Beneath the unblemished arching blue of a beautiful Irmwegian morning, the wayward and recently returned Prince Vazor Tau stood upon the dais of the city square and beamed down upon his erstwhile subjects.

In silence, the subjects glowered back.

"So you see," continued the prince, "I didn't just leave because I couldn't wait to see the back of the place—to see the back of you lot. I mean, obviously that was a big motivation. Huge. What young prince wouldn't want to ditch a dive like this? But no. I wasn't quite so selfish as all that. I also left for the very good reason that you needed to be left. Yes, that's right. I left you for your own bloody good!"

The glower, if anything, intensified. "Boo!" ventured a little girl perched atop her father's shoulders. "Boo for the bum-head!"

Smile unwavering, Vazor gave the child a wink. "A bum-head I may be, but when it came time to take the throne I could see, even at my young age, that Irmway was in decline. A decline that, unless somebody did something about it, was only going to end one way—in a slow and undignified wasting away until some other kingdom, Froom or Volanda or whatever, one of those places that actually have a bit of get up and go, swooped in for the coup de grâce and finished us off. So, I decided to do something about it. To rattle the cage, to roll the dice, to shake things up. After all, I figured if the place was going to crash and burn anyway, I might as well make it interesting.

"And I knew it would take something big. That for change to come about, the very foundation upon which the whole sorry edifice rested had to be taken out. In other words, I had to be taken out. Because after all, you can't have a monarchy without its monarch. More specifically"—crossing his arms, Vazor gazed down in benevolent humility at the murmuring crowd—"you can't have Irmway without its Manticore."

The young prince clearly felt that with this last point he had clinched his argument. Catching the odd snippet of just what the crowd's murmurs contained, Slash had his doubts. He cleared his throat.

"Um, right. So, just so we're all clear, what you're basically saying, Your Highness, is that rather than stick around to try to fix the, uh...problems you'd noticed, you decided to absent yourself in the hope they'd fix themselves?"

"Precisely, colonel. I always knew you were a bright one. After all, generations of my forebears had 'stuck around', as you so eloquently put it, and look where that got us. No, a vacuum had to be created, some chaos cultivated, if ideas were to be born, ventures ventured upon and Irmway given the kick in the rear it so badly needed. And so here we are."

"Yeah," replied Hobe. "Here we are. Everything a mess, a mob of corrupt toffs running the show and the rest of us basically up the Erinoquo without a paddle. Or even my boat, for that matter."

"That's right," added Carri. "Well, maybe not the bit about the boat. But things have undeniably gotten worse since you left. Since you wimped out of the job you were born to do and decided to cut and run. You can't honestly expect us to believe that's a good thing."

"But of course I can!" A hint of perplexion had crept into Vazor's expression—but only for a moment. "Just think about how fortunate your are, people—you're part of one of the greatest experiments in history! An experiment in which the whole wide world is our laboratory, the very kingdom itself is our subject, and you lot, the humble folk of Irmway, are the variables.

"An experiment to find out whether, under the right circumstances, with the right nudge here and the right poke there, we can take a staid, stuffy, stuck-in-the-mud and most likely doomed monarchy and transform it into...something else. And if we can, what will that something be? Will it be a kingdom for the ages? Will it be complete anarchy? Who knows, good people? Only time will tell. Is telling.

"But the thing was, time was, well...taking its time. In the hoo-ha following my abdication, yes there was change, yes there was chaos, but it was little and too slow. After all, I didn't yet know of Squelon's...unique nature, so I figured he'd be waiting in the wings to take up the mane once he came of age, ruining all my plans in the process. For good or bad, I needed the kingdom transformed beyond redemption before that could happen. As I travelled, I kept track of things back here at home, and I have to admit, people, I started to worry.

"While friends in Irmway"—the young prince turned and smiled at Lady Kay, standing with the other High Councillors—"helped keep the political cauldron back here churning, and others from abroad"— he gave Bex a wave—"brought in new and exciting ideas, it wasn't enough. The whole sorry edifice was still lurching along, crumbling at the edges perhaps, yet stubbornly refusing to collapse, to submit to the winds of change. It was infuriating. Something was missing. Something else was needed, some nature of catalyst to kick things along. So, as I continued to travel, I searched for that catalyst. And on the far side of the world, in a bustling metropolis almost entirely unlike Quollo, I found it.

"Information was the key, citizens of Irmway. Information, knowledge, awareness. Ah, but not information available only to the leaders, to the educated, to the privileged few. Oh, no. Not information that was hoarded, hidden away, manipulated or misused. No, what we needed was information that was widespread and available to all. Information for everyone! Media for the masses! After all, how could a people want change unless they saw what needed changing? Be part of a cultural shift, unless they knew it was there to be part of? Realise there could be a better world, unless they understood the sorry state of the world they were in? The answer is easy, good people. They couldn't. You couldn't. Information is the key.

"But how to spread that information? How to provide knowledge of current affairs and daily events in a readily accessible and widely available manner? Enter a down-on-her-luck dwarf with a smart sense of social awareness and a savvy and motivated financial backer in the form of yours truly. A backer who, naturally, would pop back to Quollo every now and then to meet with their partner, just as I was doing when the intrepid trio to my left stumbled upon my presence. In any case, out of this union was born The Forge. Irmway's first newspaper. Information on tap, on every street corner, available to even the humblest of citizens. And with that vital ingredient added to the mix, the pace of change has picked up nicely.

"You claim my absence has wrought chaos and disorder, corruption and confusion. And I see that, citizens of Irmway. I see all those things. To tell you the truth, I expected them. You know, broken eggs and omelettes and all that. But do you know what else I see? I'll tell you.

"I see"—he pointed at Bex— "science and technology,"—at the ogre—"employee rights,"—at Blompo—"law and order,"—at the former coal-miner—"free trade,"—at the hippo-hater—"religious freedom,"—at Rodrick—"the emergence of self-determination,"—at Wonda—"a love of the arts"—at Gella, taking notes in the front row, with The Forge's field artist sketching furiously beside her—"and a free and independent press to report it all and also hold the government to account."

"I see all these things and more. All these things that would not be, had I chosen to stick around, to wear that tatty cloak and to put on that stupid hat, and to sit on the throne and tell you all what to do like the bunch of idiots I know you not to be. It's ironic that our banner bears the Manticore rampant, yet so much more has been achieved with the Manticore absent.

"No, it has not been easy. Yes, it has been messy. Change is hard and change is frightening, but the only alternative is stagnation and eventual disintegration. Isn't it worth taking a few risks to avoid that? Look how much you've achieved so far. Yes, it might end in tears, yes, it could still all crash and burn, but on the other hand, think how much more you might achieve yet. Hang in there, people of Irmway."

Stunned silence greeted the end of Vazor's speech. Silence broken, at length, by the sound of one person clapping. It was a moment before anyone realised that person was Squelon, seated safely out of the way at the back of the dais, under the watchful eye of the Nanny. Shrugging off her restraining hand, he rose and joined his brother.

"Good one, big bro." He gave Vazor a resounding slap on the back. "You had a plan; you took a punt, and you pulled it off. You had your eye on the prize, and you were willing to pay the price. Oh, wait. No, that's not right. In actual fact, you were willing for us to pay the price. For me, in particular."

"Squelon," hissed the Nanny, "get back here this instant! You're embarrassing yourself."

The young prince made a dismissive gesture. "Not right now, old girl. I'm talking to the big V. So, V-man, let me ask you something. In this grand plan of yours, did it not occur to you to wonder what the consequences of your sodding off might be for your little bro?"

"I...of course." Vazor frowned at his brother. "Of course, I knew you were next in line. But, like I said, I hoped the years before you came of age would be enough for whatever changes occurred in the meantime to become embedded. Irreversible. That you wouldn't need to take to the throne. That was why speed was of the essence. And then, later, when my sources informed me you were...were..."

"A bit of a thickie?" suggested Squelon helpfully.

"—not capable of ruling," continued Vazor, "I just thought, well...perhaps that was for the best. For everyone. It took the pressure off my plan, and I knew that no matter what happened, the Nanny would see you well cared for."

"Vaze, Vaze, Vaze," sighed Squelon, shaking his head. "You always were a bit of an arrogant narcissist, you know that? For all your alleged good intentions, you really didn't give a rat's arse about what your departure really meant for me, did you?"

"I—"

"Because, you see, it meant I had to step up, you selfish wanker. I was meant to be the second heir, the younger sibling, the one who wasn't going to be the Manticore. In other words, I'd scored the dream gig. I'd get the wealth, I'd get the fame, I'd get the girls, but—and here's the key bit—I wouldn't get the responsibility. I wouldn't get the burden. It was awesome. I couldn't wait to grow up and party on. But then you had to go and bloody ruin it, didn't you? Suddenly, just like that, you up and left and my future of fun and partying vanished. A lifetime of work and stress and really uncool stuff was all I had to look forward to. Leaving me no choice but to play the idiot. Hey, it wasn't as good as partying, but it beat listening to diplomatic envoys and dispensing decrees all day. But look, all's forgiven. I don't need to playact anymore. Because you got rumbled. You're back. Time to put all that abdication and transforming Volanda crap behind you and plonk your recalcitrant arse down on that throne like you're supposed to. And then I can get back to being the second son, the second-in-line. The cool one. At last I can stop being a dumbarse and finally get a life."

"Well, I hate to break it to you"—with an apologetic smile, Vazor placed a hand on his younger brother's shoulder—"but it seems you're not quite done being a dumbarse just yet, little bro. I don't think you were paying sufficient attention to what I said. 'Cause, you see, while I might be back, there's no way in hell I'm staying. Not with The Forge up and running and the rest of the job only half-done. This shit is just getting good. Bex, if you please?"

From her position atop the street sign, the gnome tossed an object towards the dais. Spinning and sparkling in the bright sunlight, the little silver projectile curved through the air to land directly at Vazor's feet in a silent explosion of white smoke. And when it cleared, just moments later, the elder prince was gone.

Coughing and waving away remnants of the smoke, Squelon looked around in confusion—and spotted the irate figure of the Nanny storming towards him. With a high-pitched, "Oh, shit," he leapt from the dais and vanished into the crowd.

Red-faced, breathing deeply, the old woman turned her thunderous expression on Slash, Carri and Hobe. "Get that Manticore!" she bellowed.

The three questers exchanged a look.

"Which one?" asked Slash.