SAOS: Chapter Ten: A Bloody Big Dream, Actually.

      They finished their picnic on the floor of the living room. Spud even came down to join them, muttering something about how his computer was misbehaving. Chas felt like he was getting lots of practise at changing the subject.

      They unplugged the phone after the first hour of phone calls that seemed to be coming from the speaking clock in Kuala Lumpur. Nics drank vast amounts of herbal tea and Chas tore the house apart looking for something with which to scratch inside his cast, with no success.

      It seemed that every channel on television that evening was showing repeats of Antiques Roadshow, with an emphasis on old silver and jewellery. Eventually they just gave up and went to bed.

      Nics did dream that night. She dreamt that herself, Chas and Spud were walking down a maze of narrow office passages, all alike. The doors were numbered, but with nonsensical symbols. All of a sudden, Sam appeared in the middle of the hall, carrying in his mouth a bunch of bananas. The three humans followed him down the corridors until he led them out into an open courtyard where a man in a bright red zoot suit was playing the trombone.

      Horrible, mocking laughter echoed around the courtyard, jerking Nics from her dream in a cold sweat. Outside she could still hear the laughter, except now her awake brain could process it properly. It wasn't laughter, but a duck quacking very very loudly outside the window.

      She got up and strode to the open window. She could hear the sound of wings as the duck took off from the windowsill. But looking out she couldn't see anything. She closed the window firmly, and went back to bed.

      Chas rolled over and mumbled something that sounded like a question.

      "Just closing the window," she replied. "I don't want the ducks to get in."

      Outside, the dark shape that had been crawling spider-like up the wall hissed in annoyance and frustration. It turned, and crawled head first down the wall and disappeared into the darkness between the houses.

      The next morning, it being a Sunday, Nics went to church. She left Chas and Spud behind in the house, arguing over whether they'd be watching the football or the Grand Prix that afternoon. Chas had found himself a long piece of wire, a straightened coat hanger or something, that he had somehow managed to shove inside his cast as a scratching device. The look on his face as he finally managed to get that itch was nothing short of blissful.

      Nics tried to find her way back to the church via the little courtyard full of cottages, but couldn't. So instead she went the long way round, arriving just in time for the extra practise before the service.

      The sermon was all about reconciling God's plans for humanity with the whole thorny theological issues of free will and predetermination. Nics paid most of her attention to examining her nails, flicking through the hymn book and reading the memorial plaques embedded in the walls.

      It appeared that one of the parishioners, about a century before had been tragically killed in India by a tiger. And she wasn't sure, as the lettering had become very worn on another plaque, but did it really say that the death had been the result of a rain of fish? She resolved to go take a closer look once the service was over.

      The sermon dragged on interminably. Nics could see a number of the older members of the congregation nodding off. One, a very elderly gentleman with two canes, even started to snore slightly. He was roused by a sudden chorus of coughing from his neighbours. The sermon carried on, undaunted.

      Eventually it was over. Nics could practically hear the creaking of joints as people stood for the final hymn, surreptitiously rubbing backsides that had grown numb from sitting so long on the hard wooden pews.

      Perhaps as a response to the unconscious wishes of the congregation, the choir mistress fairly galloped through the final hymn, and then everyone was off out the door in no time at all, including Nics.

      The golden Labrador, Sam, was waiting for her outside the church. As soon as she had walked out the door he was straight up beside her, tail wagging cheerfully, and carrying a cream envelope in his mouth.

      He placed the envelope carefully at her feet, and sat down, waiting for her to pick it up. So she did.

      It was very nice stationary, with her full name, Nicola Spillard, written on it in black ink with a fine copperplate hand. No address, but in the corner of the envelope where the stamp would be in an ordinary letter was the words "by dog" and "personal".

      She opened it up to reveal a single sheet of paper, matching the envelope, folded in half. Unfolding it, she read:

      "Dear Miss Spillard,

      Please forgive the brevity (and one might even say, over-familiarity) of my first message. I understand that you must have many questions at this time, and may even be somewhat confused by recent events.

      I have been informed that you are intending a trip to London tomorrow and are interested in acquiring a new piece of jewellery. May I be so bold as to recommend Mr. Sven Jorgensson, international jeweller and specialist silversmith. His shop is in Camden Town, in Pennybroke Lane. His knowledge of the history of gems and jewellery is unsurpassed and he is very reliable, and, perhaps more importantly, very discreet.

      Should you wish to contact me, please leave a message with Sam. If he is not about, please leave a note in a milk bottle outside your front door.

                        I remain, as ever,

                              Your faithful servant,

                                    Mr J. Bradford (deceased)"

      "Well," said Nics, "This is a puzzle, and no mistake." Absently she reached down and scratched Sam behind his left ear. He leaned into her touch happily, showing off the thick black leather of his collar. There was a gold coloured name tag on it, with his name engraved and a small red gem. It hardly showed up against his golden fur at all.

      With her other hand, she shoved the letter back into its envelope, and stuck the envelope into her bag. Then she started walking home, Sam trotting along beside her.

      She walked past a funeral procession heading toward the church. The coffin was being carried on the shoulders of eight men, and it was followed by a range of weeping women and children in black, and mournful-looking men. The undertaker in a full tailcoat, top hat and black gloves led the procession, silver topped cane in hand. It would have only been slightly unusual, except for the fact that the occupant of the coffin was sitting bolt upright in it, smiling broadly and waving to everyone they passed.

      She snuffled a bit into a hanky and sneezed, her cold was still there. A few feet behind her one of the women in the funeral procession tripped over a raised paving slab in the path and nearly fell flat on her face. She was caught by one of the men walking next to her.

      Nics came back to herself a bit more when she realised that Sam was leading her back to her house via the tunnel and the hidden courtyard. This time she looked up before going into the tunnel. There was a wall on top of it, and what looked like a privet hedge. A spray of water came splashing suddenly over the hedge, and she jumped back with a cry of alarm.

      A worried face peered over the hedge, a middle-aged woman with her hair caught up in a scarf.

      "Sorry!" she called. "I didn't splash you, did I? I'm just watering the garden."

      "No, it's alright," replied Nics. "You didn't get me." But just to be on the safe side, in case the hosepipe in the woman's hand decided to spurt water again, she dove into the tunnel.

      Inside the tunnel it was still raining. She ran through it at top speed, Sam bouncing around her, thinking that it was a great game.

      Someone had parked a skip in the drive directly across the road from her house. There was a duck sitting on top of it, apparently asleep.

      Nics opened the door and stood aside.

      "Coming in?" she asked Sam. To her surprise he wagged his tail and walked in politely.

      Chas and Spud were watching a video of car chases and explosions in the living room. There was a dirty plate with the remains of a triple-decker fried egg and mango chutney sandwich on the coffee table in front of Spud.

      "What, no football?" said Nics.

      "Antiques Roadshow Omnibus," replied Spud, his eyes glued to the TV.

      "And the radio seems to be determined to pick up Russian spy signals no matter what channel we try to tune it to," added Chas.

      He was very pleased indeed to meet Sam, making a big fuss of him, even down to offering him some biscuits and a bowl of water.

      Chas was not as impressed by the letter Sam had delivered to Nics though.

      "I dunno, babes," he said. "Not much of a recommendation, is it? For all we know it could be a daft wind up or something. We could be on Candid Camera, or one of those new reality TV shows or something."

      "Naah," interjected Spud. "Your lives aren't interesting enough."

      They both ignored him.

      "Well, I for one would like to start getting some answers about all of this. And this jeweller bloke might be the best place to start. I mean, it's not like we can really ask any serious questions of a dead guy."

      "If you think so, babes." This, said in a tone of profound uncertainty, was Chas code for "I think that's a bloody stupid idea."

      "Besides," she continued. "I've got to go down to London tomorrow anyway, so we might as well drop in and have a look. If we don't like the look of this character then we can always leave without saying anything."

      "London?" squeaked Spud. "You're both going to London tomorrow?!"

      "Yeah," said Chas. "Is this a problem?"

      "No, no, no, no, no" stuttered Spud. "Not at all."

      He stood up abruptly, a shower of crumbs falling from his lap onto the carpet.

      "Just remembered something really important I have to do," he said, heading for the stairs.

      At that moment the doorbell rang. Sam walked out to the door, and stood by it, wagging his tail.

      Nics opened the door to reveal a pizza delivery guy standing outside. Without even asking she turned and yelled up the stairs, even though Spud was standing in the hall beside her:

      "Spud, pizza!"

      He pushed past her, thrust some money at the pizza guy, grabbed the pizza and vanished upstairs. The pizza guy looked startled for a minute, then shrugged and left, and Sam stepped daintily out the door, turning to look back at Nics.

      "Bye then," she said. "Thank you for visiting, do come again soon."

      "Bye," said Chas, who'd come into the hall. "Nice meeting you."

      Another tail wag and Sam walked off down the path. Nics watched him go for a minute, then shut the door hurriedly. She'd seen a pair of Jehovah's witnesses coming down the street towards the house.

      "Right," said Chas. "I wonder if Antiques Roadshow is finished yet."

SAOS: Chapter Nine: To Sleep, Perchance To Dream, or, Not More Sand Again.

      Perhaps because of, or maybe even due to, the weird events that had been happening to both Chas and Nics over the past day or so, neither of them had any weird dreams at all.

      The next morning, Nics was up early, cleaning the house. When Chas got up, sometime in the midmorning, they decided, that as it was a nice day, and a Saturday to boot, they might as well take a trip down to the beach.

      They took a trip down to the local supermarket to pick up some picnic stuff but left rather quickly and got their supplies from another shop nearby.

      "Honestly!" Nics grumbled. "I don't see why they have to try and keep the supermarket open when they're trying to film a remake of 'The Italian Job' in the middle of it!"

      "Still though," grinned Chas, still very amused. "The chase scene on roller skates was well cool!"

      The bus to the shore was packed full of people, carrying their sunhats and buckets and spades, and screaming children. Each and every bus stop seemed to have a queue at it a mile long, all waiting for the bus.

      Looking out the back window as yet more people tried to cram into the already packed insides of the bus, Chas counted five other buses following close behind. All had the same number as the one they were already on, and all appeared to be empty.

      "I really wish sometimes that people could be logical," said Nics. "What's the point in getting somewhere half a minute earlier when you have to endure large amounts of discomfort to do so. It just doesn't add up."

      Chas nodded, wishing he had something that he could use to scratch the maddening itch on the back of his right hand. Scratching at the plaster just wasn't helping at all.

      Nics shifted the bag that was balanced precariously on her knee.

      "At this rate we'll be having our picnic in the dark" she grumbled.

      To distract her Chas told her of the previous night's computer adventures. She shook her head in amused despair at Spud's computer set-up, and furrowed her forehead at all the stuff about the locket. Almost absently she reached out and touched the pocket of the bag in which the locket rested.

      The bus pulled up to another stop.

      "You have got to be kidding me!" exclaimed Chas.

      For, waiting there with what appeared to be all seriousness was a man and an instrument case. The instrument case was the size and shape of a normal sized upright piano. It was black, and had a normal sized, but totally inadequate looking handle on top of it. It had very small wheels on the bottom that squealed in protest as the man pulled it towards the open door of the bus.

      A good few minutes of time was then spent waiting as the bus driver and man with piano had a conversation which went something along the lines of:

      "Oi, you can't take that on the bus."

      "Yes I can, don't worry, it'll just fit under one of the seats."

      "No, you bloody can't mate, there's no way it'll fit."

      "Look, let me tell you, I've taken this piano on airplanes before and it's the perfect size to be taken as cabin baggage, so don't you tell me that I can't get it on a poxy bus."

      "An' I'm the bus driver, and I'm in charge of this bus, and I say there's no way you're getting that on my bus, mate."

      The to-ing and fro-ing continued until eventually the bus driver, fed up with the conversation shut it off abruptly by closing the door in the other man's face.

      The driver pulled away from the kerb, muttering to himself, as the man, still dragging his piano behind him, chased after the bus for a few steps, shaking his fist.

      Unsurprisingly, none of the other buses bothered to stop at that bus stop.

      The bus finally reached the stop just at the strand and disgorged its passengers with a sigh of relief. You could practically hear the suspension springs moaning as all the passengers piled off and flooded down onto the sand.

      Not that there was much room there either. The beach was covered in umbrellas, wind blocks, deck chairs, blankets, people sunbathing, children building sand castles and people generally doing whatever people do on the beach, which never seems to be much. Down at the waters edge there was the usual assortment of children trying to drown each other or their parents, further out were a few surfers in wet suits, trying to catch what miserable waves there were.

      Aside from the heaving crowds, it would have been really nice.

      "You know," said Chas, as they elbowed their way down to the water's edge looking for a patch of unclaimed sand where they could sit and have their picnic. "I remember when all this round here were sand."

      Nics had her sandals held in one hand, bag in the other. The waves washed around her toes.

      "There's a spot," she said, pointing. "Quick, before someone else gets it."

      And sure enough, there it was, almost at the water's edge. Nics shook out the blanket and laid it down quickly, before it could be usurped by yet another lobster coloured sun-worshipper.

      "Tide is going out, isn't it?" she asked, almost absently. Chas shrugged.

      "Guess we'll find out soon enough," he said with a grin.

      Almost as if he'd called it in with those words, a wave rushed up the sand towards the pair, stopping a scant few centimetres from the edge of their picnic blanket. It receded, leaving faint lines in the sand. A second wave came in, covering the lines, but when it went out again a word could be seen, looking for all the world like it had been freshly drawn in the sand with a stick.

      "April," read Nics. "What on earth?"

      Chas paled, and quickly scuffed out the word with one foot. Nics' attention quickly switched from the sand to him.

      "You alright?"

      "Yeah," he lied. "Hand just twinged there a minute." And he sat heavily down onto the blanket.

      The small brown terrier that was in the process of surreptitiously trying to grab Nics bag, pulled his head back quickly, before it could get squashed by Chas' backside. The dog turned away quickly and innocently pretended to be busy, digging industriously in the sand near to Chas and Nics' blanket, before sauntering off.

      "Why did you scuff out the..." began Nics but she was interrupted by an inflatable banana flying through the air and bouncing off the end of her nose.

      She blinked in astonishment, temporarily lost for words, as from the water a pair of children of indeterminate age and sex came running towards her.

      "Sorreeee..." they chorused.

      "Can we have our banana back?" asked one.

      "Please?" added the other hurriedly.

      She handed them the inflatable banana wordlessly. Chas nudged her in the ribs, pointing out to sea.

      "Hey babes, is that a pink plastic flamingo out there?"

      It was. Nics' forehead creased with confusion, and she rooted around in the bag, pulling out a thermos. She opened it, sniffed the steam rising from its contents and made a face.

      "That's your coffee," she said, handing the flask to Chas. She pulled out a second flask, identical to the first and opened it, poured herself a cup of its contents which she knocked back like it was vodka.

      "Hey, go easy on that stuff," warned Chas, only half joking. "That herbal tea is powerful stuff."

      Nics pulled a face and sneezed. Out to sea a surfer fell off his surfboard.

      "Chas," she said.

      "Yes babes?"

      "This is all getting far too weird."

      "No argument from me, babes." He rooted through the picnic bag, pulling out ice cream tubs and packets of crisps in his search for something. "But I know something that'll make the world a better place regardless."

      Triumphantly he pulled out a large bar of chocolate from the recesses of the bag and brandished it in the air.

      "Would you like some chocolate?" he asked.

      A football flew past both their noses, narrowly missing spilling the remnants of the herbal tea onto the ground.

      "Yes please," said Nics, reaching for her bag. "But let's go home, it's too crowded here."

      The trip back was relatively peaceful, the bus being practically empty. The stop before they got off, the bus driver pulled over, obviously to pick someone up. Neither of the two noticed as a duck calmly flew up the bus steps and waddled down the aisle. It jumped up onto an empty seat, and settled its head down on its chest for a nap.

      Nics didn't notice, because she was too busy staring at her own reflection in the window and biting her lip with concern. And Chas didn't notice, because he had his arm around her and was watching her with a mixture of worry and pain on his face.

      Both of them got off the bus on autopilot, lost in their own thoughts. The duck opened one eye to watch them go past.

SAOS: Chapter Nine: To Sleep, Perchance To Dream, or, Not More Sand Again.

      Perhaps because of, or maybe even due to, the weird events that had been happening to both Chas and Nics over the past day or so, neither of them had any weird dreams at all.

      The next morning, Nics was up early, cleaning the house. When Chas got up, sometime in the midmorning, they decided, that as it was a nice day, and a Saturday to boot, they might as well take a trip down to the beach.

      They took a trip down to the local supermarket to pick up some picnic stuff but left rather quickly and got their supplies from another shop nearby.

      "Honestly!" Nics grumbled. "I don't see why they have to try and keep the supermarket open when they're trying to film a remake of 'The Italian Job' in the middle of it!"

      "Still though," grinned Chas, still very amused. "The chase scene on roller skates was well cool!"

      The bus to the shore was packed full of people, carrying their sunhats and buckets and spades, and screaming children. Each and every bus stop seemed to have a queue at it a mile long, all waiting for the bus.

      Looking out the back window as yet more people tried to cram into the already packed insides of the bus, Chas counted five other buses following close behind. All had the same number as the one they were already on, and all appeared to be empty.

      "I really wish sometimes that people could be logical," said Nics. "What's the point in getting somewhere half a minute earlier when you have to endure large amounts of discomfort to do so. It just doesn't add up."

      Chas nodded, wishing he had something that he could use to scratch the maddening itch on the back of his right hand. Scratching at the plaster just wasn't helping at all.

      Nics shifted the bag that was balanced precariously on her knee.

      "At this rate we'll be having our picnic in the dark" she grumbled.

      To distract her Chas told her of the previous night's computer adventures. She shook her head in amused despair at Spud's computer set-up, and furrowed her forehead at all the stuff about the locket. Almost absently she reached out and touched the pocket of the bag in which the locket rested.

      The bus pulled up to another stop.

      "You have got to be kidding me!" exclaimed Chas.

      For, waiting there with what appeared to be all seriousness was a man and an instrument case. The instrument case was the size and shape of a normal sized upright piano. It was black, and had a normal sized, but totally inadequate looking handle on top of it. It had very small wheels on the bottom that squealed in protest as the man pulled it towards the open door of the bus.

      A good few minutes of time was then spent waiting as the bus driver and man with piano had a conversation which went something along the lines of:

      "Oi, you can't take that on the bus."

      "Yes I can, don't worry, it'll just fit under one of the seats."

      "No, you bloody can't mate, there's no way it'll fit."

      "Look, let me tell you, I've taken this piano on airplanes before and it's the perfect size to be taken as cabin baggage, so don't you tell me that I can't get it on a poxy bus."

      "An' I'm the bus driver, and I'm in charge of this bus, and I say there's no way you're getting that on my bus, mate."

      The to-ing and fro-ing continued until eventually the bus driver, fed up with the conversation shut it off abruptly by closing the door in the other man's face.

      The driver pulled away from the kerb, muttering to himself, as the man, still dragging his piano behind him, chased after the bus for a few steps, shaking his fist.

      Unsurprisingly, none of the other buses bothered to stop at that bus stop.

      The bus finally reached the stop just at the strand and disgorged its passengers with a sigh of relief. You could practically hear the suspension springs moaning as all the passengers piled off and flooded down onto the sand.

      Not that there was much room there either. The beach was covered in umbrellas, wind blocks, deck chairs, blankets, people sunbathing, children building sand castles and people generally doing whatever people do on the beach, which never seems to be much. Down at the waters edge there was the usual assortment of children trying to drown each other or their parents, further out were a few surfers in wet suits, trying to catch what miserable waves there were.

      Aside from the heaving crowds, it would have been really nice.

      "You know," said Chas, as they elbowed their way down to the water's edge looking for a patch of unclaimed sand where they could sit and have their picnic. "I remember when all this round here were sand."

      Nics had her sandals held in one hand, bag in the other. The waves washed around her toes.

      "There's a spot," she said, pointing. "Quick, before someone else gets it."

      And sure enough, there it was, almost at the water's edge. Nics shook out the blanket and laid it down quickly, before it could be usurped by yet another lobster coloured sun-worshipper.

      "Tide is going out, isn't it?" she asked, almost absently. Chas shrugged.

      "Guess we'll find out soon enough," he said with a grin.

      Almost as if he'd called it in with those words, a wave rushed up the sand towards the pair, stopping a scant few centimetres from the edge of their picnic blanket. It receded, leaving faint lines in the sand. A second wave came in, covering the lines, but when it went out again a word could be seen, looking for all the world like it had been freshly drawn in the sand with a stick.

      "April," read Nics. "What on earth?"

      Chas paled, and quickly scuffed out the word with one foot. Nics' attention quickly switched from the sand to him.

      "You alright?"

      "Yeah," he lied. "Hand just twinged there a minute." And he sat heavily down onto the blanket.

      The small brown terrier that was in the process of surreptitiously trying to grab Nics bag, pulled his head back quickly, before it could get squashed by Chas' backside. The dog turned away quickly and innocently pretended to be busy, digging industriously in the sand near to Chas and Nics' blanket, before sauntering off.

      "Why did you scuff out the..." began Nics but she was interrupted by an inflatable banana flying through the air and bouncing off the end of her nose.

      She blinked in astonishment, temporarily lost for words, as from the water a pair of children of indeterminate age and sex came running towards her.

      "Sorreeee..." they chorused.

      "Can we have our banana back?" asked one.

      "Please?" added the other hurriedly.

      She handed them the inflatable banana wordlessly. Chas nudged her in the ribs, pointing out to sea.

      "Hey babes, is that a pink plastic flamingo out there?"

      It was. Nics' forehead creased with confusion, and she rooted around in the bag, pulling out a thermos. She opened it, sniffed the steam rising from its contents and made a face.

      "That's your coffee," she said, handing the flask to Chas. She pulled out a second flask, identical to the first and opened it, poured herself a cup of its contents which she knocked back like it was vodka.

      "Hey, go easy on that stuff," warned Chas, only half joking. "That herbal tea is powerful stuff."

      Nics pulled a face and sneezed. Out to sea a surfer fell off his surfboard.

      "Chas," she said.

      "Yes babes?"

      "This is all getting far too weird."

      "No argument from me, babes." He rooted through the picnic bag, pulling out ice cream tubs and packets of crisps in his search for something. "But I know something that'll make the world a better place regardless."

      Triumphantly he pulled out a large bar of chocolate from the recesses of the bag and brandished it in the air.

      "Would you like some chocolate?" he asked.

      A football flew past both their noses, narrowly missing spilling the remnants of the herbal tea onto the ground.

      "Yes please," said Nics, reaching for her bag. "But let's go home, it's too crowded here."

      The trip back was relatively peaceful, the bus being practically empty. The stop before they got off, the bus driver pulled over, obviously to pick someone up. Neither of the two noticed as a duck calmly flew up the bus steps and waddled down the aisle. It jumped up onto an empty seat, and settled its head down on its chest for a nap.

      Nics didn't notice, because she was too busy staring at her own reflection in the window and biting her lip with concern. And Chas didn't notice, because he had his arm around her and was watching her with a mixture of worry and pain on his face.

      Both of them got off the bus on autopilot, lost in their own thoughts. The duck opened one eye to watch them go past.

SAOS: Chapter Eight: Hacking, or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Windows

Nics left the wing feather stuck into the back of the vase of faded silk carnations that someone had decided would make the ladies room look a bit less depressing. It hadn't worked.

      The only vending machine that she could find was down the end of a very long and very dark corridor, lined with offices. It didn't sell chocolate, instead it appeared to sell hot cheeseburgers, spaghetti bolognaise, and very small bottles of beer. She wandered down many corridors, all of which seemed alike until she found herself back in the ER waiting room. There, in the corner a little old lady had set up a table on which was displayed a few packets of crisps and some chocolate.

      Chas sat staring at the table, practically drooling. His right arm was encased in plaster from the elbow to the fingertips.

      "Finally. Can we go home now?"

      "What did the x-ray say?"

      "Broken bone in my hand. Whole arm needs to be kept still. And the plaster doesn't half itch!"

      "You sure we can go?" she asked.

      "Yeah," he said, unusually subdued. "Please?"

      They took a taxi home, mainly because it was very late. The taxi driver was a man of Middle Eastern descent who played loud Arabic music and had a plastic air freshener in the shape of a banana hanging from his rear view mirror. The taxi's horn had been modified to play themes from "the Sound of Music".

      Just before getting into the taxi, Nics thought she heard the sound of dog nails on the concrete path. But it was only two women in unfeasibly high heels chattering at each other very loudly about what someone had said to someone else.

      Nics pushed open the front door and dislodged a small mountain of "sorry we missed you" cards that had been shoved through the letterbox. The house was dark and silent, Spud still wasn't back.

      She put the kettle on, poured boiling water on a herbal tea bag. She yawned loudly.

      "You go off to bed babes," said Chas. "I'm not tired yet, so I'm going to go play on Spud's computer for a bit."

      "But doesn't he not like people doing that?" mumbled Nics.

      "Spud?" called Chas. "Spud? If you don't want me to use your computer, then let me know now!"

      Silence. Nics yawned again.

      "You are evil, Chas. Have fun, I'm off to bed."

      And off she shuffled, both hands clutching her mug of tea.

      Spud's room was, not to put too fine a point on it, a complete and utter disaster. The bed in the corner was a nest of duvet, pillows and sheets, while clothes, papers and books littered the floor, covering it to a depth of several inches. The moulds on the dirty coffee cups were about to invent the wheel, and the strange fungi on the dinner plates were planning a war of extermination against the coffee cups.

      Chas crunched over all of this, not particularly caring where his feet landed in the mess. It took a while to find Spud's computer though, buried as it was beneath a pair of underpants and a torn Black Sabbath t-shirt.

      Chas excavated the computer with the aid of a rolled up magazine. No way was he going to risk touching Spud’s underpants. He hit the button, and the machine whirred to life, monitor flickering on with a hollow boing sound.

      They keyboard was buried under thirteen empty mars bar wrappers and a sock with a hole in the toe. Chas dumped it all onto the floor, where it mingled with the rest of the chaos.

      The operating system booted up with a satisfied sigh. A user login and password prompt appeared on screen.

      Chas scratched his head. He hadn't expected it to be password protected.

      As a name he typed in "Spud". For the password he chose in succession: beer, pizza, Budweiser, Top Gear, Ferrari, Formula1, Superman, coffee, fried egg, mango chutney, password, hippopotamus, playboy, ducks, socks, vertigo, tarantula, killer, Malloy, brain, woodpecker, chipmunk, hamster, waterfall, Porsche, car and motorbike.

      No joy, the password prompt just kept coming back. He looked around the room, looking for inspiration amidst the junk. It was then that he spotted the scanner. It had the squashed remains of a black banana sticking out of it.

      He reached over to open the lid, and knocked the keyboard into his lap. A yellow post-it note was stuck to the bottom. On it was three words, "Brian" and "secret agent".

      Chas typed them into the prompt and was rewarded with the desktop appearing. He was in.

      He nearly jumped out of his skin as a woman's voice came from the speakers in tones of silk and seduction.

      "Oh, Brian" it sighed. "I just love it when you turn me on."

      The wallpaper was a picture of a blonde with unfeasibly large breasts pouting at the camera in her underwear. Chas sniggered.

      He fired up the Internet browser and was off for a surf. Every time a popup window appeared with a "yes" or "ok" button that was pressed, the computer sighed in satisfaction. The error message was a petulant ouch, which amused Chas no end.

      "You sad, pathetic twonk," he said to the not present Spud.

      The popups and ads were coming thick and fast this evening, he realised. Every time he loaded a new page, three and four new windows would open, all irritatingly large and flashing.

      It took him a few minutes of furious window killing to realise that the ads weren't the usual "download free porn now!!" or "earn $$$ in your spare time" ads. There wasn't even any of the ubiquitous "shock the monkey and win!" banners.

      Instead, each and every one of the damn things was saying something like "Lockets wanted -  excellent prices!" or "Visit our online showroom! We buy and sell. Antique jewellery a speciality!"

      It got to the point where Chas's search request for the latest football results got hijacked into a  news article all about antique silver lockets that for some reason seemed to be fetching extremely silly prices when they were auctioned off in places like Sotheby's and Christie's.

      "Alright," he told the computer. "I get the sodding hint."

      And he went downstairs and got the locket out of Nics' bag.

      The computer purred in satisfaction.     

      He had just sat down with the locket in front of the computer again when he heard the familiar sound of a key turning in the front door lock.

      "Oh shit!"

      He frantically started killing popup windows, cursing at the amount of them. But they just kept on coming. He heard footsteps down the hall, and the creak of the kitchen door opening. And there were still more popups, getting more and more frantic in their messages. He ignored them, kept trying to close the Internet browser programme down. Until eventually in frustration he turned the whole computer off in exactly the way you're not supposed to - by hitting the off switch.

      He chucked a random t-shirt over the monitor, grabbed the locket and was out of Spud's room before Spud had got halfway up the stairs. Chas dove into the room he shared with Nics, and peeked out as Spud shuffled past, clutching a large mug that steamed slightly.

      Chas cursed to himself, he'd left the light on in Spud's room. But Spud was oblivious, he just opened the door and walked in. He'd lost the gerbil glued to his chin, but had acquired a long thin stick that he carried over one shoulder like a spear.

      Chas heard a muffled thunk, as if someone had just fallen face first onto the floor. The light stayed on, but the only other sound coming from Spud's room was a quiet but distinct snoring.

      He grinned. It looked like he'd gotten away with it. He put the locket onto his bedside table, and slipped into bed and dreams, in that order.

SAOS: Chapter Seven: Hospital Waiting Rooms Smell, or, Never Believe Everything You Read.

      Two and a half hours after they'd arrived in the hospital's waiting room Chas still hadn't been looked at. He and Nics sat in silence for the most part, him still clutching his bag of frozen mixed veg (freshly removed from the freezer before heading off to the hospital). She was flicking through the ancient copies of "New Diseases Monthly" and "Homes and Patios" in an attempt to find something interesting.

      "Why did you give that woman collecting for the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Hypochondriacs money?" she asked.

      Chas just grinned. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

      The waiting room was painted a particularly vomitous shade of pale green. Plastic chairs lined the walls with a totally insufficient layer of foam as cushioning on the seat. The foam was covered in that particular type of plastic that made your backside sweat copiously within instants of sitting down, and then managed to use the sweat to glue you firmly to the chair.

      The air smelt heavily of antiseptic with the faintest tinge of boiled cabbage.

      It caught in the back of Nics throat, and she sneezed. The stack of magazines piled up on the waiting room table fell over with a crash. Rooting through her bag, she produced a tissue and blew her nose loudly into it.

      "Sorry," she said to the other people in the waiting room, most of who had looked around to see where on earth the foghorn had come from. "Think I've got a bit of a cold."

      Their attention was diverted away from her by the door to the waiting room opening. Instead of the hoped for nurse with news that someone there didn't have to wait any longer, it was a woman, dragging a five year old boy along by one hand.

      Chas poked Nics as the two took a seat against the far wall.

      "Hey," he whispered. "Isn't that the kid we saw throwing bread at the ducks yesterday?"

      Nics looked, and nodded. The child looked particularly miserable, held tight as he was by his mother, who did not look happy at all. She glared around the room as if daring anyone to make any comment about the half an inch of bright blue crayon that protruded obviously from the child's distended left nostril.

      The boy started snivelling, only to have his mother's glare move like a lighthouse beam from the other people in the room to him.

      "Be quiet!" she hissed.

      "But it hurts!" he whinged, the other nostril leaking copious quantities of green snot.

      "You should have thought of that before you shoved the crayon up there," she said, pulling a grubby hanky out from her sleeve.

      "But I didn't! It was the-"

      His protestations were shut off abruptly by his mother shoving his nose into the hanky and wiping away the snot with a distinct lack of tenderness.

      Nics sneezed again, explosively. In the row of seats behind her a bored-looking teenager dropped her mobile phone onto the tiles floor. It broke.

      "Oh," Nics said, "excuse me."

      Chas leant over to her, the better to whisper in her ear.

      "You reckon the ducks got their revenge then?"

      She nodded, snuffling into her own tissue.

      "They better call me soon," he continued. "Otherwise they're going to end up with a pile of mushy mixed veg in a puddle on their floor."

      He picked up a newspaper that lay amongst the old magazines. It was dated October 13th, four years ago.

      One headline caught his eye, and he sniggered. He handed it over to Nics. She had just time to read the tiny article he indicated:

      "Headline: Police Given Extra Powers to Search and Confiscate

      Police today have been awarded extra powers to search minors and confiscate any eggs and/or flour, or other household items that could potentially be used to vandalise property, the Home Office has said. Many police stations across the country are now planning bake sales to be held in the first week of November."

      "Chastelaine Smith?" called the nurse from the door.

      Chas rolled his eyes. He hated his full name.

      "At last!" he breathed. Louder he said to Nics. "Come on, before they decide to make us wait another hour."

      Blithely oblivious of the dirty looks the other people in the waiting room shot him, he walked out the door, followed closely by Nics.

      They were both shown to a curtained off alcove with a single hospital moveable bed in it. The nurse was all brisk efficiently. From somewhere she produced a tie up the back hospital gown and laid it on the bed.

      "Now, if you'd just like to change into that, the doctor will be with you shortly."

      "But, it's just my hand!" protested Chas.

      The nurse's only reply was the ripping sound as she pulled the main curtain violently closed.

      "And you can stop sniggering too," he snapped at Nics who was unsuccessfully trying to hide her laughter behind her tissue.

      She jumped as the curtain ripped open again and the doctor walked in. He was tired looking and young, and spoke in a very proper English accent, which was totally at odd with his shaved head.

      "Now, what seems to be the problem?"

      "It's my hand, doctor," said Chas, holding out the offending appendage towards him.

      "Thank you. Now if you'd be so good as to put down the frozen peas, then I can have a good luck."

      Chas flushed, and put the veg down on the bed, where it made a nice little wet patch. He glared at Nics, just in case she decided to say something, but she was very studiously looking out into the corridor, past the violently orange and yellow cubicle curtain.

      A shiver ran down her spine, like someone had dropped an ice cube down it. It pooled at the base of her spine until she recognised the sound she was hearing.

      It was the sound of dog nails on tiled floors. And sure enough, who should trot past the cubicle curtain than a golden Labrador.

      "Back in a minute," she said, as she rushed quickly out to the corridor. She looked down the hall to see one of the two swing doors at the end just swinging shut.

      She walked quickly down the corridor, ignoring all the other traffic, the nurses and doctors talking in incomprehensible medical gibberish, the patients in wheelchairs and walking very slowly with the aid of IV stands.

      She pushed open the door at the end of the corridor to find an identical one on the other side. Identical, that it, except for the paint scheme. Where the emergency rooms were a particularly nasty shade of green, these walls were an even worse shade of yellow. Just looking at it made her feel ill.

      But, sure enough, trotting calmly down the length of the corridor was a golden Labrador.

      On impulse she called out to it:

      "Sam!"

      He slowed, and stopped and turned around to look. When he saw her he wagged his tail and nodded, as if to say:

      "Hello, sorry, would love to chat, but I'm late!"

      And he turned and pushed open one of the doors on the corridor with his nose and went inside.

      She had just put her hand on the door handle to open the door when one of the passing nurses stopped her.

      "I'm sorry miss, but you can't go in there."

      "But... but..." Nics said. "I just saw Sam go in there."

      "I don't think so miss, that room's private."

      "Didn't you see him? You must have - a golden Labrador. He went in here."

      The nurse looked at Nics as if Nics had lost her marbles completely.

      "No animals are allowed in the hospital miss."

      Nics swallowed, and beat a hasty retreat. The nurse was looking like Nics could possibly be a patient who'd escaped the nutcase ward.

      "Oh, sorry. I'll be going now."

      She could feel the nurse glaring at her as she walked down the corridor, back to the emergency rooms.

      Behind her, in the room that she had very nearly gotten into lay an old man on a bed. He was asleep, or in a coma, and hooked up to a wide range of drips, tubes and monitors. Stuck to his temples were two objects that might have been brain wave sensors. They were shiny, and gold, and had a small red gem in the centre of each.

      When Nics got back, Chas was the only one in the cubicle, but he was looking miserable and cold, dressed in the thin hospital gown that barely did up at the back.

      "Broken knuckle, probably. Got to go for x-ray to make sure nothing else is busted."

      He was not happy at the prospect of staying any longer.

      "Where'd you hare off to?"

      "Thought I saw someone I know from choir."

      "Oh," he said. Then, as the thought struck him. "Can you get me some chocolate or something from the vending machine in the waiting room? I'm starving."

      He shuffled around on the bed uncomfortably.

      "There's something digging into my arse."

      "Well, stand up and look to see what it is," she said, hunting through her pockets for any loose change.

      "Um, no."

      "I have..." she mused, looking at the assortment of coins, fluff and other pocket debris that lay in her hand, "...twenty six pence, a button and a squashed jelly bean covered in fluff in change. Do you think that'll be enough? 'Cause otherwise I'll have to find someone who can change the tenner I've got."

      Chas squirmed again, more vigorously.

      "Nics..." he said pleadingly.

      "Oh, for God's sake, just stand up and look!"

      "Sodding hospital gown doesn't cover my arse!" he hissed.

      Nics tried not to laugh. The snigger was worse.

      "Alright, shuffle forward."

      He did, and she reached down behind him rooting around his backside. There was much shuffling, and squirming and finally Nics managed to find what had been bothering him.

      "Got it!" she exclaimed triumphantly, holding a long brown feather up in the air. And she turned around to look straight in the astounded face of the nurse who had not so long ago told her off for seeing dogs where none could be.

      Nics flushed a bright shade of red and hid the feather behind her back.

      "Time for your x-ray," said the nurse to Chas brightly, obviously trying her best to ignore the signs of what she obviously viewed as rampant perversity happening in the ER.

      "I'll get you some chocolate," said Nics, and fled.

      Chas looked after her beseechingly, then submitted to the wheelchair trip down the hall to the x-ray room.