“I cannot believe,” declared Reggie Upton, “that I have been living on this island for over a year, and we haven’t had a single day without being blanketed in fog of some description.”

“If it’s any consolation,” replied Philomena Bucket, “I’ve been here for five years, and it’s been wall-to-wall fog for me, as well.”

“Well, it just isn’t good enough,” spluttered Reggie. “We’re almost into July, dammit, and there is still no sign of the sun.”

Philomena gave him a meaningful look, and asked, “So, what do you propose we do about it?”

“Do?” said Reggie. “There is nothing we jolly well can do, is there? I’m sure, if there was, Durosimi O’Stoat would have waved his wand, or whatever it is that he does, and sorted something out by now.”

It was unlike Reggie to be so tetchy, but Philomena was aware that he had spent his military career in some of the hottest places on the planet. Since coming to Hopeless, sixteen months earlier, he had not seen the sun, except opaquely through a veil of mist. For Reggie that must have been verging on the intolerable.

“Besides,” he went on, “I am an animal lover; most of all, I like horses. There are none, apparently, on the island. In fact, the only creatures wandering about are aberrations that belong in a freak show or a bad dream.”

The pile of bones that had been snoring quietly in the corner of the room stirred, and a canine skull eased itself out of the osseous heap to glare at the speaker.

“Present company excepted, of course,” added Reggie, hurriedly.

Philomena sighed.

“What you are really saying,” she said, “is that you’re getting fed-up with Hopeless, and pining after civilization.”

“I suppose that you’re right,” admitted Reggie. “It’s not that I dislike living on the island, but there are so many things that I miss – especially sunshine.”

“At least you don’t mind living here,” said Philomena. “That’s more than most can say, even the ones who have been here for all of their lives.”

“If I’m honest, it’s since that Bencombe fellow was swallowed up in that time-vortex shenanigans. It made me acutely aware of what’s happening to all of us; Time is the old enemy, m’dear. It gobbles us up and spits us out.”

“Hmmm… you’ve given me an idea,” said Philomena. “Time might be on our side, after all.”

*

“You want me to do what?” asked Durosimi, incredulity in his voice.

“I want you to take Reggie Upton to Tudor England,” said Philomena. “I know that you have found another path to the Underland… and that you always find yourself ending up in Doctor John Dee’s study.”

Durosimi sighed.

“There is no reason to deny it,” he said. “It is frustrating that on every visit I find myself in the same time-loop. It is always the same few days in the mid fifteen-eighties, when Dee was safely away in Poland, or some such place, with his associate, Edward Kelley.”

There had been a noticeable thawing of relations with Durosimi since he and Philomena had collaborated to rid Hopeless of the time-vortex that had claimed the life of Benjamin Bencombe. Whether Durosimi considered that this was sufficient excuse for him to be asked to take Reggie Upton to the London of Good Queen Bess, however, was another matter.

“So, will you do it?” asked Philomena.

Durosimi fell silent as he considered her request, then he said,

“I don’t think so. If any accident should befall Upton while we’re away, you would lay the blame on me.”

“Then tell me where your path to the Underland is, and I’ll do it myself,” said Philomena. There was noticeable anger in her voice.

“Such a shame you chose to destroy your own pathway there,” smirked Durosimi. “However, I am not a vindictive person. I will show you how to get there; better than that I’ll find some suitable clothing. Upton would stick out like a sore thumb in his tweeds.”

“What am I supposed to wear?” asked Philomena.

“Madam,” replied Durosimi, coldly, “unless you wish to resemble anything other than the peasant you most obviously are, your wardrobe will be more than sufficient.”

“Being a peasant is fine by me,” said Philomena defiantly.

*

 “I know I said that I wanted to see the sun,” said Reggie, “but I had no idea at what cost.” He looked down miserably at his trunk hose, the puffed out short satin breeches beloved by Elizabethan gentlemen.

“These are bad enough, but the pink tights are really too much,” he complained.

“You look splendid,” said Philomena, stifling a grin. “You are a nobleman and I am your servant – we look the part, and that is all that matters.”

And strangely, they did.

“Come on, Reggie, chin up,” she said, as they entered the cave leading to the Underland. “You’re going on holiday. Just be careful that you don’t snag your tights.”

 To be continued…