The Hypnotherapist

Jefferson Marlowe leant back on the hypnotherapist's couch, tucked his thumbs beneath his braces and prepared to regress.

"Ok, Jefferson," said Dr Mandrake, "are you ready to go under?"

Jefferson sighed.

"Yes. Yes, I am," he mumbled as the dubious doctor produced his pendulum.

This was Jefferson's fourteenth appointment with Dr Mandrake and almost certainly his last. So far he had uncovered a gamut of traumatic experiences: as an infantryman at the Battle of Fondu Dyke, as a bankrupt blacksmith in the remote mountain village of Ashling Potsville and as an exceptionally comely courtesan in the ancient kingdom of Mavlavia.

Jefferson did not believe in reincarnation, but he did believe in con men, and he was beginning to come to the conclusion that Marcel Mandrake "M.D." was making most of this stuff up. He was certainly no closer to triggering his memories of the blank patch between his altercation with Alfonso Barsquador on the road to Batahausen and his sudden arrival at the Quinto Rock Mining Collective seven months ago. What on earth had happened? Who the hell was "Marukash"? If he was ever going to find out, he needed a new and, if necessary, drastic approach.

He reached out and grabbed the swinging stone.

"Jefferson!" cried the quack.

"I'm sorry, Dr Mandrake. I don't think I'm getting anywhere here."

"But we've unearthed so much already. Please just give it one more try."

"No, Dr Mandrake. I need to tackle this head on. I'm going to go and see the Carletian Oracle."

"But she charges three hundred groats an hour! That's seven whole sessions with me!"

"I've spent six hundred on you already," Jefferson replied, as he donned his poncho. "Anyway, you'll thank me for this when I'm saving you from Marukash."

"Who's Marukash?"

"No flipping idea, mate. No flipping idea."

Six Months of Questing

Jefferson Marlowe was riding along the sandy trail from Quinto Rock to Batahausen, when his horse reared up and flicked him off her back.

As Juniper galloped off into the distance, Jefferson blinked away the dust from his eyes and stumbled to his feet.

"Stay down," a familiar voice boomed from over his shoulder.

Jefferson shot back down and buried his face in the dirt. He dared not turn around.

"Do you know who I am?"

"No," lied Jefferson.

"I am Alfonso Barsquador. Now hand over the keys."

Jefferson reached into his right trouser pocket and fished out the keys to Outrock Cave. He tossed them away to his right.

"And now the book."

Jefferson reached into his left trouser pocket and fished out The Ancient Book of Caldidot. He tossed it away to his left.

"Now stand up and walk away."

Jefferson stood up and walked away.

After ten minutes of silence, he decided that it was probably safe to turn around. The wizard had disappeared, as had the keys and the book. Six months of questing, all gone up in smoke.

Jefferson shouted out for Juniper, but she was long gone.

Batahausen was seventy-eight miles away. He wiped away a tear and started to walk.