Tung froze on the spot. Why was it up to him to sort out the mess? He stared at Madrick. How could the old man not have seen the problem? This guy was meant to be the smart one. A wizard was supposed to be wiser than a barn full of owls so how did he miss something so bleeding obvious?

"Your plan has a great big hole in it. You really haven't thought it through at all, have you? The escape bit is fine but we were supposed to use the Scroll to get rich, be deliriously happy and attract hosts of girls."

He wondered whether that should be 'hostesses of girls'. He was losing focus. That happened a lot. He began to think about other times when he'd drifted away from the important topic. Luckily, before he'd drifted too far, his common sense gave him a mental slap and snapped his mind back to the matter in hand.

"We were going to change the world, remember? Your plan may well get us out of here but what about the Scroll? If it's only our bodies which become invisible, then we'll have to leave all our stuff behind; our clothes, our shoes and the Scroll. We'll have to leave everything in this godforsaken dungeon."

He paced the cell, fists clenched.

"We'll be free but we'll be miserable paupers. We won't even have the clothes we stand up in. We'll be a pair of destitute alms-people who'll never be free of the shackles of poverty. That sounds like a nightmare, what happened to the dream?"

Okay, melodrama overdose, time to stop talking. Truth be told, he'd be happy just to escape the torture and execution but he'd bought into the picture which Madrick had painted. He'd been handed a wondrous gift only for it to be snatched from his grasp before he'd even had the chance to unwrap it. He was distraught and he sunk his face into his hands to emphasise the fact.

Dammit, it seemed Madrick had completely forgotten about the Scroll. They couldn't carry the thing out in their invisible hands. That would be ridiculous. A flying scroll would undoubtedly attract attention. Was that it then, dream over?

A dejected silence descended over the cell as both sat, head in hands, and pondered their predicament. The journey from despondency to joyousness and back to despondency had only taken a few minutes. Could they get back to joyousness again? And then, as if by magic, the answer dawned on both of them at exactly the same moment.

One of them would have to secrete the Scroll inside their body. It was a small scroll but it was too large to hold in the mouth or swallow. They both stared at each other as they realised there was only one other option. Tung jumped to his feet.

"It's not going to be me. I've already suffered enough pain for this escape. It's not going to be me, no chance."

"I know, you've been great, but..." Madrick said, trying to muster some sort of argument even though a blind man on a galloping horse could see that Tung's point was more than fair. Having said that, who cares about fairness when the consequences of this 'delicate' situation would be so unpleasant? "I know how we can decide. Rock, Parchment, Knife. We'll play Rock, Parchment, Knife... best of three?"

"It's not going to be me," said Tung, who was having none of it. He loved a gamble and he was quite skilled at that particular game but he was taking no chances. "I've already gone through enough pain for this escape. Not me, no chance."

He'd repeated his argument pretty much verbatim as if to indicate he wasn't going to enter into a debate about it. He turned his back to Madrick and grabbed a chicken leg from the banquet remains which were strewn all over the floor. He began to chew. Conversation well and truly over.

"You're taking advantage of an old man. Have you no pity in your heart?"

A plea for sympathy had to be worth a try. Tung just ignored him and continued to gnaw on the chicken bone.

"All right, all right, you win," conceded Madrick. "I'll be the bearer of the greatest pain and suffering so we can take the wretched thing with us but remember this moment well. You remember how it was me who gave us the opportunity to fulfil our dreams. I'll conceal the damned Scroll. Turn your eyes away."

He swiped the Scroll out of Tung's hand.

"Look away and don't listen," he shouted as he lifted up the back of his robe.

Try as he might, Tung couldn't help but hear the grunts and squeals of the old man as he struggled to secrete the tightly rolled Scroll. This was definitely not the fate anyone had ever envisaged for the magic parchment and it clearly wasn't designed for this... container.

When the moaning and groaning had for the most part subsided, Tung looked round and immediately felt full of remorse. This was the second time he'd seen tears in the old man's eyes in the space of a few hours. This time he understood, this time the tears were totally justifiable. He felt Madrick's pain, but only a little bit.

The morning was approaching so they both undressed and, just to confuse the guards even more, Tung hung Madrick's robe over the stallion's neck.

They waited, that was all they could do now.

"I'm cold," said Tung.

"Shhh."

They waited some more, and some more.

"Listen," said Tung as soon as he heard the heavy thump of men marching down the corridor.

"It's time," said Madrick.

They held hands and Tung said the spell in his head. The pair disappeared. Everything was going according to plan until there was a loud cracking sound as Tung's invisible head crashed against the rock hard floor.

"Damn. That wasn't my fault this time," said Madrick as he felt the floor to find his invisible partner.

When Tung came to, he looked around and was delighted to see neither Madrick nor himself. He was proud of his work again, however there was no time for back-patting even if he could have found one to pat.

"Press yourself against the wall," said Madrick. "If the guards accidentally bump into us, our goose will be well and truly cooked."

"Mmmm, goose," said Tung, He closed his eyes and sniffed the air. Something was cooking but it was probably some poor prisoner being roasted by the torturers.

"Tung, are you against the wall?"

"Of course," he said as he snapped out of his foodie daydream and did what he'd been told. He shivered and gasped as his skin touched the freezing stone but he pressed himself hard against the icy granite. The guards weren't going to trip over him if he could help it.

"I am getting good at this magic thing," he whispered. "I have a skill to be proud of. I wish my friends could see me now."

He smiled. His invisible joke was so much better than Madrick's.

"Shhh, the footsteps are just outside. This is it."

Bolts scrunched and crunched before the door slammed open and the guards burst in. No prisoners to be seen. All they found was a magnificent stallion gorging on what appeared to have been a sumptuous banquet. Frantic searching revealed nothing.

"Where the hell did they go?" screamed one guard.

"What in God's name has been going on here?" yelled another.

Pandemonium reigned. How were they going to explain this to their sergeant-at-arms? Someone's head would roll; probably literally.

In the ensuing confusion, Madrick slipped unnoticed out of the cell but before Tung could follow, a bull of a man stepped out of the darkness of the corridor and blocked the doorway. Horrified, Tung found himself staring into a pair of bloodshot, piggy eyes. The eyes stared back but seemed to be looking straight through him. The man's fat face was so close to him, he could actually taste the smell of rancid sausage meat and garlic which seeped from the man's slobbery mouth.

"Mmmm, sausages," whispered Tung.

The big man's piggy eyes squinted as he peered deep into the cell. He started swinging his arms about as if trying to swat a fly. Had he heard the whisper? Tung fell to his knees just in time to avoid a flailing fist. The big fellow was standing with his feet wide apart, arms flapping like a drowning man. Tung saw his chance and scuttled on all fours through the man's legs and out the door.

Confused shouts echoed behind him as he scampered silently along the corridor which led out of the dungeon. Where was Madrick? Had the old man got out safely? Before he had the chance to try and find him, he saw Bildon and Tad, the two jailers who'd tormented him mercilessly during his short stay in prison. It would have been idiotic to try and exact some revenge when all that mattered was escape, but idiotic was what Tung did best, so why stop now?

He reached under the table and squeezed Bildon hard in a place which made him double over like a bear trap snapping shut. His face smashed into the table and he yelped like a little girl, although the same attack wouldn't have hurt a little girl in quite the same way. His reaction was surprisingly swift. It certainly surprised Tad who, before he had a chance to work out what was going on, found Bildon's dagger plunged deep into his shoulder. Blood poured from the wound; curses poured from his mouth.

The two men stared at each other with black hatred in their eyes, neither understanding why the other had launched the unprovoked attack. No time to find out. Bildon struck with the speed of a rattlesnake. He yanked his dagger from Tad's shoulder and smashed it deep into his chest. The man dropped dead to the floor.

Bildon had no time to admire his handiwork. The sound of approaching footsteps told him he had to act fast. A troop of soldiers was quick marching down the corridor... the changing of the guard. He wrenched his knife from the corpse and flipped it into the pot of grey sludge which steamed in the middle of the table. He threw himself onto the floor. Lie still he told himself, pretend to be unconscious. No one was going to pin this killing on him if he could help it.

The soldiers streamed into the room led by their captain. Confusion reigned supreme. The stallion, still wearing Madrick's robe was out of the cell. It pranced around Tad's dead body, its hooves rattling and skidding on the cobbled floor. A bunch of jailers ran about like headless chickens, frantically looking for their escaped prisoners. The captain screamed orders but no one heard him. It was a losing battle, total bedlam. No one would ever work out what had happened here.

Tung giggled silently to himself, he was proud of the turmoil he'd caused. Now, all he had to do was find the old man.

"Tung, Tung."

It was Madrick, calling his name in a loud whisper. No one else seemed to notice, there was too much chaos. He moved towards the sound.

"Here I am," he said to the thin air where he judged the whisper originated, "but how did you find me?"

"I saw the fracas between the jailers," said the whisper, "and I guessed you were involved somehow. But we need to get going, this mayhem won't last forever. Follow me,"

"But I can't see you."

"Just make for the steps. Let's get out of here."

He assumed Madrick was close by as he slipped out of the dungeon complex and up the stairs to the main castle. The last thing he heard as he left that dreadful place was one of the jailers shouting.

"Bildon killed Tad," screamed the jailer. "Look, there's his bloody dagger hidden in the pot of semolina," he screamed. "There's the proof, it's in the pudding."

"What an idiot," said Madrick's disembodied voice as the pair raced up the steps, "the proof is always in the eating."