Gremlin scowled at them and struggled to her feet, head spinning. Well, it had certainly been a memorable night. At least, it would have been. If she could remember it.
"Where am I?" groaned a voice from the other side of the room.
Gremlin waded through mass of discarded cans, paper plates and streamers until she found Cretin, half buried under the fallen Christmas tree.
"Where do you want to be?" asked Gremlin, tugging the tree off her friend.
"Not here," muttered Cretin, closing her eyes. "Where's Noggin?"
Gremlin shrugged, gazing around the room for any sign of the third Creator.
"She's upstairs," announced a cheery voice. "With Darcy."
Alan was sitting on the upturned table, smiling at them and munching an apple.
"What are they doing up there?" asked Gremlin, scowling at the mention of Darcy's name.
"Don't know," answered Alan. "What do they usually do?"
"Nooooo! I don't want to dance with the pineapples!" yelled a voice from somewhere behind the three thrones. A figure in white jumped to her feet, party debris cascading off her shoulders.
"No," said Alan thoughtfully, "I don't think they would be dancing with pineapples.. Dancing possibly, but not with the pineapples.."
Gremlin and Cretin exchanged looks, shaking their heads disbelievingly.
"He's just so darn adorable, isn't he?" chuckled a voice behind them.
"There you are," said Gremlin, twisting round to look at Noggin. "We were wondering where you were."
"Just catching up with Darcy," shrugged Noggin.
"I bet," muttered Cretin, picking silly string off her robes.
Noggin stuck her tongue out at her. "You're just jealous."
"Yep," agreed Cretin. "Now how about you get those gnomes of yours to do something useful like clean this place up."
Noggin frowned. "But I already told them to.." She scanned the room and sighed heavily as the gnomes looked up guiltily from their scouring of her throne. "You're supposed to do the whole room, not just my stuff. Where are the others?"
"Cooking breakfast," piped a gnome who was dangling from the bottom of the throne, suspended by a series of pulleys and was in the process removing chewing gum from underneath it with a tiny chisel.
"I don't see why the Minions can't clear up," grumbled another gnome, wringing out a bright yellow sponge.
"They're not feeling too well," said Alan merrily. "Crouton said they've all got hookaboves."
"Excuse me?" said Noggin, staring at him.
"Hookaboves," repeated Alan. "I that's what it was.."
"I said hangovers," frowned Crouton, emerging from stairway. "We thought you might be needing these," she added, addressing the Creators. In her hands she held three small vials of clear liquid.
"We?" asked Cretin, taking one and peering dubiously at it.
"Minion No. 7," clarified Crouton, surveying the bomb site that was the main room. "She invented it."
"What is it?" asked Gremlin, uncorking the small vial and sniffing it.
"Hangover cure," said Crouton, handing the third bottle to Nyphen Phorque. "We've given it to everyone else already. They should be down soon."
"Tastes like milk," grinned Gremlin, glad to be free of the pounding headache.
Cretin frowned, "Tasted more like coca cola to me."
"Hey, it was fanta!" argued Noggin.
"Actually, it was all three," said Minion No. 7, appearing at the bottom of a staircase.
"Really? Yuk," said Cretin, pulling a face.
"Not at the same time, dunderhead," said Gremlin, rolling her eyes.
"It's designed to taste like your favourite drink," explained Minion No. 7, picking her way carefully over the minefield of fallen decorations.
"Oh," said Cretin. "But that sounds like magic. Minions aren't allowed to do magic."
"They're allowed one magical attribute," said Crouton absently, conjuring a handful of fire lazily.
"And mine is to, well, invent things I suppose. I can create anything I design," shrugged Minion No. 7.
"Do we have a record of this stuff?" whispered Cretin to the other two.
Gremlin shrugged. "Probably."
"Where?"
"Don't know. Ask Crouton."
"Isn't Minion No. 3 in charge of filing?" asked Noggin, righting the upset chairs.
Gremlin and Cretin blinked at her.
"They have jobs?" asked Gremlin blankly.
"Oh yeah. There's a list of them somewhere," said Noggin vaguely, stepping over the gnomes who were scuttling around her feet.
"Where?"
"Probably in the same place as the other records," said Noggin. "Unless they were all burnt in the fire. Do you know what happened to them you two?" she asked, looking over at Crouton and Minion No. 7.
"Uh, yeah, they were, um, burnt, yes. Burnt. Sorry," said Crouton, hesitantly.
"Yeah," agreed Minion No. 7 avidly. "All gone."
"I thought we made them indestructible.." mused Gremlin, frowning in recollection.
"No, no, that was the um, Seventh Heaven portraits. No Minion records here," laughed Crouton nervously.
"Yes, I laugh at the very idea - ha!" added Minion No. 7, looking shifty.
"Well.. If you say so.." murmured Noggin.
"Yes.. Well.. Ahem.. We'll just be going now.." said Crouton, glancing at Minion No. 7.
The Creators exchanged puzzled glances as the two Minions scuttled off.
"What's up with them?" asked Cretin, frowning.
The other two shrugged, staring after them.
"Um, excuse me?" ventured Nyphen Phorque, clutching an official looking scroll in one hand.
"Yes?" asked Gremlin, looking suspiciously at her.
Phorque waved the scroll. "It's your orders from the Higher Powers. I'm afraid we have to start straight away..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
You had to hand it to them, the gnomes had done a good job of clearing up the HQ, though Cretin and Gremlin couldn't help noticing that their thrones weren't looking quite as fresh as Noggin's was. The gnomes had spent a hard couple of hours polishing and buffing the golden frame so that it gleamed like brilliantly. The plush yellow cushions that adorned it had been washed, re-stuffed and plumped, so that far from being the more tarnished and tatty of the three thrones, Noggin's chair now radiated majesty. Cretin noted enviously that hers still had a lone bandage wrapped around the left leg.
"..so you all understand?" asked Phorque, looking hopefully at the assembled company. There were various murmurs of acknowledgement and discontented whispering. "I'll let you get on with it then," she said happily. "Everything you need is in Room 101. Good luck."
"What will you be doing?" asked Darcy, regarding her suspiciously.
"I'll be in my room," smiled Phorque. "I've got to revise the squatters case. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."
She swept off, leaving them alone in the main room.
"D'you think they'll care if we just-" began Minion No. 3 but a disembodied voice cut her off abruptly.
"This is the voice of HPL. We're watching you.."
"HPL..?" asked Minion No. 2 in a quiet voice.
"Higher Power Ltd," sighed Noggin. "Come on, let's go find room 101. How bad can it be?"
Five minutes later, they got their answer. Standing in the doorway to room 101, Cretin turned to face Noggin and said slowly, "Never say that again.."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alan stood on the strip of rubber, peering interestedly at the display of buttons before him. He pushed one randomly and the panel in front of him lit up.
Hello.
Alan stared at the message, then waved at it hesitantly. "Erm, hello?"
The greeting disappeared and was replaced by another message.
Select a program using the arrow keys.
Alan frowned and looked around desperately for a set of keys but there didn't appear to be any. In front of him, the message was still flashing expectantly. He glanced around worriedly to see if anyone was watching then jabbed at another random button, hoping the message would go away. It did, but moments later was replaced by another.
Fat burn.
Enter time: - -:- -
Alan looked at it for a moment then took off his watch and dropped it into the circular plastic holder positioned to the right of the flashing display and still the message didn't alter. He looked at it anxiously, wondering what he was doing wrong, then he caught sight of a big red button very helpfully labelled 'Start'. He pressed it happily and stood there as the ground beneath his feet began to move.
He was still beaming cheerfully when he fell off the end of the treadmill and stumbled backwards into Orlando who was adjusting the weights on the bar.
"So sorry," he said brightly, standing up and jumping back onto the conveyer belt which had now sped up considerably.
Orlando stood back as Alan came hurtling off the end of the treadmill again, a vaguely bemused expression on his face.
"Erm, Alan, you're supposed to run on it, you know," he explained, lowering the speed as Alan leapt determinedly back onto the moving belt and stayed there in a crouch as it carried him backwards and tipped him off the end.
"Run?" said Alan blankly, gazing up at him.
"Yes run," said Orlando, swinging himself onto the moving treadmill to demonstrate.
"Oh..." said Alan, comprehension dawning on his face. "I get it..."
He hopped back on as Orlando dismounted, running at full pelt into the handrail.
"You might want to speed it up a bit," winced Orlando, leaning over and adjusting the speed as Alan continued his attempt to run into the solid bar.
He left Alan jogging happily on the spot and returned to his weights, sighing amusedly at Alan's ineptitude. He glanced over at Gremlin who was spying on Noggin and Cretin's badminton match. They were playing doubles with Darcy and Johnny.
Noggin and Darcy appeared to be winning but from the sounds of it Cretin and Johnny weren't doing too badly themselves.
"Out!" yelled Cretin triumphantly as the shuttle sailed over the net and she whacked it back.
Darcy paused for an instant, in the middle protesting and the shuttle bounced off his head.
"Our point!" grinned Cretin.
"Hey! You're cheating!" exclaimed Darcy, retrieving the shuttle from the floor. "You said it was out!"
"Maybe I just felt like saying 'out'," retorted Cretin, pulling a face at him.
"You can't do that," complained Darcy, glaring at her.
"I can and I will," responded Cretin, assuming a very childish stance and folding her arms.
"Fine," growled Darcy, walking up to the net and smashing the shuttle down on the other side. "Our point."
"Cheat!" yelled Cretin. "You're not allowed to do that."
"I can - it's called a smash," said Darcy smugly, staring defiantly at her.
"Yeah, well, OUT!" shouted Cretin as Johnny served and Noggin smashed it back over the net.
Gremlin grinned over her shoulder at Orlando and Cretin continued her shouting match with Darcy, oblivious to the impressive rally Noggin and Johnny were executing. Orlando chuckled softly and turned his attention back to the weights.
~~~~~~~~~~~
"I don't get it," whined Minion No. 2, staring hopelessly at the complicated diagrams posted on the wall.
"You just have to follow the instructions," said Minion No. 5, tilting her head sideways to see if position looked any less painful from a different angle.
"I don't want to this Yoda stuff. What does a little green man know about anything anyway?" pouted Minion No. 2.
"Oi!" shouted Leprechaun as he hurried past, a pair of green legs under a pile of towels. "I heard that!"
"Firstly it's called yoga, it doesn't have anything to do with George Lucas," said Minion No. 5 patiently. "And secondly, we have to. There's nothing else left. Everyone else got there first."
It was true. The large room was now filled with Minions, Creators, gods and elves alike. Even a few of the gnomes had joined in, jumping up and down on the pedals of exercise bikes to make them turn. A few were attempting track training on the treadmills, running in little green groups of four.
Crouton and Minion No. 7 were on the rowing machines and the remaining Minions were involved in a heated game of indoor hockey. Over by the badminton net, Darcy's gaze was flickering nervously between the grinning Gremlin and the rack of very solid looking hockey sticks a few feet away from her.
"Fine.." sighed Minion No. 2, sitting down on the mat and peering closely at the first diagram. "Let's get on with it then."
~~~~~~~~~~~
Imagine a building constructed entirely of white marble, surrounded by huge pillars that gleam in the sunlight. A building covered with ancient pictograms and mystical phrases such as ?Hostes alienigeni me abduxerunt' and 'Non erravi perniciose! '. This is the place where the Higher Powers dwell. This is the place where legends are made..
They are currently in the process of editing King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. It seems a Lord of the Rings fanatic tricked their way into the sacred building and altered the manuscript so that Arthur's famous wizard is now called Gandalf and Lancelot is a schizophrenic goblin who runs around in a loincloth ranting about jewellery.
At the heart of the building, sitting in his dazzlingly white office, is Lantigo. He is the head of Higher Powers Ltd and he currently reading Phorque's latest report on the activities of the Creators.
Behind him, lingering by the glass cabinet that houses Lantigo's precious whisky, is Niloom, the newest addition to Higher Power Ltd who holds the prestigious position of Tea Boy, or this case, Alcoholic Beverage Boy. Lantigo doesn't know it yet, but Niloom is going to prove to be quite an intriguing character indeed. Oh yes, because Niloom knows the power that a Tea Boy can wield. A Tea Boy can get in anywhere without suspicion and he knows all the passwords for the secret wings of the building.
But Lantigo doesn't know this yet, which is a shame, because Niloom does, and by the time Lantigo figures it out, it will be too late.
Far too late.
By the time he works it out, Niloom will already be head of the company and have the whole of Silva Woods under his control and there won't be anyone to stop him, because no one ever dares defy the Higher Powers.
No one.
Right, Minions?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You're supposed to be making healthy foods, you know," she said reprovingly, watching one gnome swing from the handle of a frying pan to the kettle. "I don't think a fry up is allowed."
"Lady Darcy said she's fed up of eating rabbit food," piped up one gnome. He was perched cheerfully on the edge of a bowl, cracking open eggs with a small sledgehammer. "And the Minions are threatening to go on strike."
"But they don't do anything!" said Phorque exasperatedly. "What difference would it make?"
The gnomes shrugged and carried on cooking. Nyphen gave up and wandered back into the main room. She'd been at Headquarters for six months now ? the Creators had given her Eric's old room in one of the East branches. Eric had left in rather a hurry after New Year, and Nyphen could see why. Everyone was crazy in this place. Even so, she'd begun to rather like it here. Sure, the Minions were strange and the Creators were frankly wrong in the head, but were they were all friendly crazy, rather than axe-wielding-maniac crazy. And it was a lot more fun than her own HQ had been.
The gods had departed at Easter and returned to Seventh Heaven, the sheep having been successfully ousted. It was still a mystery as to how they'd come to be there in the first place, but no one seemed to bothered about it. The Creators were far to preoccupied with pining the loss of their respective partners, the gnomes didn't notice anything unless it concerned the Darcy's, Flower didn't care and the Minions just didn't have the brain capacity suspect foul play.
Phorque had noticed, however. She had also noticed that there hadn't been any messages from Lantigo for the past month, despite her cautious warnings that the Minions were starting to neglect their training schedule. Fried breakfasts were becoming more and more common of late.
She'd spoken to Crouton about this, but she'd just grinned and said that the Minions were like an elastic band. No matter how much you tried to change them, they always sprang back to their original habits in time. Phorque had tried pointing out that if you stretched elastic enough, it snapped and Crouton had smirked and told her she'd better hope that didn't happen. Minions don't like being stretched.
There was a loud knocking on the door and Phorque glanced around, wondering whether she dared open it. The Minions got some very strange visitors sometimes. Only last week there'd been that group of shifty looking guys who'd delivered a few packets of talcum powder to Cretin in exchange for a large wad of cash. Phorque supposed it must have been very high quality talc for Cretin to pay such an absurd amount for it.
The knock sounded again just as Crouton emerged from a staircase, looking slightly miffed. She barely glanced at Phorque as she crossed the room to open the door. A strange man tumbled into the room, icy white hair falling into his eyes. Crouton raised an eyebrow at him and conjured a handful of fire cautiously.
"Who are you?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
"Pannfalasiel," gasped the man, looking up at her with wide eyes. Wide purple eyes. Crouton cast a wary eyes over his whiter-than-white robes and asked dubiously:
"You're not from Higher Power Ltd are you? We've had quite enough bother from them."
The man looked uncomfortable. "I am, but please don't throw me out. I need your help - we all need your help." He cast an anxious glance around the room and his eye fell on Phorque. She waved uncertainly, wondering what was so urgent that Pannfalasiel had felt it necessary to show up in person. He was Lantigo's second in command and rarely ventured outside headquarters.
"Our help?" asked Crouton incredulously. "You put us through hell and now you need our help?"
Pannfalasiel looked confused. "Through hell?" he repeated, frowning.
"She means the fitness regime," explained Phorque. "It hasn't been very popular."
Crouton made a derisive noise. Saying Lantigo's newest initiative hadn't been very popular was like saying Darcy wasn't exactly Cretin and Gremlin's cup of tea.
Pannfalasiel glanced at Crouton who scowled back at him. "I.. It wasn't my idea," he said helplessly. "I'm sure Lantigo didn't mean you any harm." Crouton's expression didn't change, she just looked expectantly at him until he said awkwardly: "I suppose I could try and get him to put an end to it, but really, that's might be a bit hard.."
"Why?" asked Crouton, still frowning.
"Because.. Well, he's gone missing," admitted Pannfalasiel nervously. "He's been acting oddly ever since New Year and now he's disappeared - no trace of him anywhere."
"So that leaves you in charge," said Phorque slowly. "Can't you just cancel the programme?"
"Well, not exactly," said Pannfalasiel, looking more miserable than ever. "See, the company's been taken over. This guy, I thought he was just a tea boy, he's managed to get Lantigo to sign everything over to him and now he's made himself boss. He wants total control of the woods and.."
"And what?" asked Crouton apprehensively.
Pannfalasiel looked up, his violet eyes showing his fear. "I heard them talking. They're planning something big. Something to do with the Minions." He paused, seemingly unwilling to go on, then said quietly. "And he said there was a spy in your HQ."
"Maybe it's not a Minion," suggested Phorque quietly.
"Well neither of the Creators are capable of espionage, although Cretin has been acting oddly lately," admitted Crouton. "And none of the gnomes would even think of telling talkes on Noggin to anyone but Darcy, so-" She stopped, scowling suddenly at Phorque. "She wouldn't."
"Who wouldn't?" asked Pannfalasiel hopefully. "Because you seem to have run out of other options."
Crouton glanced irritably at him, then turned on her heel and strode away up a staircase. When she reappeared, all three Creators had emerged from bed and settled themselves on their thrones. Gremlin was looking distrustfully at the newcomers and Noggin was waving away frantic gnomes who kept trying to adjust her clothes. It was impossible to tell what Cretin was doing as she'd taken to wearing dark glasses and low rimmed hats of late, and therefore her face was kept in permanent shadow. She could be fast asleep for all Crouton knew.
She sighed and turned to face everyone. "Flower's gone," she announced, frowning deeply.
"No note or anything?" asked Noggin, accidentally knocking three over-enthusiastic gnomes sprawling across the room. Crouton looked uncomfortable, then unclenched her hand and held out a crumpled piece of paper. Gremlin took it and the other two leaned in to read it.
It has come to our attention that Flower the Elf has been grossly mistreated while in your care and therefore we have had no choice but to place her into the service of a more worthy employer.
Yours,
Higher Powers Ltd
Gremlin looked up, frowning. "What does it mean 'employer'? We didn't pay the little pygmy, did we?"
"I should hope not," said Cretin. "We don't pay the Minions, and she was even more useless than them."
"Who exactly is a 'more worthy employer'?" asked Noggin carefully. "I didn't think there were any other organisations that needed an elf."
Pannfalasiel quavered under the imperious glares focused on him and mumbled, "HPL is under new management. I don't know anything about it. Niloom is in charge now. That's what I was trying to tell you before."
"And I'm telling you I've heard that name somewhere before," insisted Noggin, frowning in recollection.
"You can't have done, he was just a tea boy!" exclaimed Pannfalasiel agitatedly.
"Probably one of Darcy's butlers," muttered Cretin.
"Yeah. Everyone knows that he's the root of all evil," agreed Gremlin. "I bet he ordered Nimloom to take over-"
"It's Niloom, not Nimloom," corrected Pannfalasiel, and immediately regretted it. All three Creators were giving him Death Stares. No one ever interrupted, let alone contradicted them, which was probaly why HQ was in such a state. They were never told when things went wrong.
"Crouton, hand me that pen and paper, would you?" said Noggin eventually, not shifting her gaze from the cringing Pannfalasiel. Crouton obeyed and Noggin wrote very carefully:
NILOOM
Then, just as carefully, she wrote underneath it:
MOOLIN
"It's him!" gasped Cretin. "The one who tried to ruin my birthday party!"
By this time, various Minions had filtered down from the higher levels and were standing around munching toast, watching the proceeding unfolding before them with a vague air of interest.
"And you say he's taken over HPL?" asked Gremlin, looking thoughtful.
"Yes," nodded Pannfalasiel fiercely. "And everyone's too afraid to speak up. I only just managed to get away."
"And you came here? To us?" asked Noggin sceptically.
Pannfalasiel considered admitting that the Minions were the only group left in the entire wood and that he'd tried his very hardest to find someone else, then decided against it. He needed their help after all. Besides, although they didn't have a very good track record, there was something very special about the Minions.
"You don't give a damn about our Rules. You're the only group who continually refuse to obey us." He sighed, looking imploringly up at them with violet eyes. "That's why you're the only ones who can save Silva Woods. Will you help?"
