"Tell me a story, Nanny."

The old woman paused in the doorway and turned to look back at the latest—and no doubt last—in her very long line of royal charges, lying on his massive four-poster bed, ankles crossed and hands behind his head.

"Come now, Squelon. You know it's time for your nap."

The heir's chiselled, dark-skinned features, so aristocratic and refined, took on a most unrefined pout.

"Don't wanna nap. I want a story."

"Don't you think you might be getting a little old for stories?"

The prince frowned. "Don't know. How old is too old for stories?"

She couldn't resist a smile. While the boy might be simple, there was no denying simple sometimes got you to the heart of the matter. "I think you might have me there, young man. It's true, we're never too old for stories. But now is not the time. Now is the time for you to get some rest. You don't want to be cranky for dinner, do you? We're having swan-burgers and chips, after all."

"No, I s'pose not." He gave the matter some thought. "But then, if you don't tell me a story, I'll be cranky now. And isn't cranky later better than cranky now?"

"Squelon." She gave him her stern face, the one that had cowed future kings and crushed more than one queen-to-be. 

And which left Squelon completely unmoved. "Oh, please, Nanny?" he pleaded. "Pretty please? Just a little, tiny story? Then I'll nap, I promise."

"Oh, very well." She knew she was too soft on the boy—the young man, now—far softer than she had been with any of his forebears. While it might have been the mellowing of age (not that 'mellow' was a word any of the Nanny's acquaintances would ever think to associate with her), she suspected her uncharacteristic leniency was in fact due to sympathy. Perhaps even pity. Pity for this princeling who was still a child in any but the physical sense, who would remain a child for the rest of his days, who for all his good nature and good looks would never be the king his birth and circumstances entitled him to be. Stifling a sigh, she came and perched on the edge of his bed.

"Now, a story. A little, tiny story. Hmm, let me see."

"One with a prince in it, Nanny!"

"Of course there'll be a prince." She ruffled his dense black curls. "Everyone knows all the best stories have princes."

"And dragons!"

"A prince and a dragon? In that case, I think I have just the one. There was once a kingdom, you see—"

"A grand kingdom?"

"Yes, Squelon, a grand kingdom. Well, a kingdom that had at one time been grand, in any case. For, you see, this kingdom had lost its way. Its armies, once mighty and invincible, were but a shadow of their former selves. Its leaders were weak and indecisive, squabbling among themselves and allowing the tradition and custom and law that had stood the kingdom in good stead for centuries to be whittled away, piece by piece. People who once knew their place, who had been happy with their allotment in life, no matter how humble or small, began to have ideas above their station. Its borders, once so strong and secure, were left undefended and weak, allowing all manner of foreigners and ne'er-do-wells to enter the kingdom and do as they pleased, rogues of all species and nations, bringing with them exotic and unnatural magics and trickery and lore. Oh, it was a sorry tale of woe, Squelon. And do you know what was behind it all? What the root cause of all this misery could be?"

Wide-eyed, the prince shook his head.

"Why, it was the lack of a monarch, of course. The lack of a strong hand to guide the kingdom through those troubled times, to set it back on the right course. For, you see, the kingdom's queen had grown unwell and passed away, and her son, the prince, the rightful heir to her throne, was strong and wilful and arrogant and chose to turn his back on his duty. He left the kingdom to pursue his own selfish ends, leaving it lost and leaderless and in disarray."

"Ooh, ooh." Squelon bounced up and down with excitement. "That's like us! Like how things are in Irmway."

"Is it?" The Nanny raised her eyebrows. "Why, yes, I suppose there are some similarities. But here's where the story differs, young man. For while this kingdom, this once great kingdom, appeared lost—doomed to continue its descent into dissolution and disorder—there was still hope. Hope in the form of three heroes. An elf, a dwarf and..."—she smiled at the rapt prince—"yes, a dragon."

"Yay, a dragon! And was it big and scaly and fearsome?"

"Well...perhaps not quite so big and scaly as some. But its reputation in battle was fearsome indeed. Now, I'm sorry to say these three heroes were as lost and rudderless as the realm they once served. Fortunately, however, all it took to recall them to their duty and remind them of their honour was just a little nudge by a humble citizen, a nameless nobody who wished nothing more than to see the land she loved restored to the greatness it deserved."

"But how, Nanny? How could the heroes do that? By slaying lots of villains? Fighting monsters? Rescuing a bunch of gallants and damsels and stuff like that?"

"Oh, yes. All those kinds of things. Naturally, there was a great deal of derring-do and overcoming insurmountable odds and so on. That goes without saying. But the key to the matter, young man, was finding the lost prince. Finding him and then restoring him to his rightful place on the throne."

"But...but...the prince didn't want to be king. Did he?" Squelon frowned in fierce concentration. "That's what you said."

"Yes, I did." She squeezed the prince's shoulder. "Well remembered, my boy. But it turned out the prince's dereliction of his duty was just a passing whimsy, you see, one of the follies to which youth is so prone. The moment he knew his kingdom was in need—once our heroes made clear just how bad things had become—naturally, his royal blood asserted itself. He of course knew where his duty lay. With his heroic escort in tow he rushed home to set things right. He cast down the false and incompetent leaders who had taken his place and in no time at all made everything once again as it had always been. As it always should be. And always would be, with a strong monarch to keep the kingdom on the right course, from that day and for ever more."

"Huzzah, Nanny!"

"Huzzah, indeed." She rose and made her way to the door. "Huzzah, indeed. Sweet dreams, my prince."

In a jar on a desk sat a soldier. A toy soldier, its once bright red painted uniform faded and scratched, its moustachioed features now blurred and indistinct. And hovering above the soldier's head, bright in the relative gloom of Bex's office, was a sphere of light. An orb. A little orb that pulsed and wavered, drifting first one way and then another, before returning to its starting position.

"I think it's broken," said Hobe, reaching out to give the jar a prod.

Bex slapped his calloused finger away with her tiny hand. "It's not broken. It just hasn't connected yet."

"Connected?" queried Slash. "Connected to what?"

"To the chattel's mind."

The dragon nodded, in the hope it might help. It didn't. "The chattel?"

"Yes, the chattel," Bex replied impatiently. "The object that belonged to the target, the person being sought. In this case,"—she pointed at the jar—"the soldier."

Hobe and Slash exchanged a glance. "Lady," said the former, "I hate to break it to you, but there's nothing in that thing's head but wood. It doesn't have a mind."

The gnome rolled her eyes. "It doesn't have a brain. That's not the same thing at all. Consciousness is more than a blob of goo in a skull, you know. You'd be surprised at just what can contain a mind. Or, more to our purposes, what can be given one."

Carri stared at the little wooden figure. "You're saying you've made that thing conscious?"

"Yes. Well, to an extent. That's where the magic really lies, you know. That's the challenge. An orb to indicate direction is easy. Finding the source of that direction is the hard bit. In this case, that toy now knows it was owned and valued by someone. And, in its simple mind, it's one overpowering desire is to return to that someone. That desire is what the orb taps into." She looked up at Carri. "It's lucky you had such an object with you."

"Yes," agreed the elf, looking as though she felt anything but. "Lucky indeed."

"But how does it know?" asked Slash. "How does it know where the pr-..., uh, that is to say, where the target is?"

"Ah." The little woman gave him an enigmatic smile. "That's part of the mystery, isn't it? But in essence, somehow the simplicity of the mind—and the consequential purity of the desire—allows it to tap into the fundamental interconnectedness of all things. To sense the bond that lingers between the object and the owner. The orb would never work with minds as messy and complicated as ours. There would be far too many conflicting signals."

"Messy and complicated?" Hobe snorted. "Speak for yourselves. Nothing complicated in my head. All I know is we'd better keep that thing out of sight. That's foreign magic, that is. Volandan, if I'm not mistaken, just like you gnomes. That kind of thing is liable to land us in a dungeon, if the High Council gets wind of it."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong." Reaching into a drawer, Bex retrieved an official looking piece of parchment. "Special dispensation, courtesy of Viscount Yazzfoot, granting us exclusive and unrestricted license for the importation and dispensation of magical services and devices into the Irmish market. It exempts us from all previous royal edicts outlawing foreign magic." She gave her guests an elaborate wink. "Provided we keep the old Yazzman well-stocked with our special, er...anatomical inflationary potion, he's more than happy for us to have at it."

"Please." Carri held up a hand. "Spare us the details. So, how long until this thing...connects?"

Bex shrugged. "Hard to say. It tends to vary—magic is not an exact science. Might be be ten minutes, or could be half an hour. You'll just have to be patient."

"Right." Hobe dropped off his chair, his boots landing on the wooden floor with a hearty thump. "Dunno about you lot, but I find patience much easier to come by when I'm in a tavern. Luckily, I know a good one just down the street. Let's go."