I sat bolt upright, and regretted it immediately as a searing surge of pain shot through my skull. The drive back to Empire house in the dark… the office… the kiss… The dirty pub… the old sailor… the fight… by Jove, a real gun fight! Pity I didn’t have a nice, daring scar to show for it that would put any suitors off for the rest of my life. The drive to the East End… Dear me, had I really visited that horrible part of the city? It seemed so, the images were there all right, if a little bit jumbled. As it did, memories of the previous night started to trickle back into my consciousness.
Slowly, the piercing pain in my head began to recede a little. Desperately, I tried to think of any ways I had ever learned to make badger-tails vanish from ones mouth.
The badger who had substituted his tale for my tongue wiggled his behind, and I groaned as pain lanced through my head. Now, I only had to wait for the torturers to arrive, and the fun could begin. In my bedroom, my head was never filled with such agonizing pain, nor did my tongue dare to feel so much like an inflated badger’s tale in my private sanctum.
It couldn’t really be my bedroom, though. I woke in a torture chamber that bore significant resemblance to my bedroom.
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