Alf looked around him. "I wonder if this Great Hall is as interesting as the corridor we're following to get there. Apex certainly has very wide artistic tastes. I can't imagine what the rest of the interior is like."

Jackie gave Alf a sideways look. "Well I hope it's nicer than the dungeons."

"What do you mean?"

"It doesn't matter," Jackie replied hurriedly. "I'll tell you later when we have more time to talk. I think this must be the place."

Apex looked up as the will o' the wisp gave a little fanfare and vanished. "Ah! Mr du Plex! I trust that you and Ms Cartwright are suitably rested? Please, please, sit down and help yourselves to breakfast. And ignore Observer. It always does this when I'm eating. An attempt to induce guilt, I assume."

At the mention of its name, Observer also looked up. Apex' refined features were smeared with tomato sauce and egg, and there were dribbles all over Observer's bib as well. "Mmmf mmfmmf mf" it said, spraying ephemeral toast crumbs over the table which evaporated 18 inches from its mouth.

When his guests had seated themselves, Apex addressed Alf once more. "I have a confession to make Mr du Plex, and since I believe directness to be important in these circumstances I will not beat about the bush.

"I'm afraid the story Ms Cartwright told was not the whole truth, but a subtle fabrication designed to avoid undue stress during your recovery." Ignoring Jackie's black look, he forged ahead. "Whilst I did put you into a trance of sorts, it was not hypnotic. I repeatedly bombarded your consciousness with images and experiences calculated to induce a state of catatonia, thus bringing your possessor closer to the conscious level."

"I beg your pardon?"

"What he's trying to say Alf, is that he scared the shit out of you then played with your mind."

"Crude, but quite succinctly put Ms Cartwright."

"Well that explains why I couldn't remember anything when I woke up." Alf sat and seemed to run a quick mental self-test, just to make sure all the bits were there.

Jackie was taken aback by her paramour's mild reaction. "But... but... Aren't you angry? After what that bastard did to you?"

Alf stared blankly back. "Angry? No, not really. I suppose I should be, but I don't remember any of it. And I'm sure Apex had his reasons.

"One thing does puzzle me though, Apex. Why didn't you tell us what you were trying to do?"

"Now where would be the shock value in that? If you had known what was coming the whole exercise would have been futile! As it was, it was a qualified success."

"Oh good. How qualified is 'qualified'?"

"Well, we know who our opponent is and also managed to isolate him from your magical resources." Alf heard a faint chuckle from behind him. He looked round, but there was nobody there. "Alf? Are you listening?"

"Yes, yes. I just thought I heard something. Carry on."

"Quite so. As I was saying, your possessor is an ancient Atlantean magician by the name of Ewan Parity. This is where the 'qualified' part comes in, since Archmage Parity was one of the most learned sorcerors who ever lived. He laid the groundwork for the vast majority of modern magical theory, and was a renowned philanthropist. All of which rather begs the question ..."

"... what is Mr Nice Guy doing screwing around with Alf's brain? Isn't that right boss?" Alf was sure he saw the yolk of his boiled egg quiver in sympathy with his own internal organs.

Observer had swapped the egg stained bib for a handsome silk kimono. The colourful swirling dragons seemed to perform a complex dance with the gaudy tattoos which festooned Observer's visible body. A jungle of birds, flowers and trees jostled to be seen.

"Marvellous, Observer," Apex remarked drily. "You must give me the name of your tailor."

"Oh, I'm sure I could put together a little something for you which would delight the eye but not amaze the purse." Observer blinked to stand behind Apex and then circled about him. "Hmm, yes. Definite possibilities. A lace collar, puffed sleeves and loons. If we dyed your hair black and coloured you bright you would be the talk of the town!"

Alf suddenly lost patience with the jesting machine. "Observer, will you shut up! This is my BRAIN we're dealing with here!

"Apex, something happened while I was unconscious or hypno- tised or whatever. I gained some control over my magic."

"Excellent! How much control do you have?"

"Well, I don't know really. I haven't had much chance to practice."

"Very well. We can hardly expend eldritch energies over porridge and boiled egg ... Observer, will you keep Ms Cartwright amused? Mr du Plex, I am going to introduce you to Metaspace.

"No, no need to get up Mr du Plex. Just think about something relaxing."

Alf thought about the warm glow at the edge of consciousness when you're not quite awake, you're not dreaming, you just are. He thought about the contentment he'd felt that morning with Jackie's warmth on his shoulder and they'd talked about what they were going to do when all this was over.

All these things that Alf thought about didn't prepare him for the feeling that his brain was being pulled inside out or the agonies when his skin seemed to burst and smear his soul across infinity.

When Alf's reeling senses returned to him, he and Apex were standing on a plain which would have looked more enormous if it hadn't been so featureless. As it was, it just looked vast. The ground was grey, the sky was pink and the sun was black. But there was more to it than that.

The grey was a glistering, glimmering, shimmering grey with motes of gold and green and purple dust below the surface. The surface itself was slightly springy, like a thin rubber mat laid on concrete, and its slight sheen reflected the sky giving a pinkish wash to it.

The pink sky graded from black at its furthest extent through violet, indigo and other purples to crimson and progressively paler pinks up to a point directly above the companions. There the sky clenched and the pinkness stopped: an amorphous blot writhed, shooting out projections and pulling them back in again in stately madness.

"Where are we?"

"Why, Metaspace of course! Or at least, my version of it."

"OK, So what is Metaspace then?"

"Metaspace is that realm of the imagination which grows from the physical world at the corners of reality. Infinite vistas of nothingness made substantial, probabilities forming the fabric of reality. This is where the brain interfaces with magic at its most basic level. Metaspace is playground, research lab and battle- field.

"The ground we walk on is merely a frame of reference. It makes things less confusing, but Metaspace can be anything you want it to be. The sky is mine as well. The only constant is the Source, which is above our heads. Some magicians put the Source in a mirror, others in a goldfish bowl. I make it into the sun because it's out of the way. But it always has to be there, in view, for it is what balances our power."

"How did you create all this though? And is there anywhere we can sit down?"

"You don't need to sit down. You are merely mapping the needs of your physical body onto this ethereal existence. You no more need to sit here than you need to eat or breath. Your physical body will take care of the automatic functions itself. If you need to transfer here for a very long time, you may need to employ a more mundane associate to take care of you.

"As for creating this, I used my magic to manipulate the nearlies and the never-will-bes to my own will and form this illusion of substance. Soon you will create your own Metaspace, but first we will teach you a little of control and of the Game."

Apex closed his eyes and moved his hands as if holding and rolling a ball. When he stopped, he was holding a blue neon sphere about the size of a cricket ball. Smiling, he threw it up into the air where it hung without visible support.

"Now, Mr du Plex, we are going to play a game." Apex snapped his fingers, and the pair were standing in an electric blue cube with transparent walls, about 100 feet to a side. Two of the walls opposite each other were checked with different colours: one red, the other green. The grey floor had disappeared and the box was hanging in empty space.

"This is a very simple game. Each player must stop the other from hitting his own wall with the ball. Players hit the ball with bats which they imagine onto their hands, like this." Apex held up his hands and red, glass-like, rectangles stuck themselves to the palms. Each bat was about twice the length and width of Apex' hand.

"Like this?" Alf also held up his hands, and his hands turned red and transparent.

"No - the space in front of your hands, not the hands themselves. And you're green anyway." Alf tried again, and generated a pair of green bats of roughly the same shape and size as those Apex had, although a bit more ragged around the edges. "That's more like it. The scoring is the same as tennis. I'll serve." Apex sped off to the red end, hovering about five feet short of the wall and roughly in the middle.

"How did you do that?"

"It will not serve you in Metaspace to wonder about how something is done." Apex' voice was very clear, despite his apparent distance. "The general rule is to think it and it will happen, as with all magic. In Metaspace though there are no intrinsic limits on your powers, only those imposed by other magicians. Just do it!"

Alf imagined himself floating in front of the green wall, directly opposite Apex, and he was there. "How was that?"

"Aha, so you can teleport, can you? Well we'll have no more of that! You'll learn to fly, my lad!" Apex hit the ball hard, down and right. Alf tried to blink, and when it didn't happen he lost concentration and fell to the green wall behind him. He hit it at the same time as the ball. Great gouts of lightning arced towards him as he stood transfixed.

"Aaaaaggghh!!"

"Fifteen love. Get back in position, Mr du Plex." Alf stood and looked resentfully up at Apex. He pointed a smouldering finger at the hovering magician.

"You bastard! You didn't tell me that would happen!"

"No, I didn't. You must learn to exert more control over your situation if you are going to succeed in the Game. My serve again." Alf batted down his smoking clothes, reformed his handbats and unsteadily rose back to his previous position. Apex hit the ball again.

This time, Alf was there. He swung at the ball, but it swerved out of the way and made a beeline for the back wall again. "No you don't, you devious scumball!" Alf struck out at the ball with his mind and it hurtled back towards Apex' wall. Holding onto it all the way, Alf slammed the ball into the red wall right behind Apex. This time it was Apex who screamed as the vast energies coursed through his nervous system.

When the sparks had died down, Apex staggered to a crouch. Gasping, he spoke. "That's more ... like ... it! Show your opponent ... you won't take ... any ... shit! Fifteen all."

Alf looked in bewilderment at his tutor. "But ... but ... I didn't mean ..."

Apex seemed to have recovered a little more. "Nonsense lad! You just need to assert yourself a bit, let the other fellow know you won't be messed around. After that little display, anyone with any sense would stick to keeping the ball on largely Newtonian tracks. My serve I believe."

Alf shrugged his shoulders and readied himself for the next shot...

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