The Most Important Amnesiac

After six months working for the Quinto Rock Mining Collective, Jefferson Marlowe had become a little restless. Chipping away at a coal face for fifteen hours a day was not wholly unsatisfying, but it was nothing compared to the thrill of rescuing Princess Yolande from the implausibly tall belltower at Stankingham Castle or hunting for diamonds hoarded by the legendary five-eyed giant Lorcando in the Jungle of Chrysling Grub.

But Jefferson knew that such adventures were a thing of the past. Which was fine, for the most part. It was a relief not to be freelance, no longer to have to hunt for work, to have a more straightforward tax return, to be settled in one location with a recently-established regular girlfriend and three flat viewings planned for next weekend.

Jefferson was sure that this current pang of restlessness would pass - it was time, he knew, to resign himself to the fact that he wasn't particularly special, that there wasn't anything extraordinary about him at all. He was just a bloke - an unusually handsome bloke, but a bloke nonetheless - with a straightforward haircut and a modest talent for chiselling.

Yet, at that very moment, less than fifty miles away, just on the other side of the Aquamarron Mountains, a statue of our humble hero was being unveiled by a grateful race of wraiths. It was a monument to the man who had rescued their community, the man whom they desperately needed to come to their aid one final time: Jefferson Marlowe - in truth, a far from ordinary bloke and the most important amnesiac the world had ever known.

Jefferson Marlowe, Hero

Jefferson Marlowe woke and sat up. He did not know where he was or how he'd got there, but he was sure that he was awake.

"Hello Jefferson."

He turned around. There was a very tall, very blurry figure floating a few metres away.

"Um...hello," he replied.

"Do you know where you are?"

"No."

"Do you know how you got here?"

"No."

Jefferson's eyes began to adjust to the light. The figure's features started to come into focus. He saw that it was a woman, a beautiful woman, long black hair draped over her shoulders and framing her unfathomably delicate features. He could see now that she was not floating, but appeared to be standing on an invisible box.

"I'm going to leave you now, Jefferson."

Now he could see her more clearly, he wanted her to stay. "No. Stay."

"I just want to say thank you, Jefferson. I know you don't remember, but we owe it all to you. No-one here will ever know what a hero you were, how you slew the mighty Jagalath, how you saved all our lives. But we won't forget. Good luck to you, Jefferson Marlowe. You can find your own way home from here, yeah?"

"What happened? What did I do?"

It was too late. The speaker had disappeared.

Jefferson looked around. He appeared to be in a big hole. No, now he could see that it was a quarry. There were miners chipping away at the huge chalky white wall not fifty metres away from where he was sitting. Little lads in purple uniforms. Must be the Quinto Rock Mining Collective, he thought. So that's where he was: Quinto Rock.

One of the miners put down his tools and ambled over.

"Hello! How did you get in then?"

"I don't know."

"Don't know, eh?"

"No."

"Well, come on. Make yourself useful. We've had a couple of fatalities recently. Could do with some new staff."

"Aren't I a little tall?"

The miner looked him up and down, and tried to suppress a laugh.

"Nah, mate. You're just right."

Jefferson picked up a loose chisel and wandered over towards the rock face. Typical, he thought. He'd finally done something magnificent, the huge deed that he'd been preparing to perform for his whole life... and neither he nor anyone else could remember the first thing about it.