INEVITABLY THE three companionable Tinkers found themselves jointly in the line of fire as their turn came to make some kind of contribution to a future state of things.
'We are all agreed then that these three brave souls should cross the barriers to Greenvale and undertake this most important pilgrimage?' the Conclave leader said, indicating the group of bearded individuals who stepped forward with fateful tread.
'We are,' came the assembled voices of other Tinkers from amid the misty confines of the small and hidden valley. Surrounding them all was even more mist and the occasional lightning flash to add interest to proceedings.
'We are?' Tinker Bobbin said with a note of caution at this overwhelming wave of affirmation.
'We are,' Tinker Dozen chuckled in his good-natured way.
'So we must,' Tinker Jinket sighed, looking down upon his shorter companions from the height of lofty resignation.
'I'm sure the voting system was rigged,' Bobbin whined quietly, lest he be heard. 'I mean what were the chances of us three going again on a pilgrimage to Mount Monor?'
'Inevitable,' Dozen replied in a whisper. 'We are destiny's soldiers, fighting as best we may against countless odds.'
'Ooh, pep talk,' Bobbin smirked. 'Ah well, it's a nice place Greenvale, so I recall.'
'When sober or otherwise?'
'Both.'
Thus they prepared themselves for the journey by each gripping his staff of power more firmly and then in a flash of light they too were gone.
'Right then, that's them out the way. Blomp, you appear to have fallen next in line for a bit of fun.'
'What you got for us?' the figure so addressed said uncertainly. Uncertainty was one of those things found at the bottom of cereal packets that declared some free gift of inestimable value and delight, with an added guarantee it would be made of curiously-shaped plastic in an impossible lime green colour.
'A nice bit of cheese, if that's okay with you,' came the curious response.
'Sounds splendid,' someone agreed supportively.
'But I'm lactose intolerant,' Blomp insisted. He had been clipping his fingernails in a show of devilish bravado during proceedings and at this outcome one pinged off to hit an unseen figure.
'Ouch, nearly took an eye out,' came the inevitable complaint that bore little resemblance to likelihood.
'Good,' was the philosophical response.
'Charming I'm sure.'
'Intolerance is something we have learned to tolerate,' came an authoritative voice from somewhere. 'You know matters have a knack of resolving themselves in ways of which we do not approve.'
'End of the world stuff, you mean?'
'Blomp, you hit the wingnut on the fly,' the voice said encouragingly. 'We need someone in place to prod and push, cajole and otherwise persuade matters to take a more agreeable course in the interests of longevity.'
'But why cheese?'
'It is the bedrock of the dairy industry where you are going.'
'That'll be Poldorama,' someone sniggered. 'No nightclubbing for you.'
'Oh, I don't mind. Haven't pulled an all nighter for a while. Not really missed it to be honest.'
'To be honest is one of the bedrocks of Poldorama society. Frank talking, straight walking and cheese stalking. You'll fit right in.'
'What are their medical facilities like?'
'Enough! The milk is curdling and it's time to go.'
There was a flash of green light which did the trick and Tinker Blomp found himself flat out on a stretch of grass surrounded by a horizon. Nothing else, just a horizon in a complete circle absent of landscape. Or so it seemed. This barrenness was suddenly accentuated by the solitary figure of a gentleman looking at him curiously.
'I hope no damage was done,' this individual said as he approached and tapped Blomp on the toe with a walking stick.
'You're supposed to ask if I had a nice trip?' the Tinker replied, sitting up, adjusting his hat and reaching for his staff of power.
'Why?'
'Welcome to Poldorama,' Blomp muttered as he got to his feet and noted from this higher perspective a small gathering of cows that watched him with vague interest. They desperately wanted to stampede but thought it impolite to do so.
'Everyone is welcome to Poldorama,' the man said. 'We get few visitors it is true, but their presence is kindly felt and blessed accordingly. Would you partake of my repast? The sun tells me it is lunchtime.'
'Would said repast include cheese by any chance?'
'Several varieties.'
'Then I shall politely decline. Know you of a place where I can freshen up? It's been a long life.'
A request for help in Poldorama often led to a complex series of interchanges until the person in need ended up deposited some distance from the place where they first appeared, unannounced and unscrutinised, for to ask after antecedents was deemed intrusive.
Thus Tinker Blomp found himself comfortably at the table of some shopkeeper in a nearby settlement eating bread and onions and listening to pleasant tales on how the world was doomed.
Matters had proceeded farther than he realised.
'Got here just in time,' he said as he crunched and cried through his pungent repast.