by Annemarie Allen.

"F26, H19, E74..."

Two middle-aged women stood watching the line of people pa.s.s below a crenellated archway, muttering quietly as they shuffled towards the turnstiles. Above them, a huge banner danced in an artificial breeze, bearing the legend, 'Welcome to Wonderland Where Dreams Come True', picked out in violent pink letters.

"What are they doing, Maude?"

"Trying to remember where they've parked, Agnes."

"Ahhh... I see."

And she did. Behind them, the parking lot stretched out in almost every direction as far as the eye could see. The latest arrivals were streaming across its vast surface like ants on a table.

Turning away, Agnes came face to face with a hunched figure dressed in billowing black rags, sporting an enormous hook of a nose that swooped down towards a sharply pointed chin. The chin was embellished with a huge, hairy wart. Agnes favoured her with a long, disapproving stare before dismissing her presence with a sniff.

"I don't know, Maude. A five thousand mile trip to see my only son and then to discover he's working as a cartoon mouse in a place like this."

Maude was having none of it. She jabbed her companion in the ribs with a very sharp elbow.

"Lighten up, Ag! They've got nothing like this in North Berwick! This place is going to be a lot more fun than dancing naked through the heather in November."

Agnes shot her a look and Maude had the grace to blush.

"Nothing wrong with a good stout pair of boots," she snapped defensively. "Tell you what let's get something to eat before we look for Brian."

"Good idea."

Agnes clutched her handbag to her generous bosom and reached up to check that each iron grey curl was firmly in place before launching herself into the stream of humanity.

"Let's do it!"

Inside the Burger Palace, they took their places in the queue.

"What can I get for you ladies?"

"I'll have a hamburger. And one for you Maude?"

"Would you like fries with that?"

"Yes."

"Extra Large, Large, Medium or Cheapskate?"

"Medium, thank you."

"Ketchup?"

"Please."

"Would you like a drink with that?"

"Oh, yes. Cola, please."

"Mega, Regular, or Really Very Tiny?"

Agnes leaned forward and took hold of her interrogator's stripy bow tie.

"Young man," she said, in a confidential whisper, "Is there a prize if I get all the answers right?"

His smile never wavered.

"Here you are, ladies. Have a nice day."

The two women turned away, unaware that a white, shocked face was peeping out at them from the hatch where staff were served. Brian's fists clenched, crumpling the paper cup in his hand and sending a stream of ice and cola flowing unnoticed down his furry front. It was too much. This job was as far from home as it was possible to get, yet still she had tracked him down. Why couldn't she leave him alone?

He replaced the head of his costume and hurried off to the staff room, where his replacement was waiting to take over, his mouse head sitting companionably in the chair beside him.

"Tom! You've got to go on now."

"No way I've still got five minutes left."

"Please you have to. I I'm sick, man."

Tom just grinned and stretched his furry feet out more comfortably on the table in front of him.

"Look - you can have all my Jesus and Mary Chain CDs and the tissue Dylan blew his nose in."

Crouched in a dingy corner, Cinderella was also taking her break. She stuck her hand down the front of her laced bodice, withdrawing a cigarette and a book of matches. Lighting up, she squinted at Brian through the smoke.

"You really are desperate, aren't you?"

"Pleeeeeeease!" Brian knew he was being pathetic, but he didn't care.

"O.K." Tom hauled himself out of the chair. Cradling his mouse head in his arms, he treated Brian to a hard stare. "But you owe me."

Two minutes later his costume was grabbed from behind and he was whirled round into the arms of a grey-haired woman he had never seen in his life before. He was surprised. His a.s.sailants were usually much shorter and stickier.

"There you are!" she boomed gaily. "I've mislaid Maude. We were just leaving Cinderella's ball when the heel came off her shoe and we lost sight of each other in the crowd. Never mind I've found you instead! Come on I'll buy you a beer and we can have a good long natter!"

Tom's brain connected with the only thing he understood. "You can't have a beer. The theme park is dry."

"Dry?"

"No booze allowed."

For once, Agnes was speechless. Then she shook her head. "Oh no," she said firmly. "We can't have that. Come along. Here's a door " she pointed to a large plywood construction, brightly painted, with gnomes and pixies dancing across it and a large, cartoon-style keyhole "And here's a key."

She delved into her bag and produced a giant bra.s.s key that perfectly matched the style of the door. Puzzled, Tom watched the key slide smoothly into the drawing and heard it turn with a gentle click. Slowly, the door creaked open.

"Come on, then," she said, dragging him through the opening.

They stepped from midday heat into the gloom of an overcast evening. From what Tom could see through the eye holes in his mouse head, they were on a cobbled street, hemmed in by grey stone walls that rose up on either side, blocking out most of the light. The crowds milling past had swopped shorts and T-shirts for coats and hats.

"Where...?"

"Thought we might pop back home for a bit and have a decent drink for a change. Come along, Brian!"

The woman tucked his arm firmly in hers and stepped into the crowds. Tom opened his mouth to explain the misunderstanding but the words froze in his throat at the sight of a pack of grim-faced warriors bearing down on him, teeth gleaming through a mask of blue paint. Their meaty fists rested on the hilts of the broadswords they wore jammed through the broad leather belts that kept their plaids from slipping off. He stopped dead. He had never thought men in skirts could look so threatening.

Agnes pulled at him impatiently. "Football hooligans! Just ignore them, son we're wasting valuable drinking time."

They turned down a roofed-over alley, emerging on to another street of narrow doorways and deep-set windows, with archways blocking the sky every few yards. If this place had seemed claustrophobic before, now it was positively subterranean. Agnes stopped for a moment to get her bearings and Tom found himself staring at a ragged poster showing a giant worm in a tartan hat with a bobble on top. 'Nessie welcomes you to Scotland,' it said.

"Here we are!" said his companion.

She pushed open a door set back in the shadows of a stone archway that was streaked green with moss. Tom peered through the haze of smoke at a large, low-ceilinged room. The walls were yellow with nicotine. Empty booths with ancient, tattered leather seats lined the walls, their doubtful comfort spurned by the row of customers propped up against a huge, scarred bar. They turned in unison to gaze at the new arrivals. Visions of Trainspotting danced in his head.

"I don't think I'm dressed for this," he quavered.

Agnes inspected her companion critically. Then she made up her mind. "Believe me, this lot have seen a lot worse than a giant mouse."

Gripping him firmly by one furry arm, she marched forward and hefted her broad backside onto a bar stool. Tom had no option but to follow her example.

He stared straight ahead, determined not to catch anyone's eye. In front of him, row upon row of bottles glinted golden in the dim light. He squinted, trying to read the labels. Glenfiddich, Glenmorangie, Highland Park, Islay Mist, Laphroaig, Talisker. It dawned on him that every one was a different whiskey.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed.

"We don't have that one." The barman had approached while he was distracted.

"Aye, Agnes," he said.

"Aye, Shuggie," she replied. "Brought ma son in for a wee taste of the real thing."

Shuggie looked at the mouse. It stared back at him, one large ear flopping over its eye.

"He does ye credit, Agnes. What'll ye have?"

"I'll have a Highland Park and a chaser," she decided. What about you, son?"

Tom thought. "Can I have a Jack Daniels?"

A silence the size of Kansas fell over the bar. Hastily, he reconsidered. "I'll have the same."

"Give the mouse a double," came a voice from the other end of the bar.

That's very good of you, Alexander," said Agnes politely.

The drinks arrived, along with, Tom was relieved to note, a small jug of water. He lifted it. "Shall I pour?"

There was another, heavier silence. The same voice spoke again.

"Do you know nuthin, pal? There's two rules in this life you never sleep with another man's wife and you never water another man's whisky. And make sure you add no more than a teardrop to that drink."

Agnes leaned over to whisper in Tom's ear. "Regius Professor of Anthropology," she offered, by way of explanation. Tom shuddered.

He considered the problem of the amber liquid in front of him. No way was he taking his head off to drink not with the madwoman sitting right beside him. Maybe he could ask for a straw. And possibly one of those d.i.n.ky little umbrellas to go with it. Perhaps not.

There was one other possibility. After an epidemic of fainting mice, the head had been redesigned with a wide s.p.a.ce hidden below the snout. He had no guarantee it would work. Eating or drinking 'In Character' was a capital offence at Wonderland . But it was the best he could do. Tom lifted the gla.s.s and shoved it firmly up his nose. The barman stared, then shook his head slowly and walked away.

Things settled down. This was a bar for serious drinking, and that was what they concentrated on. But at last, Agnes threw the last drops down her throat and said, "Time we were making a move. Come on, son."

By this time, the mouse was feeling extremely ragged around the edges.

"You know, you guysh are really jusht pooshy catsh, arncha?"

"Aye," said one. "And you're a mouse." He climbed down from his stool and moved alarmingly close.

"Now, now, Erchie," said the barman.

"Time to go," said Agnes. "Come along, Brian."

They made a speedy exit. Night had fallen as they proceeded at a swift stagger up rain-slicked cobbles to the top of the alley, Agnes blithely ignoring her companion's slurred comments.

"Nottamoush. Nottabrian," he was insisting.

The door they had come through was gone, but Agnes used her key on another, much larger and heavier. They emerged into broad daylight back where they had started.

"Wha? Wha?" Tom was in no condition for clarity of speech. Agnes looked at him doubtfully.

"Don't worry," she said. "We've just been testing out their latest section. I think it's called the 'Scotland Experience'. Now, I really must go. Maude will be wondering where on earth I've got to. Stick with your job, son. Work hard. You could end up the biggest rodent in the park."

And she was gone.

[Originally published in Kimota 13, Autumn 2000].

THE TERROR AND THE TORTOISESh.e.l.l.

by John Travis.

After The Terror we had to learn fast; I'd seen the whole world change overnight for no apparent reason - the animals had taken over the Zoo; the Sappy's had all gone gaga, and old habits were hard to break. Licking between my claws I looked out of my third floor office window past the newly painted Logo, Benji Spriteman, Detective - Animals rights, Human wrongs, realising that I should've had it done the other way, so it was legible in the street and not just to me. I'd been learning fast, but not that fast.