It cannot be denied, the news came as something of a shock to everyone. Benjamin Bencome, botanist and Bachelor of Science, was dead. The presence of death is certainly no novelty on Hopeless, Maine; the Grim Reaper seems to find the island to be something of a home-from-home, considering the amount of time he spends there.

Benjamin’s death, however, was different. When he had ascended the stairs to the attics earlier in the day, he had been his usual self, albeit a little glum. A couple of hours, or so, later, when Reggie Upton decided to look in on him, not only was Benjamin quite dead, but appeared to have been deceased for several months. Even Reggie, a seasoned soldier, was shocked, and so it was with no small amount of trepidation that Philomena Bucket and her husband, Rhys Cranham, went with him back to the attics to view the scene of this most remarkable and tragic phenomenon.

The corpse of Benjamin lay crumpled in a corner of the room.

“That’s strange,” said Reggie. “Something is different… his clothes seem to be suddenly too large for him.”

Rhys stepped closer to the remains. “You said he looked as though he had been dead for months. Well, I would say years, personally. He is nothing but bones.”

The three stood in stunned silence, for even as they watched, Benjamin’s clothing began to disintegrate before their very eyes.

“For decency’s sake, we need to move him,” said Rhys, and stepped towards the corner.

“No!” shouted Reggie, with an urgency that stopped Rhys in his tracks.

“Can’t you see what is happening? You’ll be as dead as he is if you go another step. It is as though time is moving at a different rate in that corner.”

It was true. There was little evidence of Benjamin left by now, and in the spot where he had lain could be seen a swirling green mist.

“There is a sinkhole in the garden of the House at Poo Corner,” said Rhys, referring to the home of generations of Night-Soil Men. “And, at its bottom, hundreds of feet beneath the island, you can just about see a green mist hanging, and it looks not unlike like that stuff.”

“And I think I can guess why it’s here?” said Philomena.

The other two eyed her quizzically.

“That corner is where the vertical ladder to the Underland once stood. It was concealed in, what appeared to be, an old sea-chest. After a dear friend of mine, Marigold Burleigh, took it into her head to venture alone down there, and disappear forever, I sealed the passage and persuaded Bartholomew Middlestreet to remove every trace of the mock sea-chest. I think whatever that green mist does, and whatever it is, it is emanating from the Underland.”

“So what can be done?” asked Reggie.

“I don’t know,” admitted Philomena. “And I can think of only one person who might have some idea…“

“It is a time vortex,” declared Durosimi O’Stoat. “I have seen an example just once before, and believe me, they are unbelievably difficult to dispose of.”

Since returning from the Himalayas, Durosimi appeared to be a changed man, and therefore more approachable than formerly.

“Is it likely to spread?” asked Philomena.

“I imagine so,” replied Durosimi. “Which means that you will have to waste no time in containing it as best you can.”

“I will have to…?” Philomena looked dismayed.

“Of course. I think we both know that you have demonstrated magical abilities far beyond anything that I am capable of. Anyway, you asked for my advice, and that’s it. After all, this is your inn, and, quite frankly, it is not my problem.”

“Oh, but it is,” broke in Reggie, angrily. “If that thing spreads, no one is safe, not even you, O’Stoat.”

Durosimi raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“He’s right,” said Rhys, “And if that happens, it could devour the island.”

Durosimi sighed. “Very well,” he said. “I will consult my books. There must be something in one of them that will shed some light on this.”

“Well, for goodness sake hurry up,” said Reggie.

Two anxious hours passed by before Durosimi returned.

“There is a solution, but it has one or two drawbacks,” he said.

A few seconds passed, which felt like an eternity.

“Well go on,” said Reggie. “Tell us.”

“It seems that a lodestone, placed in the centre of the vortex, upon a north-south alignment, will diffuse it.” said Durosimi.

“Do we have such a thing?” asked Philomena.

Durosimi smiled thinly and produced, from one of his voluminous pockets, a rough looking rock, almost as long as a man’s hand.

“That looks like a piece of fossilised night-soil,” observed Rhys, doubtfully. “But if that is all that there is to do, then it sounds easy enough,”

“True,” replied Durosimi, “but unfortunately, the person who places the lodestone in there will undoubtedly die. Remember, time is travelling at an accelerated rate within the vortex, and it seems to be speeding up – It’s now about ten years with every second that passes, I would guess.”

There was another brief pause, then Reggie said, “I’ll do it.”

“No you will not,” said Philomena. “I won’t let you.”

“You must,” said Reggie. “Look, I have led a full and exciting life. I

have no regrets. You young people have everything in front of you.

Come on, O’Stoat, hand me the lodestone and work out which direction

is north, then we can get this business over and done with.”

“Please Reggie, there’s got to be another way.” Philomena was on the edge of tears.

Reggie shook his head sadly, then kissed her hand.

“Be sure to take good care of The Squid, m’dear,” he smiled sadly, and took the lodestone from Durosimi.

To be continued…