Smith and Jones opened their eyes cautiously. Recent experience had taught them that chances were high, someone would be firing strange weapons in their direction at any moment. All seemed quiet, however. Peaceful, even.

Dappled sunlight fell softly between the leaves of tall trees, which surrounded them on all sides. Knee-high bracken grew thickly on the forest floor, except where a narrow path wove its way into the distance towards a stone castle.

The only sound was the chatter of birds in the bracken.

"So where are we now?" asked Jones, looking around. "If I didn't know better, I'd say this was the New Forest."

Smith was silent, busy examining the clothes he was wearing. Every time they changed worlds / times / realities, their clothes would change too. Perhaps his outfit would give him a clue. His legs were clad in brown tights, tucked under a leather jerkin. He had soft leather boots on his feet and a small dagger in a sheath attached to his belt.

He smiled. This all looked much more primitive and easier to cope with than the last few worlds / times / realities, which had been filled with Battlestar ships and hi-tech weapons whizzing through space.

"We should be safe enough here, I think," he said with satisfaction. "A nice, peaceful little forest world."

Jones grunted morosely. Unlike Smith, he seemed to be wearing some sort of armour around his lower limbs - it was very uncomfortable.

"We'll see soon enough I expect."

Smith looked around searchingly. "I say, have you seen H'ver? Or Kris, for that matter?"

All this travelling about was making him hungry - a few slices of toast slathered with loads of butter would go down a treat right now.

Just then a yard-long arrow shot past his nose and buried itself in the nearest tree trunk.

"Halt in the name of Long Robin!" commanded a loud voice.

"Aye, give us yer silver," added another, roughly.

"Run!" shouted Smith.

Both men took to their heels, bounding along the forest path like young deer. Arrows flew past their ears, as they ducked and weaved, but luckily none hit their target. Smith just had time to worry about Jones, who, burdened by his armour, was falling behind, when his foot tripped over a rope tied between two trees and he fell flat on his face. The next minute he and Jones were hanging upside down in a large net, suspended from an oak tree, peering down at a group of rough-looking men milling around beneath them.

"Ha! Peaceful you said," Jones glared at Smith, wincing as the top of his armour cut painfully into his stomach.

Before Smith could think of a suitable retort, a large object, looking for all the world like a huge metal plate-covered turtle shell, rumbled into view from the direction of the castle. Two medieval cannons protruded from the front end.

"Surrender - or else!" boomed a distorted, but distinctly female, voice from inside. To make her point, one of the cannons boomed - shooting a spray of sparks and small iron objects into the space beneath the net.

Yelping, the bowmen disappeared into the forest, faster than butter could melt on toast.

A hatch opened in the turtle and Kris poked her head out. She had a large pointy hat on her head with a scarf coming out the end.

"Everything okay, chaps?"

"What is that thing?" asked Smith, as H'ver hopped out of the contraption, extended a small but long cutting tool and proceeded to saw through the ropes.

"A medieval version of a tank," explained Kris. "This is Candlepunk."

Suddenly, the ropes gave way and Smith and Jones fell rather painfully to the ground.

"What the hell are you wearing, Jones?" exclaimed Kris as both men clambered to their feet.

"I don't know," complained Jones, "but it's damned uncomfortable." He tugged with both hands, trying to get rid of the offending object. He twisted unsuccessfully. "Don't just stand there, give me a hand, someone." He frowned, puzzled as his scrabbling fingers encountered something entirely unexpected. "H'ver? Can you help? There seems to be a keyhole at the back."

Kris gave an almighty roar of laughter. Tears ran down her face as she held her sides with both hands.

Jones glared furiously at her. "What on earth's so funny?" he demanded, biting down hard on the swear words he wanted to utter.

"It's... it's... a chastity belt!" Kris choked out, eyes streaming. "When they went off to war, men used to lock up their wives to make sure they stayed virtuous. Not just wives, virgin daughters too."

Now Smith was staring at Jones, eyebrows raised, a huge grin breaking out on his face.

Jones' cheeks were scarlet. "I'm not a vir-" he was protesting, just as the white light...