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Anakron and Panakeia had had a week to remember. They had been to every spot in Lūndūn worthy of visiting, and some not so worthy. They had of course taken in Wednester Shabby (in honor of Wednesdays, apparently), Why Chopple (to which every tourist cracked, predictably, 'why not'? - - leaving Anakron and Panakeia with the unenviable ailment of rolling eye syndrome), Traffic Grrr Square (which seemed decidedly aptly named), Sent Pall's Catty Droll (there were a lot of Catty Drolls sprinkled throughout Nurnia, and Anakron had never bothered to wonder why. He did so now, aloud).
"What are these Catty Drolls and what makes them so fascinating to the average tourist?"
"Maybe it has something to do with the Siamese Cat on top of that old staff you used to carry."
"Don't remind me."
Last but not least, they visited the Tar of Lūndūn with its Gollum's Gate and Orc torture devices (torturing orcs was apparently an art form unto itself). They saw the Spleen's Crown Jools, and were in abject wonderment that the Spleen's family of Windsurf could have got off so well. They were told by the dowty Beefeaters that the family did not really windsurf at all, having come by the name because of the Cat's Howl where they lived.
Cat's Howl? Anakron wondered, but gave up trying to understand these blasted anakronisms. None of it mattered with Panakeia on his arm.
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