I kilt the old gys. Just skin an boan so thay were. Hardly got ma sord dirty. Just as well. I wiz gettin tyred an ma arm wiz soar, furby. Found the qween in the very tap uv the touwir, in this wee widin room, open tae the wind. Ded wee it wiz an just aw these tyles slopin doon the way aw roond; widnae huv dun to be skayrt aw hieghts up thare, let me tell ye. Enyway, thare she wiz, in a sorta blak wedin-dres, sittin thare qwite the thing huddin this wee baw in her hand an lookin at me like I wiz a lumpa shite. No a very nyce lassy, but no as old as Id excpected her tae be; she wooldiv dun up a cloase on a dark niyht. Truth tae tell thogh. I wisnae certin whit tae dae next; there wiz sumhin funy aboot her eyes; cooldnae take mine aff hers an I new she wiz usein yon majic on me but a cooldnae move or anythin or open ma mooth; even auld skely-feetchers wiz qwiet fur a whyle, then he sez, 'Poor, my girl. I expected a better fight than that. Just a moment while I have a word in my friend's ear.

'Ever hear the one about this man going into a bar holding a pig with a red ribbon tied round it? The barman says "Where did you get that?" and the pig says - '

'Nevir mind him,' the qween sez. Tokin tae the fukkin familyar! An I canny even moov a bleadin mussel! See you hen, I thogt; your fur the chop, soonza can moov. 'How did yoo get owt?' she sez.

'Old Xeronisus was stupid; hired this brute and then tried to avoid paying him. I ask you; outsmarted by this moron. I always said the old fraud was overrated. He must have forgotten which box he put me in; stuck me on this dingbat's shoulder thinking I was one of his cheap familiars with the two-day guarantee and perspicacity of a bunion.'

'Idayit,' the qween sez. 'I dont no why I entrustid you to him in the furst playce.'

'Just one of your many mistakes my dear.'

Ill giv the basturdin wee shite mistayks if I get the use aw ma fukin sord hand! These two basturds jibberin away like I wisney heer! Bludy cheek, eh?

'So, cum to reeklaim youre ritefull playce, hav you?' The kween sez.

'Indeed. And not a nanosecond too soon, it would seem; things appear to have got quite out of hand here under your expert misguidance.'

'Wel, you taut me oll I know.'

'Yes, my lovekin, but luckily not all that I know.'

(An ahm thinkin aw cum on; this is rite outa order, so it is; let us moov sumthin fur fuksaik.)

'What do yoo intend to do?' The qwean sez, kwiet like, like she wiz goantay start greetin soon.

'Get rid of that little menagerie downstairs, for a start. Yours?'

'For the preests. You know how I taik my sustinince. The littil laydays get them excited, and then I ... milk them.'

'You could have chosen younger studs.'

'Nun of them are ovir twenty, actchilly; its a very drayning prosess.'

'I think they found my friend's sword even more draining.'

'Wel, cant win them orl,' the qween sez, an looks sorta sad like, an size and wipes a teer away frae her cheek, an Im standin thare like a toatal bampot, rivitid tae the spot an thinkin pair lassy, and whit the fuk's goon on enyway? when aw of a suddin she cums jumping oot the chare riyht at me like a fukin big bat or sumhin, huddin the wee baw thing out in frunt of her an shuvin it strate at the familyar.

Just aboot shit ma breeks so I did, but the familyar wiz afrits mark so it wiz; right affthe showder and right ontae the qweens face; hit her like a fukin cannin-baw; bashed her back intae the chair. She dropt the baw shed been holdin and it rolt away on the flowr an she startit tryin tae get the familyar aff her face; screemin and bawlin and scratchin it and bashin it.

Coodnae bileev ma gude luck. Got the wee basturd aff ma showder at last. Watcht the twa o them struglin fur a secind, then thaught naw; fuk this fur a gaim aw sodjers; am aff, I tried pikcin up the baw the kwean had drapt, but it wiz reed hot! So I went bak doon the stares an no a minit to soon eether; bludy grate bang frae up the sters noks me aff ma feet an sends aw this dust an big lumpsa wid an that crashin doon. Geeza fukin brake, I thoght, but it wiz okay coz I didnae get hit by enythin, so I had a wee peek up whare the sters had been but it was just open ayr up thare now; not a sign aw those too so-an-sos. Basturds.

Never did find the basturdin gold. Just shagged the wimin insted an left. Toatal waist of time but at leest I got rid aw the wee familyar. Huvnae been so luky sinse, mind yoo, an I miss the wee bam sumtimes, but nevir mind. Stil majicjust been a sordsman.

No no no no, it was worse than that (this later, this now, waking up to the watery grey light beyond the curtains, my eyes stuck and mouth gummed and foul, head aching). I was there, that was me, and I lusted after those crippled women and they excited me; I raped them. To the barbarian it meant nothing, less than one more streak of blood on his sword, but I wanted those women; I made them and they were mine. Disgust fills me like pus. My God, better a lack of all desire than one excited by mutilation, helplessness, and rape.

I stumble from my bed; my head hurts, I feel sick and a sweat like dirty oil lies cold on my skin and my bones ache. I throw open the curtains.

The clouds have come down; the bridge - at this level anyway - is wrapped in grey.

Inside, I turn on all the lights, the fire and the television. The man in the hospital bed is surrounded by nurses; they are rolling him over onto his front. His white face shows nothing, but I know he is in pain. I hear myself groan; I turn the set off. The pain inside my chest comes and goes with a rhythm and a pace all its own; insistent, nagging.

I stagger, like a drunkard, to the bathroom. In here all is white and precise and there are no windows to show the clinging fog outside; I can shut the door, turn on more lights and be surrounded by precise reflections and hard surfaces. I let the bath run and stare for a long time at my image in the mirror. After a while, it is as though everything becomes dark again, as if everything fades away. The eyes, I remember, only see by moving; tiny vibrations shake them so that the viewed image lives; paralyse the muscles of the eyes, or somehow fix something to the cornea so that it moves along with the eye, and vision itself disappears ...

I know this; I learned it, somewhere, once, but I don't know where or when. My memory is a drowned landscape and I look from a narrow cliff, out over where there were once fertile plains and rolling downs. Now there is just the uniform surface of the water, and a few islands that were mountains; foldings produced by some unfathomable tectonics of the mind.

I shake myself from my little trance, only to discover that my image really has disappeared; the bath waters are hot, and the swirling vapour has condensed on the mirror's cold surface, masking it, covering it, rubbing me out.

Carefully clothed and groomed, well-breakfasted, and having discovered - almost to my surprise - that the doctor's office is still where it was yesterday, and my appointment neither cancelled nor postponed ('Morning Mr Orr! How nice to see you! Yes, of course the doctor is here. Would you like a cup of tea?), here I sit in the doctor's enlarged office, ready for my mentor's questions.

I decided over breakfast that I would lie about my dreams. After all, if I can invent the first two, I can cover up the others. I shall tell the doctor I had no dreams last night, and shall make up the one I was supposed to have had the night before. There is no point in telling him the sort of things I have really been dreaming about: analysis is one thing, but shame is quite another.

The doctor, all in grey as usual, eyes glittering like splinters of ancient ice, looks at me expectantly. 'Well,' I say apologetically, 'there were three dreams, or one dream in three parts.'