[Rimbaud]

Shaken, but not stirred, as the great but spittlesome Third Age poet Eean the Phlegming would have had it, they went on through the land; as a stoat pushing through an anti-stoat fence; soon they were, so totally like, near Valleyfornia.

“All the leaves are brown,” said Hal perceptively and pre-emptively, suspecting someone might soon make the same observation.

“And the sky is grey,” mentioned Meri. “Looks like we’re in for a bit of a walk.”

“On a winter’s day,” shivered Hal in return. “I’d be safe and warm, if I was in LA.”

“Where?” asked Meri. Hal said nothing, but at that moment the sun came out from through the clouds, and spread warm light upon the Wellittakesusawhilebutwegetroundtoiteventually-ship.

“Valleyfornia’s beamin’,”said Hal, dreamily. “On such a winter’s day.” And indeed before them, the sunbeams alighted lightly on the City of the West, which the author would love to suggest was gleaming spires, with perhaps the odd minaret thrown in, but was rather some rather pricey looking stuccoed villas, and carefully manicured lawns. It was eerily quiet.

“Quite finished?” asked Orogarn. “We do have work here, not mere idle banter.”

And so they walked down the broad avenue, into the heart of the sun’s final location. They saw a sign for what appeared to be a great high street, or shopping centre, which reminded them of the boutiques of Topfloorien. This place was called Valleyfornication.

“I expect,” mused their fair Elven leader, “that the inhabitants of this wondrous yet curiously deserted place are at the mall.”

If she was honest, the idea of a little boot-shopping in Valleyfornia did also seem pretty righteous. She pushed this pedal-purchase-penchant to the back of her mind and led them on.

Yet the party were hungry, and at a sign saying Mamas and Papas’ Nip-in Nippon Dining, they stopped for refreshment. The tables were terribly low, but they were ravenous enough not to care.

So they stopped into a place, they passed along the way. Well, they got down on their knees, and they began to eat. The Fellowship, they liked the food – thought they were going to stay. Valleyfornia dinin’ – such a winter’s day.

When they were sated, it was time to take stock. Hal took vegetables, and Vogonwe collected up gravy boats. When they had taken stock, it was time to appraise their situation.


“So what’s the gist of what you chaps are up to, anyway?” asked Hal reasonably.

“It’s complicated,” sighed several people.

“…Ents…”

“…broken…collected…reunified…”

“…bosoms…”

“…great quest…very heroic…Elrond…”

“…stockings…”

“…need to find the rest…to be honest…no real idea…”

Eventually, Hal thought he had the story straight. He was stuck in a party of the most ludicrous insanity, with a slim chance of survival, no chance of dignity, and the ominous fear that at any minute his storyline might be corrupted by a veritable gaggle of puns. Unfortunately, he knew not that the correct collective noun for the pun was in fact a ‘punishment’. This, as will be seen, was as apt as one might singularly imagine. And ones were about to become singularly important. Because, as any child worth his salt knows, firstly – salt isn’t worth much, and secondly, if a large group goes shopping together, in no short order separation ensues.

Valleyfornication mall was huge, the size of a small country. And it was teeming, oddly not with teams, but with people. People who liked each other a lot, or rather just liked the word like a lot.

Thus it was, among the shops of Valleyfornia, that the Notagainship was rendered, rent and remaindered.

Hal found himself wandering, if not as lonely as a cloud, then certainly as ambivalent as a mild fog. He trudged through the bright lights and vast crowds. He would have trudged slowly over wet sand, but no one would get that. He ambled through the thickets of bleached blonde baby-faces of this western oddity.

So lost was he in thoughts of this strange place, that he bumped into Merisuwyniel inadvertently.

“Ah,” he said gallantly, feeling more like his brother than normal. “How are you?”

“Fine, Hal, fine,” she said “but we need to get on with finding the Velour.”

At the exact moment she said the word, a giant bubble appeared before them, rotating and blue. It popped, *pop*, and inside sat a small man, no taller than three inches, sitting on a flying carpet.

“Velour?” he squeaked.

“I’m dreaming,” murmured Hal.

“Of genie?” questioned Merisuwyniel. “Let us follow him.”

And follow him they did, for he set off through the shopping district at a ferocious pace. They weaved through the thronging Elves until they came to a great staircase. Before the staircase was a peculiar feature: what appeared to be a water-fountain, but rather than clear water, strange devices tumbled noisily down to smash on the stone base of the thing. They were black or silver, with strange apertures on one side, and blinking red eyes on the top. They clicked and buzzed oddly, and occasionally emitted blinding flashes.

“Fount Olympus,” murmured their guide. “No pictures up here.”

“We must summon the others,” cried Merisu. “Hal, your brother carried a piercing tin-whistle. Do you have a family heirloom of similar use?”

“Sadly,” began Hal, in his doleful voice, “my family left me an actual loom as my heirloom. I suppose it’s what you would call irony. It’s of no use now. However,” he added, brightening and feeling at something tied to his belt, “I do have this trumpet.”

“Then call the others!”

He did, and they arrived all at once, with the convenience of large groups in poorly narrated stories. They stood gazing at the stair, which wound its way up beyond the clouds that formed, oddly, below the ceiling of the great hall. Inscriptions were carved on each step: “All that glitters is gold”, “She knows if the stores are closed”, “A songbird who sings” and so on.

Thus they went on the stairway to heavens higher than the clouds, with feet of lead, but hearts of zeppelins. They were nearly there now.