"Salt!" squeaked Dragor.
Fizban looked at him with an expression he hoped communicated to Dragor just how mad he thought he was.
"Salt!" the short man uttered again.
"Will you shut up about..." Fizban began, then thought better of it. "Oh nevermind. Is there any reason why you have just said 'salt' to me twice?"
"Play by mail."
"Dragor," Fizban's voice took on a distinctly condescending and impatient tone, "I am not the Quill, I can understand more than simple verb-noun constructs."
"I'm playing the word association game with a guy in New Zealand. It's play by mail," Dragor explained, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"The word association game. Played by mail. E-mail, is that?"
"Erm, no. He lost his e-mail account - mis-used it. We play by post."
"But that must cost a fortune!" Fizban exclaimed in surprise.
"Actually, surface mail is quite cheap," Dragor replied.
"Let me get this straight. You're playing the word association game by post with a guy in New Zealand, sending each move by surface mail? How long does each move take?"
"It's usually about five months between me sending off a move and receiving a reply. Takes a bit longer if one of us gets stuck on our move."
"You're quite quite mad aren't you? Dare I ask what the previous move was? The one that lead you on to 'salt'?"
"Chocolate!" Dragor piped.
"Clever sod."
"You said it. Coffee later?"
"Can't. Mutley's giving me a lift back to the last century."
"And you think I'm mad?" Dragor screeched.
"It's for research purposes. Historical weapons research."
"You mean you're looking for new ways to blow things up?"
Fizban grinned. "I'll be back late, see you tomorrow probably," he replied, then left the room.

"Just when was it you were thinking of going to?" Mutley asked after he had met Fizban out the front of the University.
"Oh, back a hundred years or so, just someplace quiet where I can play around with some primitive explosives."
"Presumably this also involves going to somewhere to pick up these primitive explosives first?" Mutley was already having second thoughts about this venture.
Fizban nodded eagerly.
"I can't let you go round blowing things up in the past. Far too risky," Mutley explained. "But, I will take you back to get some primitive explosives. If you're sure you can't manufacture them yourself."
"I could, but it would be illegal."
"You want me to take you back in time to get you some illegal explosives?" Mutley asked, surprised at himself for not having given up and left already.
"No. Manufacturing them is illegal. Possessing them is not. Don't you just love loopholes."
"I'm going to regret this," Mutley muttered to himself. "Get in the car."
Fizban breathed a sigh of relief, not quite believing he had actually been able to persuade Mutley to take him on this trip, and had not needed to risk using Honest Jon. He grinned to himself then climbed in beside Mutley.

"..so I said to him, 'Jeff, you went back once and couldn't warn them, no way you'll get me to help you try again.'" Mutley was now more settled and was giving Fizban his 'cabbie-chatter' routine. "He replied with... what the fuck's that!"
"Strange answer," Fizban muttered, not looking up from his notes. He started paying more attention as Mutley brought the car to a sudden stop, and saw a large cardboard box sitting in the middle of the road. It was a narrow stretch of road and there was no way the car was going to get round it without falling off into the timestream. "How far back have we travelled?" he asked Mutley.
"Not quite got to the two year mark yet," the older man replied, getting out of the car and walking up to the box.
"We're not even in 1993?" Fizban asked after he'd got out and joined him. "But we've been travelling almost 3 hours. How long is it going to take?"
"There's a short cut about 2 miles further down, goes straight into the late nineteenth century. Oh for God's sake" Mutley complained. "Who left this here? What the hell is it anyway?"
"I am a timebomb," the box said.
"That box just spoke didn't it?" Mutley asked Fizban.
"A ticking ticking ticking timebomb," the box continued.
"Yes," Fizban replied, "it said it was a timebomb." He carefully lifted up one of the flaps on top of the box and looked inside at the collection of wires, timers, and military grade plastic explosive. "I'd say it was right about it too," he said, his breath hastening in panic. "We've got about thirty seconds, if that. Can we get out of here?" He turned and ran back to the car.
Mutley didn't hesitate in following him, shouting "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUUUCCCCCCCCK!" He slammed the car into reverse as soon as he'd started it and did a fairly rapid and precarious handbrake turn. He managed to change into first gear just as the bomb exploded and the car was sent hurtling through the timestream.

The car came to rest on a hill overlooking what appeared to be a large city.
"You may already have guessed this," Mutley said, his voice a mixture of anger and fear, "But this is not good. In fact, it's very bad."
"What exactly happened?" Fizban asked.
"The explosion destroyed the bit of road we were on and threw us off the road system. We could've ended up anywhere, anytime. We're lucky we dropped out of the timestream at all."
"What sort of person sets a bomb off on a road through time?"
"Time Terrorists wanting to cause anomalies, Religious Fundamentalists, that sort of thing."
"Anomalies?"
"Yeah, little hiccups in history. Like having the place where you live inexplicably change overnight, without you moving house or anything."
"And the fundamentalists?"
"Every now and again they take objection to the fact that none of us, not even Honest Jon, will do visits to times or sites of Religious importance. You'll be surprised how upset it makes them."
Fizban blinked as he looked out of the window. "That city looks like Milton Keynes. Except for that big tower in the middle. All those roundabouts and stuff... urrgh!"
"The wide expanse of water just beyond the city is different too," Mutley replied. "In fact, judging by the horizons we're surrounded by water."
"So we've ended up somewhere that looks like Milton Keynes, only on an island, and we don't know when we are?"
"That sums it up nicely, yes," Mutley said, trying to make the best of it. "I know you won't like the idea but we need to get out and look around, find out where we are, when we are, that sort of thing."
"Can't I just stay here and listen to the radio?" Fizban enquired.
"Mr Fizban," Mutley said, taking a deep breath, "We could be anywhere, anytime, in the whole history of the planet. What are the chances that you'll be able to pick anything up on a small FM car stereo?"
"You never know!" Fizban said, reaching for the on/off knob on the radio. They were both surprised when the speakers blurted out something along the lines of "CLICK BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTTTTTT It's a small world after all, it's a small world after all..." Fizban hardly hesitated before turning it off. "Maybe I'd better come with you."
As they left the car they saw figures walking up the hill towards them. Fizban's jaw dropped once he could make out their clothing. "Either they're a fancy party asking us to join them, or those are Romans coming to get us."
"Not Romans. Not Greeks either. Older outfits than that. We've come back a long way. Further than I've been in a long time."
"Does that mean we're-" Fizban began, getting no further when he was grabbed by one of the strangely dressed people.
"You will come with us!" the figure demanded.
"Erm, we will?" Fizban asked, rather put out.
"Yes, you WILL. We will not allow you to destroy us."
"But-"
"SILENCE!"
With that, they were frog-marched down towards the city.

Mutley muttered to himself as they were thrown into a cell.
"What did you say?" Fizban asked.
"I said 'This is very bad.'"
"No shit."
"You don't understand. They talked to us in perfect 20th Century English. This is an ancient civilisation, one of the oldest on the planet, for real, not in an episode of Time Tunnel."
"Who's that?" Fizban asked him, pointing at the back of the cell. There sat a hunched figure, dressed in rags.
"Ooh, Ignore me sir, I'm just a lowly drunkard, shoved in here to dry out. I'm just philosophising quietly about life, if you don't mind. I won't disturb you." Then the figure looked up. "Oh! It's you!"
Fizban was quite taken a back by this. "Who else would I be? Who are you?"
"Me? My name is Plato. Or so I'm told. I've been drunk for most of the past ten years. Wouldn't you be if you'd been marooned in the past, before your forefathers had even learned to wipe their arses."
Fizban didn't reply. His mind was far too busy doing an intricate series of double back-flips in response to what it had just heard. Mutley, on the other hand, was not nearly so impressed. "Oh fuck. Someone you've never met recognises you. Why do I get the feeling this conversation is going to cause a few headaches?"
"Well, its bound to, innit," Plato replied. "If you really want to know, you brought me here ten years ago, along with the other three."
"Other three?" Mutley asked, wishing they hadn't gone too far into the past for him to get hold of some Neurofen.
"Yes. That odd bloke, the short one, and the Serpent Prophet."
"They still here?"
"No, they left when you left. About ten years ago, as I said."
"Where is here, any way?"
"The City of Atlantis. The Serpent Prophet predicted your return, and said that when you did, the city would be destroyed. I guess that's why they arrested you. By the way, when you leave, take me too? I'd rather not die with the others."
"Can I say something at this point?" Fizban asked. Before he got any further two guards entered the cell, and dragged him off, ignoring his protests.
"Why is it, just when you think things may be sorting themselves out, they suddenly get more complicated?" Mutley asked.
"I said this last time I met you, and I'll say it again, you moan more than Socrates," Plato mused.
"This 'Serpent Prophet' - did he say anything about how Atlantis got destroyed. It might be nice to know."
"Something about the city sinking into the sea, and being boiled in the fire of its sins."
"Great." Mutley found that despite being a seasoned time traveller, and being used to this sort of thing popping up from time to time, the knowledge that he would escape was not reassuring, and he still felt as if he was facing certain death.
"Don't you have some amazing escape plan?" Plato asked, pestering him.
"If I did, do you think I would be sat here listening to you?"
"OK. OK. You sure you're not Socrates in disguise?"
Mutley hit him.

When Plato finally came to, Mutley decided to try and be a little more civil. "Any idea where they took Fizban?"
"I'm a local drunkard, not the head of the Atlantean Government. How should I know?"
"Because I think you know a darn sight more than you're letting on."
"I know nothing except the fact of my ignorance."
"Plato, I don't like you. You stink of booze and you're a smartarse. But if we're going to escape we need to work together."
"Aha! First you assault me, then you ask me for help."
"Who's giving you a lift home then?"
"Well," Plato began, looking around sheepishly, "I guess I could give you a hand here and there. Now where did I put that explosive charge." He rifled around in his pockets, then pulled out a small bead-like object.
"You mean you had that all the time?" Mutley asked incredulously.
"Shhh! I'm trying to work out where to put this," Plato said, examining the door to the cell. He attached the bead somewhere just below the lock and the ushered Mutley to the back of the cell.
There was a small popping noise. When they turned around, the doorway was empty except for a small pile of black powder.
"Promise me one thing." Mutley said to Plato as they left the cell. "Never tell Fizban about those explosives you just used."

They encountered no guards until they came to the exit. Two soldiers wearing similar garb to those that had captured them blocked the exit. Plato pulled another bead out of his pocket, and threw it to one of the guards. "Here, catch!" he said.
After the popping sound, all that was left of the guard was his boots, which had wisps of smoke rising from them in the time-honoured fashion. Plato turned to the other guard. "You can let us go, or you can die. Your choice."
"You're bluffing. How do I know you have another bead left?"
"You don't." Plato replied, rummaging through his robes trying to find one. A moment later he looked up at the guard sheepishly. "You're right, it seems I have none left," he said, just as Mutley rapped the guard on the back of the head with the dead guard's boots. The guard fell to the ground in a rather clichedly crumpled heap.
"Right. Now lets find Fizban." Mutley said, striding purposefully outside. He looked up at the Azure Tower that overshadowed the city. "Now why do I get the feeling he's going to be in there? Any chance of you getting some more of those beans?"
"No idea. I bought them off a guy in the Fete. Haven't seen him there since."
"Fete? Fete of Atlantis?"
"That's the one."
"Can we go there on te way to the Tower?"
"Buggered if I know. So many roundabouts here I always get lost. Except when going to the Tower of course. No one gets lost on the way to the Tower."
"What exactly is in the Tower?"
"Weapons Research. Ever since the Serpent Prophet predicted the Island's destruction people have wanted it to be well defended, so nothing can ever harm it."
Mutley frowned. "The more I find out, the worse it gets. Fizban will be there."
"Isn't that him up ahead?"
Mutley groaned. From the way Fizban was grinning he knew he wasn't going to like this.
"Hey guys, guess what?" Fizban said.
"Surprise me." Mutley replied dryly.
"They liked my ideas. About enhancing weapons that is. They're using them for this new super weapon they're building."
Plato turned to Mutley, his face suddenly serious. "That's not good, is it."
"Fizban, how do they, or you for that matter, know it won't blow up in their faces. Could this super weapon be what destroys Atlantis?"
"Nah, they're going to test it. In about an hour's time."
Plato and Mutley looked at each other in horror. "Where?" they asked, simultaneously.
"Oh, someplace underground."
"Where did you leave your car?" Plato asked Mutley.
"That hill outside the city," Mutley replied, pointing.
"You reckon we can get there in an hour?"
"I fucking hope so."
They ran.

"Well," Plato began, panting as they reached the car 45 minutes later. "Seems like the Atlanteans are in a bit of a stew, after all. The serpent was right."
"If by stewed, you mean left for several hours in boiling water, I'd say you're just about right. Only they're not quite in it yet, and I'd rather not stick around to see it happen." Mutley replied. "Now, if you can tell me what year we're in, I'll get us out of here."

Back in the present, Dragor sat working at his desk. "I wonder if Fizban's trip is going well," he muttered to himself.
"BOOM! A FRENCHING TEST!" shouted the Bonsai Tree.

Mutley's car entered the time stream just as the bomb went off beneath Atlantis, vapourising most of the bedrock supporting the island, leaving it to fall into a steaming sea.

"That was a bit close," Fizban uttered, still in shock.
"Don't ever do that again," Mutley said.
"What? Help an ancient civilisation to destroy itself? I can't see myself getting the opportunity every day."
"I don't suppose telling you I'm never taking you through time again would have any effect?"
"Nope, I'd just travel with Honest Jon instead."
The car took a sudden turn, and the surroudings changed from those of the swirling timestream to that of an ancient Greek city.
"There you go, Athens, 399 B.C."
"Thanks."
"Pleasure. And Plato, even though I know I'm going to meet you again, no offence, but I'm not looking forward to it in the slightest."
"It was nice meeting you too," Plato replied, grinning.
The two of them shook hands. "And keep an eye on that one, he's a bit of a troublemaker," Plato said, nodding towards Fizban. He left the car and walked off, soon lost to sight in the crowd.
"Right." Mutley said firmly, turning to look at Fizban. "I'm taking you straight back to your own time. No more pratting about with explosives, OK?"
"Yeah OK. I was thinking it was about time to change my research topic again anyway."
"What you going to switch to this time?"
"Archeology."
Mutley pulled over at the side of the road and wept.