If she sits in her compression chair too much longer, she may never get up.
So tightly wound around. Like a Mummy.
Only Monsieur’s visits brings her out of herself. Where *is* he??
—–
“I’ve been waiting and waiting for you, Herbert Glenn Gold.”
The full name, he thinks. She *was* upset. “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with the king. And then with the doll houses. We found Carrcassonnee inside. The one eyed entity that use to rule Collagesity. HF showed us.”
“But you were both Gold and Platinum inside Murdock’s Castle. Time was all mixed up. *Is* mixed up. You came too close to the truth.”
“Now I know. Fingerprince. I just had to find the second dollhouse to confirm it. And the second HF.”
“Are you going inside? Forever and ever and ever?”
“I’m not sure. What would you advise?”
She paused. “Maybe we should go to the Serenity Church. Perhaps the Reverend can help us.”
—–
“He’s *here*. Zoidboro is here.” Monsieur Gold was incredulous.
“Yes,” spoke Parasol below the tone of Zoidboro’s preaching. “It’s because of the Gold and Platinum mix-up. Zoidboro’s been here for years now. Yet he has just arrived. And then: he isn’t here yet. Some realities he was never born, never had a child by that strange mutant gal-guy Patrick Starr.”
“The drummer?”
“No, that’s Ingor.”
“Ingo?”
“No. *He’s* different.”
“My head hurts. I need to sit down.”
—–
So they sat down opposite Sally Spark O Naut — who had dutifully followed Zoidboro through the eyeball cave portal — and listened to the remainder of a beautiful sermon about the dangers of shark attacks. Afterwards, Herbert Gold’s head hurt considerably more.
In fact, I think he died there. Again.
Sunklands 