'My people?' The king was still in the supine position.

'Your princes and princesses, lords and ladies, jugglers and fools. Your minions, underlings, peasants and peons. Elder statesmen, younger statesmen, arti-sans, maids in waiting, concubines, footmen. Your people.'

'They're all here really,' said the king, who was now sitting up. 'Except for a couple of guards and the woman who cleans on Tuesdays.'

'What?' cried Hugo Rune.

'Well,' the king explained, 'it's like this. Every generation there are fewer folk in the world. Take yourself. There is only one of you. Yet you had two parents, four grandparents, eight great-grandparents, sixteen great-great-'

'Shut up,' Rune raised the doom-laden finger. 'I know all that. I discovered it.'

'Well, there you are then. My missus walked out years ago and my daughter, who you got pregnant in your vain attempt to be made a prince, went with her. My grandson became a Scotsman and got blown up. And Arthur never married.'

'Never fancied the cleaning woman,' said Arthur.

'And the guards aren't really guards at all. They're just conjurations.'

'And they're a right pain in the neck,' said Arthur. 'Always going on about overtime and bonus pay-ments.'

Rune looked appalled. He was appalled.

Cornelius was appalled also. 'You mean to say that there's just you, Father Christmas, and his one little fairy left?'

'I don't like that term,' said Arthur. 'I'm a Kobold.'

'Who does your cooking, then?' Anna asked. 'Who bakes the cakes?'

'Fortnum & Mason's,' said the king. 'Whoever did you think?'

'Fortnum & Mason's, eh?' Tuppe climbed up on to the chair next to Cornelius. 'Yum yum.'

'Try the Black Forest Gateau,' said Cornelius.

'Get away from my cakes.' The king was finally back on his feet.

'Interesting situation,' said Cornelius to Hugo Rune. 'When exactly might we expect the police force and the army and the world's press to come bursting in here and arrest Father Christmas and his one little fairy?'

Rune took out his pocket watch once more and scrutinized its face. 'Quite shortly now. Doesn't time fly when you're having a good time? Do you know why, by the way? I wrote a rather erudite monograph on the subject.'

Rune smiled upon Arthur Kobold. 'How long would it take you to conjure up a few hundredguards? Put on a bit of a display of defence. Just for appearances' sake? You could do that, couldn't you?'

'I could, but I won't.' Arthur folded his arms. Hugo Rune dipped into the microcosm on the pedestal table and tw.a.n.ged the head of the miniature Kobold. The full-sized version toppled sideways, clutching his skull. 'About five minutes,' he said.

'Well hurry off, then.'

'Now see here,' said Cornelius.

'Now see here,' said the king.

'No no,' said Rune. 'He that controls the magic table, controls all the "now see heres". The king must have his guards. He must be seen to be putting up a struggle. Can't disappoint the viewing public.'

The king stroked his whiskers. 'These policemen and soldiers and whatnot. They will all have guns, I suppose.'

'Of course.' Rune nodded his big bald head. 'Lots of guns.'

'Will they have swords at all?'

'Not in this day and age,' said Rune. 'Swords indeed.'

'Ah,' said the king. 'Tell you what, Arthur, why don't you conjure up five hundred guards and make a really decent show of it?'

Arthur and the king exchanged knowing winks. 'Let's make it an even thousand,' said Arthur Kobold, heading for the door.

'Help yourself to cake everyone,' said the king.

It was taking reliable Ron St.u.r.dy rather a long time to get up Star Hill. He kept getting distracted.

There were all these old buses, with bald tyres and out-of-date tax discs. And no-one seemed keen to help him with his enquiries.

The Gandhis were rocking on. Prince Charles had joined them on stage and was playing his cello.

Polly was glowering at him.

Mickey Minns sauntered over to her. He thought she was Anna.

'Wanna dance?' he asked.

Inspectre Hovis was making reasonable progress. He was out of the torture chamber now and fighting his way up a flight of stone steps. The big green thingy, whose brother Colin the great detective had pranged, was putting up quite a show of force. But it was keeping its back to the wall, just to be on the safe side.

Arthur Kobold was back in his office. The filing cabinet was open and Colin was out.

Arthur was manipulating a foot pump.

'You're in for a bit of multiplication,' he told the green thingy that was growing bigger by the moment. 'Do your job properly and you'll get double-bubble, time and a half, a big wodge of folding in your old "sky rocket" and a golden handshake.'

'Did you have to stick the air pipe up my bottom?' the big green thingy complained.

'Mind if I sit back in my throne?' the king asked Hugo Rune.

'Be my guest,' said Hugo.

'So kind.' The king eased himself into it. 'Great cake,' said Tuppe. 'Are you really, truly, Father Christmas, by the way?'

'I am he,' said the king.

'Then what ever happened to my train set? I sent a letter up the chimney three years running. Don't tell me they all got lost in the Christmas post.'

'What's your name?' asked the king.

'Tuppe,' said Tuppe.'As in Tupperware?'

'That's me.'

'I remember your letters,' said the king. 'Such neat handwriting.'

'Thank you,' said Tuppe. 'I did my best.'

'Caravan,' said the king. 'You lived in a caravan. 'That's right.' Tuppe was very impressed. 'So why didn't you bring me a train set?'

'Because you're a b.l.o.o.d.y traveller,' said the king. 'And I don't give presents to b.l.o.o.d.y travellers.'

'What a s.h.i.t!' said Tuppe to Cornelius. 'I reckon that dyslexic devil worshipper sold his soul to the right bloke after all.'

'Midnight,' boomed the voice of Hugo Rune. And on that cue Inspectre Hovis burst through the open door.

'Right on time,' said Rune. 'Magnificent.' Hovis slammed the great door shut. Upon the fingers of the big green thingy. He shot the bolt into place and turned to gaze in no small wonder at all which lay before him.

'Well b.u.g.g.e.r my boots,' said the great detective.

And Rune smiled upon him. 'Has all gone as we arranged? I trust you have the police force and the army and the world's press with you. You didn't forget to phone the BBC?'

'I have called n.o.body.' Hovis brushed a cobweb from his shoulder. 'I made the mistake of hailing a black cab. You neglected to warn me about those. Some kind of secret organization, I understand. Are these the culprits?'

'Him.' Anna, Tuppe and Cornelius pointed to Father Christmas.

'The s.h.i.t,' said Tuppe.

'Him?' The Inspectre sheathed his blade. 'But surely this is none other than-'

Crash. Crash. Crash, went something going crash crash crash against the great door.

'The army?' Rune made a hopeful face.

'A big green thingy,' said Hovis. 'One of the king's conjured guards I do believe. A right evil crew they are too. Can't be destroyed by normal means, guns and whatnot. Only respond to the kiss of the sword.'

'What?' Hugo Rune looked quite upset.

'Some you win, some you lose,' said the king, smiling hugely.

'No, no, no,' went Hugo Rune.

And crash crash crash went the great door with renewed vigour, almost as if the energies of a single big green thingy had been increased by a factor of one thousand.

Reliable Ron St.u.r.dy had finally reached the control-box. He swung open the door and stared down at the pile of bodies.

'h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo,' he said. 'What's all this then?'

'At 'em, lads,' cried Arthur Kobold from the corridor. 'Storm the great hall. Free the king. Destroy Hugo Rune. And that b.l.o.o.d.y woman also. Off with their heads.'

'Double time after midnight,' said Colin. 'We did agree double time.'

And crash went the great hall's great door, tearing from its hinges and plunging to the flagstoned floor. And in poured a monstrous legion of big green thingies, not pleasing to behold.

The king clapped and cheered. Anna and Tuppe took shelter beneath the king's table and Hovis whipped his blade out once again.

Hugo Rune raised his hand to smite the micro-cosm.

Cornelius leapt from his chair and dived at Hugo Rune.

'Constable, are you all right?' Sergeant St.u.r.dy shook the dazed Ken Loathsome.

'Someone hit me, Sarge.'

'What did you say? I can't hear you above that d.a.m.n band.''Someone bopped me on the head.'

'Hold on a minute, lad, I'll switch them off.'

Of course he could have just closed the soundproof door, but he didn't. He stepped over the 'officer down' and approached the computer console. 'Which b.u.t.ton?' he asked himself. 'Probably this big blood-red one,' he decided.

And without further thought, that was the one he pressed.

Heaving muscular forms, all vivid green and primed for mayhem with promises of a big cash bonus, rushed across the flagstones.

The king slapped his gargantuan thighs and laughed uproariously.

Anna and Tuppe cringed beneath the king's table and Cornelius struggled to restrain Rune.

'They will kill us all,' cried Rune. 'Let me destroy them.'

'You'll destroy us as well. Leave the thing alone.'

Cornelius made a grab for the pedestal table.

Hugo Rune stuck his foot out. Cornelius tripped and fell against the table. Knocking it over.

And then all sorts of exciting things began to happen.

The Gandhis suddenly found themselves strumming dead instruments. Their speakers fed back and a strange unG.o.dly wave of sound swept out from them. It crystallized into a sequence of notes, the like of which none present knew the names of. Haunting. Mysterious. Downright weird.

The ground beneath the stage began to move. One of the Herculean hairdryers tore from its mounts and bowled down the hillside, scattering travellers before it. The stage shook. Prince Charles took a tumble. Polly took a tumble. Mickey Minns helped her up and offered her considerable comfort.

And then the stage began to sink, down into the portal that was opening right beneath it. As thousands looked on in amazement, the stage, with its HOLLY-WOOD letters, its video screen, the most famous rock band in all the world, and the Prince of Wales, vanished into the top of Star Hill.

There was a moment of silence, there always is, but then a great cry went up. And the travellers stormed the hilltop.

The king's table slid sideways, spilling off its cake. Much of this went into the lap of the king, who followed the sliding table on his own sliding throne. In accordance with its microcosm on the now fallen pedestal, the entire hall was turning on its side. Cornelius tried to right the magic table, but he too was sliding across a floor which was rapidly becoming a wall.