha? Tell me, tell me!” Bouncing with excitement on the rolling Eggsway made her almost fall head over wheels into a flangeway carved into the muddy track that went deeper into the forest.

Regaining her balance, she looked ahead to see Vera was already a few meters ahead — and navigating the Eggsway was becoming difficult. She knew she should have opted for the 4×4 model…
So… Vera wasn’t really paying attention, she would have to try another approach to worm answers out of her. What was so special about this place anyway? Lost continent of Mu, ancient architecture, maybe underwater tunnels… Nothing that would lead directly to the Vatican she surmised… Unless…

They arrived at a clearing in the forest, where blue glow sticks had been placed in a round pattern. Vera was standing there, after having carefully placed a glowing green rote at the center, staring at the middle of the light circle, and without turning her head to look at her, told Lulla “Here’s your answer coming.”

A huge buzzing throb started to fill the air, sounding to concentrate at a focal point not higher than 10 inches above the ground, at the exact center of the blue circle. It begun sparkling and * BooM *, in all its slimy tentaculeous glory, a spaceship was there.

“Special delivery from our alien friends” Vera said, finally deigning to look at Lulla.

The rather small spaceship started to slowly expand, becoming larger, until an opening appeared, letting a form emerge from the membranous appearance of the hull. The form which looked like some person was suddenly dropped unceremoniously with a * Plop! * while the spacecraft elastically recovered its initial shape.
Moments later, it was gone, and with it the buzzing sound.
The green rote payment was gone too. Greedy aliens.

“Come on, let’s bag this guy and bring him home for phase 2. A red convertible SUV is waiting for us at the portal’s entrance.”
So, that’s where I come in… Lulla was starting to wonder what was the use of her being here, since Vera was so bossy and secretive. But now,… Of course she was better at hatting, but she could call herself without bragging a real bagging specialist.

In Ed Steam’s old office, Lord Lemon was like in a mausoleum full of ghosts.
Mostly computer illiterate, he favoured greatly goose feather and dark Chinese ink soft purr on the paper over the annoying clickety racket of the keyboards. So he wasn’t exactly feeling at home in Ed’s old shoes.

The team’s greeting party had been cordial, but he didn’t feel an overwhelming welcome either, not that he expected it. It was Ed’s team after all, he was the Rooster of the chicks of roast, whatever they liked to call themselves. He was not found of monikers and preferred to be addressed simply as Sir.

The call he received on the morning was perplexing him. They’d found an auditor dead with a Surge Corp. business card in his jacket in the streets of a Spanish city, he couldn’t really remember which, the accent on the phone was as dreadful as that of a Chinese civet, but… What was that about already? He’d thought his memory was improving, getting back on the field, but there were relapses again, he had to concentrate. Afternoon Scrabble games were not that bad after all.

He’d perfected a neat technique to remember things, placing vivid images in memory palaces constructed in his mind were he could retrieve them later, but the thing was that his memory palaces sorely lacked a cleaning lady, and images sometimes blurred together or went missing, fading away. He sighed.

His gaze on the phone brought him back to his stream of thought. This would have been stored on the Suspicious Clues Palace, in Ed’s corner. His mind raced back in the atrium of his palace where he could see the various corners, and he went back into the Alley of Dark Secrets, then turned to the Corner of Lonely Puzzle Pieces. There were actually a lot of them, but the topmost one was vivid enough. It was a red blood hearing-aid spewing out a mean Larsen and bathing in paella. For “auditor murdered in Spain” obviously. He turned down mentally the volume of the hearing-piece. This was not a very elegant image, but he was in a hurry, and crude preposterous images always were remembered better he’d found out. The lewdest even more so. Which was why his Palace of Past Precious Moments was starting to look like a brothel he was loath to admit.

He was starting to wonder if Ed’s demise was not some sort of inside job. Circumstances were not really orthodox, but nothing was in their line of duty, so he had to look for something else. He’d already started to make an inventory of the storage room, just before the break-in, but computer handicapped as he was, between paper and memory palaces, he couldn’t figure it anymore and had to start it over with some help from Cornella.
At least, he’d sent Hyphen and Dash to discreetly investigate on the break-in and now, he will probably send them to investigate on… he faced a blank. All he could remember now was he was having the meanest craving for mussels and prawns.

Liverworts had done wonder at the Vatican, actually.
That, and maybe the out-of-the-body sit-ins of the Occupy The Vatican Library Out of Body team too. So much so that the old cranky current tenant decided to leave his chasuble and tiara and go for more exciting adventures such as sky-diving and bungee jumping.

The Surge Team’s game was about to change to a whole new level they soon started to discover when their screens started to light up at the same moment the first news report came out with the scoop. Well, the second one actually, because the first reporter spoke only in Latin.

“So much red can only mean one thing,” a dejected Pearl mused out aloud at her screen.
“Chinese Bloody New Year?” a distracted Skye answered tentatively.
“Yes… but no, I mean, it’s not surges any longer… another Wave is on the making… And I fear they’ll overdo the religious stuff with that one.” she added gloomily.

“Oh, and by the way, anyone seen Aqua Luna recently? I’ve never seen my keyboard so bloody dusty in ages!”

Looking at the city illuminated by endless fireworks, Madame Li was almost glad to be back in Shanghai for the Chinese New Year. The vibrations, explosions and sparkling lights sent shivers of pleasure down her spine, reminding her of childhood excitement and of times before her awareness of such things as surges.
She wasn’t back for leisure however. A new snow surge had followed the air pollution surge. This was most unnerving, and she’d heard from Anita Charmpatti, her counterpart in India that a fog of pollution had hit New Dalhi as well.

At the Long Poon Headquarters, against all expectations, a certain Lord Lemon had taken over the head of operations, flanked with two even older museum-worth pieces of antiquities (names Hyphen and Dash). All that had left Cornella utterly disappointed after her last past weeks of brilliant interim. Truth be told, without her scrupulous continuation in the footsteps of Steam, the Surge Team could have been no more. She’d managed to rally back Skye after her taking unnoticed leave of absence in Wales that could well have been an attempt at an early retirement. She also had talked back (and not without a fight) Pearl and Mari Fe in line of duty, and after the looting of the artefact chamber, the collection of rotes gathered after the past weeks contained surges made it look as if they were all back to business.

That Lord Lemon was an old bastard from the early ages of the Team. Usually, in that risky business, you weren’t expected to grow very old, much less to be able to retire. That one having been able to do both surely meant one thing. He wasn’t here to fool around with,… even though he looked capable of little less than managing his early bouts of Alzeihmer’s.

car looking cat link far started physical trip question katarina late energy
taking door moment once odd purple bee others matter…

“Oh no, not Korea yet, it’s minus 18 degrees there!” Yann was busy throwing darts on the world map patafixed to the blank wall after a fashion.
He’d spend the last hour trying to find a suitable and close enough destination to fly so as to activate his last one-month coupon-visa due to expire at the end of the month. But most of the attempts seemed to follow an unknown logic he wasn’t ready to go along with.
“It’s starting to snow again in Paris, and it’s too far. Taipei or Kyoto don’t look much better than here…”
He marked a pause, and breathing slowly, emptied his mind, following the tradition of the Güt lineage of Libetan alpacas. Then the solution to his predicament appeared to him as clear as broad daylight.
“Alright then, Long Poon it is again the safest choice. And I could be back the 23rd, isn’t it great? Let’s just hope the booking will go easier than last time !”

The aftershock of the surge at the Three Kings’ Parade started to hit full blast at the portals initial location, thus effectively linking old mummies energy to the bodies there that were hit by Mari Fe, and for he most part still lying unconscious.
The combination of energies started to make them arise and walk like mindless zombies, intoning old guttural sounds in cadence in a language that sounded like Italian poetry.
There you had the Balthazar, Rogelio, Dru and alter-Ed who all woke up at once, and even Sanso who had been hit (while impersonating a Portal Worker) started to feel oddly strange.

Noticing the atypical occurrence, Arona, whom Janet seemed to have had taken a sudden liking to (blame it on her Yankee side), started to look at her brood and rally them for a safe and prompt exit.
“What is it Arona dearie?” Janet didn’t seem worried. She was a Surge Team member after all, and a zombilic epidemic (zombies energy coming from wormholes) wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle.
“I fear that although your presence is most delightful, we shall be on our way.” Arona’s old sabulmantium had shown persistent and remarkable hints of dragon energy in this dimension that, although a bit different and looking in her mind’s eye like red flying snakes bearing impossibly long mustache, resonated quite well —not to mention she was eager to part with such bizarre company.
“Alrighty, let’s keep in touch dearie,” Janet added, covering their escape, not without winking at Sanso as he was the last one to leave through the map portal, leaving her to look for her missing flushed friends, Mari Fe and Pearl.
Unbeknownst to everyone, the picture-taking lady had camouflaged herself to look like a red sofa nearby the hot pink leather chaise lounge in the corner of the room, and was documenting silently the promising epic battle of Janet and Riff Raff against the zombies.
And for sure, Janet was still ready to make good use of the pocket-sized forklift to move away all cumbersome bodies,… as there was bound to be casualties.

While stroking his mustache fondly, Ed Steam had the clearest realization that although he’d done that quite a few times in the past mostly to his advantage, it was a lot of work to rewrite timelines and figure out the hows and whens of everyone in his team.
Maybe it was actually time for him to restore the original timeline while disappearing — by faking his own death to be certain nobody would thwart his carefully thought retirement plan. Then, he could also stop dyeing his mustache he figured… So many things to take care of, retirement would be so sweet.
Although the Egyptian timeturner gave him all the time in the world, he actually felt like he’d lost already a great deal too much of it, and started to enact his plan without further ado.

Procuring a body double was actually not so hard. The last surge had brought a few of them in Thrifteen’s Alley in their Moreguest Facility. A switch and a twist of the pocket portal and a zap and a blink of the miniaturizer was enough to get there and come back in seconds with a frozen pocket-size life-suspended body from the testing stock, with convincing enough miniaturized slim lips, safely put in a test tube in his waistcoat pocket.
A six-shot cudgel from his artefact war trove was all he needed to make sure the amateur assassin in red robes they’d hired would be taken care of easily.
Then, an enscombulator bedazzler ray spray would be enough to convince Mari Fe she’d managed to hit him, buying him time enough to then deminiaturize the thawed slim-lipped body double, to slip in his stead.
Last, but not least, he would then have a few seconds to discombobulize Mari Fe while disappearing with a backup transportable portal. The plan was perfect. The original timeline restored in pristine conditions.
Only for a few minor details of course. He’d almost forgotten to reprogram the mini-man in his pocket with enough memories for him to be a convincing Ed-himself sans la moustache of course. At least, for the short time he would survive (surge victims discovered still alive were placed in life suspension by the team, but this was mostly for medical analysis as they usually wouldn’t survive their conditions).
Oh, and the bloody mustache of course… A squeeze of foolicle solventilator would be enough to make it temporarily invisible.

Simple enough… Well, sandbagging Mari Fe would have probably conveyed similar results with minimal efforts, although the elegance of his plan, as well as the fact that he was loath to hit ladies did unmistakably weight in favour of it.

And with that, he would be back in time for dinner.
In fact, he already was.

His razor blade in left hand (he was ambidextrous with a slight favour for the left side), Ed suddenly remembered his future struggle with the daft cumbersome vermillion man, so he quickly turned off the portal. Then, against all common sense and years of procedures, decided to put it into his pocket.
Everything following came back at once, interspersed with bits of smashed objects and blurs. But something he distinctly remembered was that Mari Fe was in the apartment, although he didn’t remember bringing her home from last night. It was against company policy to sleep with subordinates, so it had to mean something fishy.
Recalibrating the portal using the failsafe code, he directed it to the secret headquarters where he had started to stockpile dangerous artefacts collected from previous surge control operations, deciding it was the best course of action before assessing who was to be trusted or not in his Chicks team…

Waking up (again) without the others noticing, Ed Steam mechanically went for his waxed mustache as he did whenever something like a haywire silly plot perturbed him, before realizing he was sorely missing this part of his definite features that earned him so much success with the ladies (and a few favors from the other gender as well, he wasn’t shy to admit). Anyway, rendered dejected by this, he grabbed his carefully concealed genuinely old pocket sundial dating back from the Egyptians, and turning with precise movements its gnomon to put it back to when it indicated a few hours ago, was brought back at the precise moment before he started to cut his signature waxed mustache.