In the last installment of Karen Zipslicer’s adventures, Badger and Corblimey, we left Karen and Winton dealing with the bureaucracy at the Municipal Financial Emporium. Now Karen can set her sights on her goal: finding a way home.

Karen and Winton walked a while after leaving the Municipal Financial Emporium, but they soon parted company. Winton explained he had “some business to attend to”. Karen thought it would be nosey to ask what. She was keen to express her gratitude for everything he had done. In her mind, this was going to be the last time she would see Winton; her plan was to catch the next airship to London. Winton, in contrast, made it clear that he would be home by 5.30pm. He insisted that, come the evening, Karen should return to his house if she was not already half way home. Winton was adamant that Karen should not stay out after dark, not under any circumstances. He clearly marked his house on the map he gave to Karen. As well as the map, Winton gave her a couple of pfennigs “for lunch”. Karen then asked how she was going to pay the fare for her airship flight. Winton said nothing in response, only giving an uncomfortable shrug. It was clear that the two pfennigs were all Winton could spare. Karen already felt deeply indebted to him. Although they swapped addresses, and she promised she would pay him back, neither knew how that might be accomplished in practice.

After waving each other goodbye, and taking several steps in opposite directions, Winton called back to Karen, “maybe you could sell the boots, to pay the fare?” Karen was still wearing the magnificent red boots she had found in Winton’s shop. She now felt doubly guilty and ungrateful. Karen had put her Heelys in her backpack, forgetting all about the new boots she had ‘borrowed’. She felt like taking them off, right there in the middle of the street, and returning them to Winton. But Winton was still walking away, talking as he did, “it’s alright, they were getting dusty on my shelves, maybe they’ll bring you more luck than they brought me.”

To catch an the airship, Karen needed to walk to the borough of Ossulstone, and find a green hill called ‘Airship Downs’. Karen mused that it was a funny name, but by Lundern’s standards, not all that funny. Winton had been very particular in marking out the route she should follow, drawing a thick red line through all the streets between his shop and the Downs. Though she felt nervous at walking around a strange city alone, Winton had given her a practical tip: “if all else fails, walk towards any large groups of airships that you see.” Though stupidly obvious, it was also comfortingly sensible. Then again, the morning mist had not dissipated like she had expected, and the air was gloomy. She hoped the airship captains could still see where they were headed. Perhaps they rose above the grey. She would like to do the same.

Karen walked confidently, but was discrete. She only checked her map furtively, not wanting to attract attention by waving it around. She soon realized that navigating Lundern was going to be difficult. There were few street signs, none of Lundern’s streets were straight, and there were few recognizable landmarks she could check against the map. Many people had black boxes over their eyes, like those worn by the daughters of the Dowager Duchess D’Nunzio. The ones who did would barely notice Karen, even when she spoke to them. They would keep on walking right past her, despite her polite excuse me’s. It was with some relief that Karen happened upon Newton Town Hall, the one major building on her route, about halfway to the Downs. The Town Hall stood out from the other buildings. It was not just larger than other buildings, but it also had a thin strip of public garden in front and to either side. The gardens sported various shrubs and small trees. There she stopped, and sat on a low wall surrounding the gardens, taking off and adjusting her boots, which had begun to chafe her ankles. Her fingers were cold from the moist air. She cupped her hands and warmed them with her breath. Even so, she fumbled her left boot after taking it off, and dropped it behind the wall, into the garden area behind. “What’s that, what’s that?” said an abrupt and squeaky voice. As Karen leaned back to reach for her boot, a long thin creature with short legs and brown and white fur leapt up, on to the wall beside her. She shrieked. “Who’s that, who’s you?” said the animal; he was manically jumping and hopping from side to side. So crazy were his movements, arching its back and leaping about, that it fell off the wall almost immediately, landing in front of Karen. Karen wondered if he was a weasel, but before she said anything, he announced, whilst still madly jigging around, “I’m a ferret, you woke me, when you dropped your boot.” Though she had been startled at first, Karen realized his antics were playful and not meant to frighten. “Yes, I dropped my boot. I’m sorry I disturbed you.”
“Too late, never mind, dropped your boot, on my burrow, I was sleeping, no harm done,” continued the ferret, in his hyper manner.
Karen smiled at the ferret, and his frenzied display. For the first time since saying goodbye to Winton, Karen felt her nervousness dissipate.
“Put your boot back on,” said the ferret, without it being clear if this was a question or a suggestion.
“I’m going to,” answered Karen, who picked up her boot, and slid her foot back inside.
“Big boots, I could climb inside.”
“That’s not a very polite thing to say to a woman,” teased Karen.
“No offence, just observation, boots big, that’s all.”
Karen couldn’t be offended by anything the comical ferret said. She redid her laces, taking care to tighten them just right.
“Pretty too, nice red, what’s your name?”
“Karen. What’s yours?”
“Whiteley, I’m Whiteley, twice-nightly, too-rightly, I’m Whiteley.”
“Are you called that because of those white spots on your face?”
“That, and reasons besides.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Whiteley. I’d like to stop and chat, but I have an airship to catch.”
“Fly in the sky? Dangerous high. Know what you are doing, I’m not so sure.” Whiteley’s dance was growing gradually less energetic. Karen was glad, because she felt sure that if it continued unabated, it would only be a matter of time before Whiteley threw himself under the foot of one the black box-wearing passers-by, who were so ignorant of their surroundings.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I want to go home.”
“Not from here? I’ll be your guide. Take you to your perilous ride.”
“You know the way to Airship Downs?”
“Know it for sure. Business I’ve there. Though prefer the ground, to up in the air.” And before anything else was said, off set Whiteley, showing Karen the way. Karen threw her bag back over her shoulder, and hurried along behind.

Karen soon caught up to Whiteley. Though he ran along energetically, her strides easily kept pace with his short legs. Difficulties only arose when confronted by busy crowds on crowded streets. Whiteley would dart between legs, slipping around and over and under and through the procession of feet, whilst Karen would have to squeeze past people, be pushy, and say sorry, to avoid losing sight of her diminutive source of direction.
“What do you do twice-nightly?” asked Karen, half-wondering if she would regret the question.
“Catch rabbits,” answered Whiteley, with a hint of glee in his voice.
“Oh, that’s not very nice. I like rabbits.”
“Many do, nice price, that’s what nice, about rabbits.”
“You’re a hunter?”
“Hunter’s helper, I am, or sometimes I’m guard, keep the rats from the grain, stored at the docks, but cats like that work, and rabbits pays better.”
It had not occurred to Karen that animals that could talk might still be eaten for food. But now she thought about it, she supposed that Lundern’s animals were all expected to be useful, one way or another. Though Whiteley was very excitable, he was happy to run through the streets without talking. Karen occasionally asked him about his life, or about places that they went by. Other times she was quiet. It was enjoyable to follow Whiteley in silence, not needing to worry about her map. As she did, she observed Lundern life in the relative daylight permitted by the mist. Lundern was different to anything Karen had experienced before, but it did not seem as daunting during the day. Karen realized she was lucky, compared to Lundern’s inhabitants. The clothes of the Lunderners were generally less colourful, and made of simpler material than Karen’s. Those without black boxes would sometimes linger as they looked upon her, but mostly people were too engrossed in their own lives to pay her any mind. There were no cars on the roads, and few machines of any description. With this thought, she pulled out her mobile phone. There was no signal, and no messages. She had left it on all night, and the battery was half run down. Karen also clutched her iPod in her pocket, making sure it was still there. Though she thought about getting it out, she immediately changed her mind. It would be rude to listen to music whilst following Whiteley. Lunderners seemed to live a more basic life, though occasionally Karen spied gadgets that she could not recognize, and the black boxes were a mystery to her; nobody would wear sunglasses on a dull day like today. What really pleased Karen was the thought of being home soon, and of travelling there on an airship. She could not remember hearing of any airships ever landing in London, but that did not trouble her. She had never heard of tube trains to Lundern either, and yet she had caught one last night, even if by accident.

Misty as it was, Karen could feel the hulking mass of the dirigibles, as she and Whiteley drew close to Airship Downs. As they walked up to the base of the hill, she became aware of the shadows of the looming airships. They overlay the fog. Their long ellipses dominated the sky in this part of town. Many were a hundred feet long. Some reached beyond two hundred feet. Their dense scrum caused Karen to gasp in wonder. Some were leaving. Others arrived. Yet more jostled and manoeuvred for position. The airships hung above like monstrous elongated lampshades, except that they cast a spell of greyness upon the ground beneath. The airships were themselves coloured a uniform grey; the thin fabric of their shells had no lustre to them. A more generous description might call them silver, but shrouded in Lundern’s fog, they occluded colour, and their shadows drained any last verve of sunlight that might have otherwise reached the people below. Upon their sides were written codes of giant letters and numbers, presumably for identification. They hovered above Airship Downs, dominating it. The hill was a wide expanse of trampled grass, bordered by roads on each side. Hefty warehouses ringed the far side of each road. The green of the grass had been churned and often scarred to brown. A thousand feet, hooves and wheeltracks had left their mark. Airship Downs gently rose to its highest point, which was the nicest thing that could be said about its aspect. Mooring masts were arranged in a regular square pattern all the way across it. A third of the masts were occupied by tethered airships. The airships that were moored sat like strapped party balloons, wavering when the breeze changed direction, but held tightly by many thick ropes tied to iron hoops in the ground. At their moorings, the balloons hovered barely above ground level, with their gondolas hanging beneath like windowed pot bellies. They hung so close to ground that Karen might almost touch them if she stood beneath and jumped up. Those in the air droned so thickly that the sound hugged the hillside. Karen and Whiteley had to raise their voices to speak to one another. But the airships were not the most daunting aspect of the Downs. At ground level, there was such a gaggle of people and birds, and all manner of other creatures, that the mind struggled to grasp what they were all doing, or to take in the racket that they were all making. To Karen’s eyes, the Downs looked like organized bedlam of every dimension. Some crews, numbering fifty or more, were strenuously hauling ropes and tying down newly-arrived airships, or pulling up gantries, or using hand-cranked cranes for the weightiest items. Large birds squawked and cried at each other in mid-flight, as they lead the way for their respective ships, guiding them through the melee, holding their airship’s tethers in their mouths. Tanks of gas where wheeled too and fro by horses, then hooked up by men to replenish the balloons. Families and friends waved fond farewells, or bounded for joy at the arrival of their loved ones. Cargoes were loaded and unloaded, to and from the beasts of burden, or the wagons they pulled. Between the confusion on ground level, boys ran back and forth, shouting their offers of tickets for sale, to destinations that Karen had never heard of.

Whiteley kept bounding forward, running toward the nearest mast, at the closest corner of the Downs’ expanse. “No!” shouted Karen. She ran up behind Whiteley, and picked him up in both hands.
“What’s this please? Hold me, but don’t squeeze!”
“It’s alright Whiteley, I just don’t want to have to chase you through this…” she tried to think of the right word, but the best she could come up with was: “… mess. You’re small and can quickly dodge your way through a rabble like this, but I can’t.”
“Fine enough, where now?”
“I was hoping you might know.”
“I know this field is right, but not which airship is your flight.”
“Do you always talk in rhyme?”
“No.”
“Should I ask one of these boys?”
“Airships they know, places…”
“Okay.”
“…they go.”

A nearby boy, of about thirteen years of age, saw Karen and started shouting in her direction: “tickets for Wassailham, Chapstow and Duncester.” Karen walked closer, squelching through a patch of mud as she did. As she approached, she began to speak. “Which airships go to London?”
“London?” His face was blank.
“London.”
“Is that foreign?”
Karen was not sure of the answer. She guessed, “yes.”
“Dirigibles to foreign places moor close to the top of the hill, miss.”
“Thank you.” She sighed. From where Karen stood, it was about five hundred yards to the hill’s highest point. That would be a trudge if a straight-line walk. It was a marathon whilst weaving around and through the frenetic activity. At least she was wearing the right footwear, Karen mused to herself. Through the throng she headed purposefully, though often forced to detour around a dense crowd, or a moving wagon, or to avoid the landing zone of an incoming airship. As she walked up, she would catch the eye of ticket-boys and ask them each: “to London?” None knew better than the first boy she had asked. With diversions and hold-ups, it took her half an hour to get near to the top. Whiteley fidgeted in her hands, but did not speak. She reached the mooring mast of an especially long airship, which had just taken off and was rapidly soaring upwards, looking like a fat cigar fired from a slow-motion cannon. An older boy stood by the base of the mast. Unusually for a ticket-boy, he looked up to watch the airship depart. “Excuse me, where’s the airship to London?” said Karen, to the boy.
“To where?”
“London. London, in England.”
“Fingland?”
“England.”
His eyebrows kitted together in thought. “England?” he said back at her.
“England. London. London, capital of England,” she elaborated.
“You just missed it. That was it,” and he pointed straight up at the ascending dirigible.
“When’s the next one?”
“You know, maybe that wasn’t it. London, London…” and then he shouted at another boy, standing thirty yards way, to come over. “Desmond, do you know of an airship to London, England?”
Desmond, who was not only older but better dressed, wandered over, and spoke to the boy that called him. “Why are you asking that?”
“This girl asked,” and the first boy pointed at Karen.
“Why does she want to know?”
The first boy just puffed out his cheeks and looked up. Karen spoke instead: “I’m from London, well, just outside actually, and I want to get back as soon as I can.”
Desmond sucked his teeth. “Are you from there, really?”
Karen nodded. “Just outside.”
“Alright, you look like an honest sort. Follow me.” Desmond led Karen over the rise of the hill and slightly down its far side. There was a small shack with a corrugated iron roof, little more than a shed with windows on either side. Desmond rapped his knuckles on the window. “Thomas? It’s Desmond.” The window swung open, and a fat bearded man looked out. “What do you want?” asked the bearded man.
“This ‘un here wants to go to England,” he nodded in Karen’s direction. “To Lon-don.”
“Who told you?” asked Thomas, the bearded man, to Karen.
“Told me what?”
“You know what.”
“What what?” squeaked Whiteley, suddenly very excited at all the mystery.
“What’s what, that’s what’s what,” said Thomas, even more mysteriously.
“I’m from London, and I want to fly back on the next airship going that way.”
“You’re from London?” Thomas frowned. Desmond sucked his teeth again.
“That’s what she said,” added Desmond.
“I don’t believe it,” and Thomas smartly pulled his window shut.

Karen felt she was getting used to the eccentric behaviour of Lundern’s inhabitants, but she could not abide rudeness. Desmond stood there, leaning against the shack whilst looking at her. She brushed right past him, opened the door of the shack, and walked straight in, swinging the door shut behind her. Inside there was a table top, perched up on boxes instead of legs, covered in piles of paper, with each pile at least a foot high.
“You can’t come in here,” said Thomas.
“Well, I have,” said Karen.
“She did,” said Whiteley, “and me too!”
The bearded man rose to his feet again, and placed the palms of his hands flat on top of some of the paper piles. “This here’s the filing office, and we’ve got confidential paperwork in here.”
“Just tell me about the airship to London, and I’ll leave.”
Desmond was looking in at the window. Thomas noticed, and rapped the back of his hand against the glass, driving Desmond away. “You know it’s entrapment, to ask about illegal places. If I answer your question, you can’t say anything about it in a court of law.”
“London’s not illegal.”
“It is here.”
“Illegal places!” added Whiteley. Whiteley was so animated that Karen found him almost impossible to hold.
“How can London be illegal here,” rejoined Karen, “when London isn’t here?”
“I don’t make the laws,” replied Thomas, obliquely.
“And why’s London illegal?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Is it illegal to tell me?”
Thomas said nothing, but his eyes widened, which Karen took to mean it was illegal for Thomas to tell her.
“So, it is illegal to tell me.”
“Did I say that?”
“No.”
“Your eyes did,” said Whiteley, butting in.
“Not my mouth.”
“Mouth no, eyes yes, good game, next guess?” said Whiteley, who made about as much sense as Thomas.
“My guess is that you’re at secret war with England,” pronounced Karen, emphatically. Thomas’ face did not flicker.
“Bad guess,” said Whiteley.
“You’re smuggling something illegal to London?”
Thomas scowled.
“Getting warmer,” said Whiteley.
“You’re buying something illegal from London?”
“Bingo, my go,” said Whiteley, “you’re smuggling TV game show formats into Lundern.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Karen. But as she spoke, she noticed a change in Thomas’ expression, and realized that Whiteley had got it right. “Does it?”
“I cheated. I knew already,” tittered Whiteley.
“Whiteley, why didn’t you tell me?” asked Karen.
“You never asked me,” which was true.
“Alright, as you seem to know what’s going on,” said Thomas, relaxing and sitting back in his chair, “it’s true. They’ve been taking ideas from foreign entertainment, and bringing them over by airship.”
“You don’t smuggle ideas in airships,” pleaded Karen, who was utterly bemused.
“You do, if they’re written down on paper,” said the bearded man. He lifted one hand up and Karen looked at the sheet beneath. It was an idea for a show where Simon Cowell competed with a fortune-telling octopus to see who could correctly predict which celebrity team would win at synchronized swimming. Karen thought it sounded awful.
“So now I know you fly airships to London, when’s the next one?”
“Tomorrow. You missed today’s flight.”
“I knew that,” said Whiteley.
“You did?” said Karen, more bemused than ever. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t ask,” said Whiteley.
“I did. I asked you which was my airship.”
“I don’t know which, just when. 12.30pm”
“So why didn’t you warn me to get here sooner?”
“You were slow, leaving no time to stop and talk.”

Karen sighed. She turned her attention back to Thomas. “So how do I get on board tomorrow’s airship?”
“By paying me five hundred shillings,” said Thomas.
“Five hundred shillings!” exclaimed Karen. Then she turned to Whiteley and whispered: “is that a lot?”
“It’s a lot of lot,” whispered Whiteley back.
“That’s extortion,” complained Karen.
Thomas rubbed his beard and ruminated, “we’re criminals, not anarchists.”
“What if I told the police what you’re doing?” threatened Karen.
“That’s extortion,” said Whiteley.
“Yeah, he’s right. That really would be extortion,” said Thomas. “Also, your friend would get in trouble, because he seems to know all about it. And this is all entrapment, and nothing we’ve said can be repeated in court.”
Karen paused, and wondered what she might say to change her luck. “Would you like a pair of boots?” she asked, desperately.

In more recent posts, I digressed to tell the flashback story of the young Lady Emerald. Returning to the original thread, after Karen Zipslicer’s first night in Lundern, we left her eating breakfast with Winton, the cobbler. Before Karen can explore the rest of Lundern, there is one place that Winton must take her…

Though sunlight peered through the thin veil of mist, it was chilly outside. Karen stamped her red-booted feet, in a bid to warm herself and relieve her impatience. They were a hundred yards from Winton’s shop, near the corner of the street. Winton was cheerily standing, facing a locked door.
“It’s good to be early. They’ll open in one minute, and we’ll be first in the queue,” said Winton, still standing poised in front of the door.
“Is this a bank?” asked Karen, a little off-handedly. The signage above the shop read ‘Municipal Financial Emporium’. Karen thought the lettering was most unwelcoming. “And there’s nobody else in the queue,” she added.
“What’s a bank?” asked Winton.
“Don’t you have banks in Lundern?”
“We have river banks.”
“Banks are places where you keep money.”
“You could keep money here, if you wanted. I keep my money in my shoe, when I have some,” laughed Winton, as he waggled a foot in Karen’s direction. She did not humour him.
“So it’s a bank then?”
“Like I say, I don’t know what you mean when you talk about banks. But this is a place to do things with money.”
Karen paused for a moment, and then loudly pondered, “why are we here?” Winton did not answer because at that moment a short man in a disheveled suit came to unlock the door. He bent over to open the bolt at the door’s base, then jumped up to open the bolt at its top. Winton was so eager to get in that he pushed the door almost simultaneously with the short man pulling it open.
“Are you here to collect more stamps today, Mr. Weddle?” asked the short man, speaking to Winton. He held the door open as Karen followed Winton, and then he walked back to the far side of his teller’s counter. On his way round, he needed to squeeze past a large and forbidding desk that sat at one end of the room. Though the teller was short, his head was several feet above everyone else’s when he sat on his high stool.
“Yes Ronnie,” said Winton, as he pulled out a thin booklet from inside his jacket. “But today we’ll be needing to buy some insurance for this young lady, Karen Zipslicer.” Winton gestured towards Karen by way of his introduction, and his gesture turned into a comforting hand on Karen’s shoulder.
“Cor blimey! Insurance?” asked Ronnie, the teller, as if this was the most extraordinary request he had heard in a long time. “I’ll have to call in Ron to give you advice about that,” and he leaned back and shouted loudly at a closed door: “Ron, Mr. Weddle’s wanting to buy insurance!”

Some time past, and to Karen it felt as if everyone was staring very intently at the door that Ronnie, the teller, had shouted at. They waited for the Ron who was behind the door to eventually emerge from it. But whilst they all looked at the door, a badger steadily climbed up his ramp and carefully sat himself behind the desk. That badger was called Ron, and was who they had been waiting for.
“Cor blimey!” exclaimed Ronnie, the teller. Karen gritted her teeth when he did. “Ron, we was looking for you at the door, but you never came out from behind it! I was calling you, shouting that Mr. Weddle’s wanting some insurance for this young lady… Miss… erm…” but he did not know Karen’s name.
“Zipslicer,” said Karen.
“That’s it. I was shouting that Miss Zipslicer needs some insurance, and we was waiting for you, and you didn’t come through the door, but now you’re here!”
“Yes,” was the monosyllabic reply of Ron, the badger.
There was an awkward silence. Ronnie Corblimey seemed a little hurt by Ron Badger’s reticence. Eventually Ron Badger relented.
“I was sleeping under my desk. You woke me. I heard the conversation with Mr. Weddle and Miss Zipslicer.”
Ronnie Corblimey was greatly cheered by this modest exchange, and he beamed at Karen and Winton as he gestured for them to sit at Ron Badger’s desk.

Karen and Winton took the two vacant seats on the opposite side to Ron Badger’s desk. Upon the desk there was a large typewriter, and in a silver frame, a black and white photograph of Ron Badger with his family. Black and white suited them. As Karen and Winton sat, Ronnie Corblimey continued to chime in: “they want insurance for the young miss, so I said you would need to give them advice about that.”
“I will, Ronnie.” Ron Badger had a serious disposition, or maybe he wished he was still asleep.
“You’d better ask them what kind of insurance they wants,” added Ronnie Corblimey, not particularly helpfully.
“I’ll do that,” and he turned to look Karen deeply in the eyes, then looked Winton deep in the eyes, and then looked back to Karen, and he said: “what kind of insurance do you want?”
Winton answered: “miscellaneous short-term”.
It was unclear what expression Ron Badger had on his face, but Karen wondered if it was meant to be ill-tempered. There was a long pause and it looked is if Ron Badger was about to speak, when Ronnie Corblimey butted in: “cor blimey, you can’t have miscellaneous short-term, you knows!”
Rob Badger, turned to look at Ronnie Corblimey, and looked him deep in the eyes too. There was something hypnotic and paralyzing about his stare. It left you intently attentive, whilst still and silent like a stone. At least, it left Karen and Winton that way. Ronnie Corblimey was more immune, and added to his early comment: “you can’t half short-term miscellaneous as a policy, no you can’t. That’s right, isn’t it, Ron?”
Maybe Ron Badger’s eyes widened just a tad. Karen was not sure what he was doing, but he looked gripped in a battle of mind control with Ronnie Corblimey. As she had no idea why she was here, she just sat there quietly. As she did, it occurred to Karen that their enquiry about insurance might be the follow-up to last night’s shenanigans, where she had needed a waiver from the ticket inspector just to walk with Cecilia. Ron Badger’s eyes opened even wider and finally Ronnie Corblimey fell silent, after exhaling a semi-audible whimper.

Turning back to Karen and Winton, Ron Badger clarified: “I recall that ‘miscellaneous long-term’ is one of the policies we sold to you, Mr. Weddle. The name of that product is shorthand for a discounted bundle of some of our most popular policies. We don’t provide a similar bundle for short-duration policies,” with this, Ron Badger looked up at Ronnie Corblimey, and opened his eyes very wide. Karen and Winton followed his lead, and looked around too. They saw Ronnie Corblimey had his mouth open, as if about to speak, but Ron Badger’s stare seemed to have gripped his tongue. Ronnie Corblimey closed his mouth, and swallowed. “Please specify each individual policy Miss Zipslicer needs,” continued Ron Badger. And then he asked Karen: “what insurance do you have already?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, a little meekly, “my dad normally takes care of that.”
“Hmmm,” after a moment of reflection, Ron Badger continued. “Let me briefly list the kinds of insurance I recommend for you,” and then he paused, and took breath, before continuing, without further hesitation. “There’s life insurance, for when you die, and health insurance, for when you’re ill, and housing insurance, should you be left homeless, and possessions insurance, if you lose yours. There’s transport insurance, in case you cannot get to where you are going, accident insurance, in case of the unexpected, and theft insurance, in case someone expects to take your things. There’s face-washing insurance, in case of soap in your eye, and clothes-washing insurance, in case of reds mixed with whites. There’s tall trees insurance, in case one falls on you, and climbing insurance, in case you fall from it. There’s money insurance, in case of devaluation, honey insurance, in case of bee stings, runny insurance, in case of not completing a marathon, and funny insurance, in case of being a failed comedian who is booed off stage. There’s belt insurance, if your trousers fall down, hat insurance, if it blows off, and bum insurance, which covers landings both hard and prickly. There’s hair insurance, in case it falls out, bear insurance, when in the woods, tear insurance, for clothes snagged on loose nails, and share insurance, if nobody can agree how to split the bill at the restaurant. There’s near insurance, for when surrounded by people you don’t like, tear insurance, for dry eyes or smudged makeup, fear insurance, when you want the reassurance of a policy that covers things you otherwise needn’t worry about, and deer insurance,” and here Ron Badger finally took another breath, before opaquely adding “in case of deers.”

Ron Badger looked up to Ronnie Corblimey with the widest eyes yet. Karen and Winton looked over their shoulders too. Ronnie Corblimey had barely pursed his lips to speak. He froze in that pose for a few seconds, before sealing his mouth again. Ron Badger turned back to Karen and Winton. “There’s land insurance, if your hot air balloon blows off course, sand insurance, for uncomfortable return trips from the beach, canned insurance, for when you lose your tin opener, stand insurance, if there are no seats left in a waiting room, hand insurance, if lacking moisturizer, command insurance, for when nobody listens to you, demand insurance, for when they really should listen to you, and offhand insurance, for those who purchase insurance on a whim. There’s a set insurance for your china set, a set insurance for broken bones, a set insurance for those working in the theatre, a set insurance for when you’re losing at tennis, a set insurance for misplaced traps, a set insurance for fast clocks and slow watches, a set insurance for failed jellies, a set insurance if you pull a face and the wind changes, a set insurance for those needing more daylight, a set insurance for those unable to order à la carte and a set insurance if the diamond falls out of your ring.”
At this point, Karen felt compelled to interrupt the interminable list, “As you’re a badger, I suppose you also have sett insurance.”
“I do, but that’s not a policy that humans qualify for,” replied Ron Badger, without humour. He eyes glanced at Ronnie Corblimey, but the teller’s mouth was firmly shut.

Ron Badger paused before continuing. “We shouldn’t forget chalking insurance, in case of blackboard difficulties, hawking insurance, in case parallel universes are real and you fall into one, gawking insurance, in case somebody spots you looking too intently at them, walking assurance, when putting your foot on the street, and talking insurance, in case of putting your foot in your mouth.”
“Karen needs the one before last,” commented Winton, excited to finally be making some progress.
“Everyone does. It’s the law. Miss Zipslicer, don’t you already have pedestrian insurance?”
“No.”
“And you’re not covered by your father’s policy?”
“Not that I know. You see, I’m from somewhere else. I’m new here, and I’ve never needed insurance just to walk around before,” observed Karen, accurately. Feeling that she might be forced into buying a lot more insurance than she wanted, she decided not to ask about the hawking insurance, even though it seemed most relevant to her current circumstances.
“Cor blimey!” but by now, everyone knew to ignore Ronnie Corblimey, and they carried on as if he had not spoken.
“Have you been walking around without an insurance policy as mandated by the Municipality of Lundern?”
“I had a waiver to walk around,” pleaded Karen, though now she realized she had no idea where it was, and wondered if Cecilia had taken it with her. “And nobody told me about any other insurance that I needed.”
“I suppose it’s lucky you made it here without incident. In Lundern, you must have walking insurance, to perambulate its streets, ocular insurance, if using its light, and breathing insurance, for respiratory exercise.”
Karen sat back in her chair, rather glumly. “How much will that cost?”
“That depends on how long you take out the policy for. The longer the duration, the greater the discount.”
“One day?” suggested Karen.
“Cor blimey!” exclaimed Ronnie Corblimey. At this, Ron Badger seemed to finally lose his temper with his colleague’s repetitive interjections. Unmistakably directed at Ronnie Corblimey, Ron Badger gave his hardest stare yet, and by the end of it, all of the blood appeared to have drained from Ronnie’s face. That unpleasantness over with, Ron Badger appeared to twitch a little, but continued whilst attempting to sound unruffled.
“Are you leaving today?” asked Ron Badger.
“That’s my plan,” answered Karen, suddenly conscious of how much time she was wasting in this office of the Municipal Financial Emporium.
“Normally it takes two months to process the paperwork needed to apply for these policies. In a hurry, we can do it around eight or ten working days, but no quicker. You should have submitted your application before you arrived in our city.”
Karen had no answer to that. Ron Badger looked dead-eyed at her, but Winton intervened again.
“A few weeks is fine. Karen won’t be going that soon. She doesn’t even have her tickets booked.”
Karen was upset with the implication that she would be staying longer than she wanted, but Winton’s words seemed to help the situation. Ron Badger turned to Ronnie Corblimey and instructed him to bring over the necessary forms for Karen to fill. As Ronnie Corblimey went through his drawers, Ron Badger recommended to Karen that she take out a year-long policy. He said she should request a refund if she needed to terminate the policy early. Karen found this administrative nonsense to be annoying, though she tried to bear it without show of any displeasure. However, Karen could not hide her dismay when Ronnie Corblimey stepped beside her, holding a pile of papers thick enough to comprise an encyclopedia.
“Do I have to fill all these out?” squealed Karen at Ron Badger, though Ronnie Corblimey answered on his behalf.
“No dear, don’t be silly. You don’t fill out all of these papers. On some of them there’s boxes marked ‘official use only’. You should leave those bits for me and Ron to complete. You just fill out the rest.”
Ronnie Corblimey put the papers in Karen’s lap, then scuttled back to his high stool behind his counter.
“It’ll take me all day to complete these forms!” complained Karen.
“You don’t need to do them right now…” began Ronnie Corblimey, talking from the vantage point of his stool, but he stopped when he realized Ron Badger was once again staring at him.
“You don’t need to do them now,” repeated Ron Badger, “you can do them tonight. Just return them to me by tomorrow, please. In the meantime, I’ll issue you a waiver, so you can go about your business whilst we wait for the paperwork to be processed.”
Karen sighed, though she was mildly intrigued to find out how a badger would fill out a waiver form. Would he hold the pen in his mouth? But the solution was simple. Ron Badger depressed one button on the keyboard of the ‘typewriter’ on his desk, and it noisily whirred into action. A minute later, it had spewed out a waiver form, which said it was official and had been issued by the Lundern Municipal Financial Corporation, Auldsbury branch. Karen pulled it out of the machine and examined it, noting that it expired in a month. Hopefully she would be long gone by then.
Karen motioned to stand up, but Ron Badger coughed and Winton smiled sheepishly, on her behalf. Ron Badger spoke in a direct and no-nonsense tone.
“Now for the matter of payment.”
Karen blushed; would her money be any good in Lundern? She asked the cost of her new insurance.
“Three shillings, five farthings and a pfennig.”
The money they used was evidently different to the kind that Karen carried with her. “I don’t have any Lundern money,” she began…
“Co…” began Ronnie Corblimey, but he quickly stopped himself as Ron Badger looked at him, disappovingly. “C…ripes. Cripes. Yes, that’s what I was going to say. Cripes!”
Now feeling more embarrassed than before, Karen had to proceed regardless, and she asked: “do you accept pounds sterling?”
“Sterling it may be, but the pound’s not welcome here,” said Ron Badger, flatly. “The Lundern Municipal Financial Corporation does not accept strange currencies from faraway places, unless you’re asking to make a currency exchange, of course.”
“Yes, that’s right, a currency exchange,” said Karen, suddenly optimistic.
“But as I’ve never heard of the country of Sterling, we can’t accept their currency.”
“The money’s not from Sterling, it’s from Britain,” protested Karen
“Then why is the money called pounds sterling, and not pounds Britain?”
Karen had no answer for that. She thought she had been clever to know it was called a pound sterling, and knew no more than that.
“Britain’s a country, Ron,” chirruped Ronnie Corblimey, who suddenly appeared to have found a purpose. “I know it’s a country because I sometimes hear of seagulls and rats and otters who have been there and decided to come back. And pigeons. Pigeons especially. Apparently they’re not welcome there.”
“If pigeons are not welcome, then these Britishers have uncommonly sound judgement. But I’ve still not heard of Britain and can’t sanction a trade of their currency. Mr. Weddle, you’ll have to pay on the girl’s behalf.”

At first Winton did not respond to his surname. He was looking down at the booklet he had pulled out earlier, which now lay on his lap. Karen nudged Winton and he became conscious of what Ron Badger had said.
“I suppose you’re right. Not that I can afford it right now.”
“We’ll add it to your line of credit,” said Ron Badger, without a moment’s hesitation.
“Even if it’s on credit, I’ll still get the stamps for my loyalty book, won’t I?” asked Winton, holding the booklet aloft and trying to make the best of the situation.
“Of course,” and with those words Ron glanced at Ronnie, and the teller scurried around from his counter. In one hand, he held the forms for a credit promissory slip. In the other, between thumb and forefinger he loftily carried two loyalty stamps. They looked like tiny postage stamps. On close inspection they bore the face and name of someone called ‘Lord Gold’. Without a word, for once, Ronnie Corblimey snapped up Winton’s booklet, licked the stamps and carelessly pasted them into the next available slots. He handed the booklet back, with pages open, for Winton to inspect. Looking across Winton at the booklet, Karen read that a full page of stamps was worth a day trip to the seaside. Winton still needed twenty more stamps to complete the page.
“Sign here, and here, and initial here and here, and here please, Mr. Weddle,” indicated Ronnie Corblimey.
“I’ll pay you back,” insisted Karen, who felt guilty at depending on Winton’s generosity. She suddenly felt herself unforgivably ungrateful for helping herself to food that morning, and for wearing the red boots that Winton had made. After all his kindness, Winton had only ever asked to examine Karen’s Heelys. “I’ll pay you back, by working for free, in your workshop,” offered Karen.
Winton looked up and looked Karen in the eye, ruefully saying: “I thought you said you’d be leaving today.”
Karen had no answer to that, but Ronnie Corblimey, still leaning over Winton and marking out places that needed initialing, had something to say on that matter. “Well dears, there’s no point making a fuss if the young lady really will leave by the end of today, and hence if she never returns her application forms, completed or otherwise. We’ll just forget all about adding the premium to Mr. Weddle’s account, and no one need know about the waiver that we issued.”
Ron Badger coughed loudly at the teller’s indiscretion, but this time Ronnie Corblimey was not going to be cowed. “Won’t we, Ron?”, continued Ronnie Corblimey, leaning a little across the badger’s desk, as he shuffled and straightened the forms that Winton had just signed.
Ron Badger was clearly not pleased with Ronnie Corblimey’s impertinence, but he said nothing.
“Will I still get to keep my stamps?” asked Winton, with eyebrows raised.
“I don’t see why you shouldn’t,” continued Ronnie Corblimey, now ignoring the stares he was getting from Ron Badger. “They’re such little things, and it would be a flippin’ nuisance to try to take them out of your book again, now that I’ve stuck them in. Everybody deserves a day at the seaside, now and then, don’t they?” Whilst he was talking, Ronnie Corblimey escorted Karen and Winton to the door, his hands on their backs, discouraging them from looking back at Ron Badger, who silently fumed. Holding the door open, Ronnie smiled and spoke under his breath: “paperwork is such a fuss and bother, isn’t it? I tell you, I’m not filling out any forms that list a lot of tittle tattle about whether you returned this or that piece of paper or whether you claimed such-and-such a waiver. And nobody else will fill them out either,” he added, winking. “Life’s just too short, isn’t it?” And Ron Corblimey nodded happily as Karen and Winton stepped out into the remnants of Lundern’s morning mist.

In the last installment of Karen Zipslicer stories, Karen is still using the black box machine to relive the memories of Dawn, the young Lady Emerald. In the flashback, Dawn spent an evening dancing with a suitor at the Harvest Festival, and then later that night, she saw him again whilst she sat at her bedroom window. The story continues with the remainder of the flashback, centred on Dawn, the following day.

“Dawn!”

Her father was calling her. It was the third time he had shouted her name. His harsh tone interrupted the tune still playing in her head. It was a tune from the dance last night. Today was Sunday, though Dawn was diligently at her books, mindful of completing her schoolwork before the time she had agreed to meet with Shaun.

“Dawn!”

She could hear him walking along the corridor. He would be at the door soon, so she got up and opened it before he could barge in.
“Sorry father, I was doing my studies.”
“That’s good, but I need your help now.”
“Please father, not today. I have a headache and there’s an essay I must hand in tomorrow.”
“Don’t contradict me,” and then his tone eased a little, “the production prototype’s nearly done. If you help me now, it should be finished soon.”

Dawn winced, and tried to think of an excuse. None came to her. He had already turned away and was walking back down the corridor. “Come on,” he cajoled as he reached the top of the stairs. Obediently, she followed her father to his laboratory. When there, she took her accustomed seat. The equipment was more compact now. He handed her the two black boxes that were the pinnacle of his life’s work. Without speaking, she pressed them over her eyes, holding them firmly there until they had glued themselves to her, merging with her face. Through them, she saw the world darkly. No longer attached to cables, her father was perfecting their remote interface. He sat across from her, staring into a glass orb. It swirled with colour and shapes that would not coalesce. The orb was large, twice as large as his head, though he sat with his face almost pressed to it. As he played with the dials and switches beneath it, images formed within the black boxes attached to Dawn’s eyes. These were fleeting experiences of her past. She saw them, and she saw through them, to the present. In the present, she could see the same images were also whirling around the glass orb. It was a strange thing, to see past and present at once, and to see another viewing your own past, in the present moment. It was strange, though Dawn was getting used to it.

“Good. Playback is working perfectly. Now let’s record.”
Without her willing it, the fragments of her memories stopped playing. The black boxes cleared and she only saw through them, to her current location. And then, in the orb, time moved backwards. This was Dawn’s time that was being rewound. Within the orb, Dawn retraced her steps when following her father. She was back at her books, unwriting her essay as her pen sucked up her carefully-formed letters, leaving the pages of her exercise book blank. Then she was sleeping, and fitful dreams flickered like candlelight. Then it was the night before, and she was at her window, looking down at Shaun.
“Please father, no.”
“What’s this?”
“Father, don’t do this.”
“Is this the boy you were dancing with last night?” He stopped rewinding and let last night’s conversation unfold, in sequence.”
“Please father, you don’t need to do this. We can test the prototypes on some other memory.”
“Some lad from the village? I recognize him.”
“Father!” But he would not stop.

Instead, he laughed. He rarely laughed, so the sound was more shocking to Dawn than any words he could have said.

“You can see boys, if you like. It’s about time, a girl of your age. I don’t care about that.”
“Father, please stop this.” But he stayed bent over the orb, intently listening. And he kept listening to everything that passed with Shaun last night, right up to the moment where she had suggested they meet for their walk.
“So that’s why you’re so especially eager to do your bookwork. You’re planning to meet this boy. We’d better hurry, or you’ll be late…” As he said this he replayed the scene again, from the moment she spied Shaun behind the hedgerow.
“Really, that’s enough, father.” Dawn was ashamed, and embarrassed. But she was also angry. She knew she had no reason to feel shame, and that fueled the flames of her loathing.
“Be with this boy, if you like. So long as you help me with my work, you can indulge your base desires. Such is the nature of women. Your mother had the same affliction; it’s no surprise that you got it from her.”
“I don’t know this lad. I was just talking with him.”
“Yes, and we all know where talk leads. So be it. The village is small and he’ll give you some entertainment. Then you’ll be happy to keep working with me.”

Dawn’s emotions were so extreme, they warped her thinking, which normally were iron in their sturdiness. Her father had no right to intrude on her private moments. She knew that. But what else was he saying? Dawn tested him, like he had tested her.
“You know I won’t be here much longer. I’m leaving. I’ll be going to the university soon, and our work will have to stop then.”
“I can’t allow that.” He spoke like this utterance was chiseled in stone. The point was hammered; it could not be erased.
“You’ve never said that before.”
“And you’ve never asked my permission to leave. You just assumed it. But I’ve been thinking on that, and your work is here, with me. Pursue science if you like. You’re good enough. But do it here, under my tutelage, where we can build great things together. Better here, with me, than wasting yourself in some university. You’ll only meet men there too, and you’ll get distracted. Before long you’ll be pregnant, then a mother, then a servant for some other man and your offspring. That’s the way of women, in this world. If you stay here, you can have your fun, and I’ll make sure that mind of yours gets put to good use too.” All this he said, never once looking up from the orb, or from its recreation of the night before.

Dawn was unable to respond. Her father’s revelation had been sudden, unanticipated. Now she wondered if this had always been his intention. He had encouraged her study, waiting to see if it might be useful to him. It was plain now; utility was all that mattered to her father, whether it be the utility of a machine, or that of a person. The air had been sucked from her lungs, and she mouthed silent sentences, which lay stillborn on her lips. She caved over, cradling her head in her own two hands, her fingers clawing into the rivulets of her hair. Her pose grotesquely mirrored that of her father, who hunched over the orb, peering deeply into it, his fingers gently touching its surface as Dawn’s experiences danced for his amusement, within. Dawn’s hands slid down her face, and she grasped the black boxes upon her eyes, wrenching them loose. She tossed them aside. Her father was too engrossed to notice. “It’s working perfectly. You’ll help me make many more, and then we’ll both be happy. We’ll profit from them, I’ll buy a title, and one for you too. With this, I’ll be feted again. We’re going to change the world. What more can a father give his only daughter? You’ll have money, and suitors, and, of course, you can still have your fun and games in the meantime. How’s that, compared to a few years at some university?” As he spoke, she moved around behind him, and watched over his shoulder, as he watched Shaun through her own eyes. Over and over he watched, and Dawn placed her hands upon her father’s shoulders, and watched with him. “It’s perfect,” he said, transfixed. With one hand, she stroked his neck, and then weaved into his graying hair. “We’re nearly there now,” he said, “soon we’ll enjoy the fruits of all our hard work.” And with this, her grip tightened, and she lifted his head up from the orb.

“No,” she screamed.

“No.” She smashed his face into the glowing orb. Cracks formed in its surface.

“No.” With both hands now, she pushed his head through the glass, into the intoxicating light. Now he was screaming too. The light streamed out from the broken sphere, engulfing his face. It burned her hands. She cried, in agony and anger, bearing all her weight down upon him, holding him down whilst the escaping colours consumed their skin. His head, her hands, charred and blackened but still she would not let go. She held him there, though he soon stopped moving. He was not dead. His mind, however, expired. It somehow evaporated in the fires of his daughter’s involuntary extrospection. What was him, was overlayed with her. The orb had possessed her, and it flooded out, drowning his consciousness. His mind gone, his body was breathing still. She lifted him back. His eyes had dried to husks, his face turned to cinders, and the stench of burning emanated from what was left of his hair. But he breathed still, and drool trickled from the corner of his mouth as his head lolled around like a macabre toy. Dawn went to the laboratory’s sink, an oversized rectangular sink, and she drenched her scolded hands under icy cold water, as the tears poured down her cheeks. It was already past three o’clock. As best she could, she wrapped her hands with gauze and bandage, and then hid them under woolen mittens. Struggling to dress herself, she hurried out to meet with Shaun. At the junction, he had left already, thinking she was not coming. She waited for a full hour, sat by the side of the path, relieved to be out of her house.

Realizing that Shaun had left, or would never come, she stirred herself and walked alone, up a road that winded toward a nearby mountain-top. When the road had reached its highest point before plunging down the other side, Dawn scrambled the remainder of her way. Up, she went, as quickly as she could. Dawn used her mittened hands to cling and pull herself up. It was hard work to climb, and the sun was low by the time she reached the top. Once there, she sat, alone, above everyone. The shadows of the valley grew long, and the village grew dark. From up there, the houses all seemed so small; they were insignificant compared to the natural terrain. Their lights were meagre, even compared to a setting sun. She turned to face the wind, defying it to move her. She would not be moved, no matter how the wind blew. She was safe up there.

===

Karen threw the headset off. She looked at the backs of her hands, cupping each one, in turn. They were fine. These were not her memories. She should not have them. Nobody should. Overwhelmed, she curled into a ball in a corner of the Lady Emerald’s laboratory. This was real. The here, and the now, was real. This was where Karen had been all along; she tried to remind herself. She was Karen Zipslicer, a bright young woman who wanted to go home, accidentally caught up in the story of a place she never knew existed, caught up in the stories of people she had only just met. Now she knew the Lady Emerald’s story, and it was a terrible story to know. It was a story that needed its end.

Though lying asunder, the machine whirred on. Karen got up, and switched it off. The machine was no good. Karen wanted to be rid of it, wanted Lundern to be rid of it. She wanted to be back with her family. Karen thought of her dad, and of her brother, James. She wanted to forget Lundern, but she also wanted it safe from this abominable wizardry that had taken it over. The light of the black boxes needed to be extinguished, permanently. Looking about her, she contemplated how to destroy this malevolent device. Karen opened the drawers, looking for a heavy tool with which to smash everything she saw. There were thick leather gauntlets, used for insulating the wearer. She could put them on and use them like boxing gloves, but she would break her hands long before she broke all the machines. She put one on, imagining the Lady Emerald pulling it on, over her scars, but then she threw it aside. There was a heavy stand, used for clamping equipment to, but it was too thin to wield effectively. Frustrated, she picked up a wooden stool and threw it across the room. It smashed into a storage rack, and sent one unknown device crashing to the floor where it briefly showered sparks before dying, though the rack was firmly screwed to the wall, and did not sway.

‘Calm down’ she thought to herself. Karen had been panicked. How long had she been here? There was no clock, and she felt a fresh surge of anxiety. She had to destroy this place, and she had to escape from it, and she had to do both soon. ‘Think, think’ she said to herself, but doing this was a substitute for clear thought. She felt scrambled, unsure of herself, unsure of who she was or where she was, like the floor beneath her might be torn away at any moment. If only she could think clearly for a minute, she would find a solution and find a way out. Think. Think. She was like two people now, wrapped around each other, tying herself in knots. One Karen wanted to run, and be far away from this place. The other wanted to fight, and to win, and she knew that she could win, if only she could focus. The two Karens got in the way of one another. Seconds elapsed, and she was immobile. Think. Think.

And then there was a sound. The elevator descended. Somebody had called it. There was no time left to think.