The Domain of the King Bar & Grill was slap bang in the middle of where the Perfectly Normal Beasts would be charging if they didn’t take a minor transdimensional diversion on the way. It stood on its own, undisturbed. An ordinary bar & grill. A truck-stop diner. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Quiet. The Domain of the King.

“Gonna buy that spaceship,” said Ford, quietly.

“Buy it?” said Arthur. “That’s not like you. I thought you usually pinched them.”

“Sometimes you have to show a little respect,” said Ford.

“Probably have to show a little cash as well,” said Arthur. “How the hell much is that thing worth?”

With a tiny movement, Ford brought his Dine-O-Charge credit card up out of his pocket. Arthur noticed that the hand holding it was trembling very slightly.

“I’ll teach them to make me the restaurant critic …” breathed Ford.

“What do you mean?” asked Arthur.

“I’ll show you,” said Ford with a nasty glint in his eye. “Let’s go and run up a few expenses, shall we?”

“Couple beers,” said Ford, “and, I dunno, a couple bacon rolls, whatever you got — oh, and that pink thing outside.”

He flipped his card on the top of the bar and looked around casually.

There was a kind of silence.

There hadn’t been a lot of noise before, but there was definitely a kind of silence now. Even the distant thunder of the Perfectly Normal Beasts carefully avoiding the Domain of the King seemed suddenly a little muted.

“Just rode into town,” said Ford as if nothing was odd about that or about anything else. He was leaning against the bar at an extravagantly relaxed angle.

There were about three other customers in the place, sitting at tables, nursing beers. About three. Some people would say there were exactly three, but it wasn’t that kind of a place, not the kind of a place that you felt like being that specific in. There was some big guy setting up some stuff on the little stage as well. Old drum kit. Couple guitars. Country and Western kind of stuff.

The barman was not moving very swiftly to get in Ford’s order. In fact he wasn’t moving at all.

“Not sure that the pink thing’s for sale,” he said at last in the kind of accent that went on for quite a long time.

“Sure it is,” said Ford. “How much you want?”

“Well …”

“Think of a number, I’ll double it.”

“Tain’t mine to sell,” said the barman.

“So, whose?”

The barman nodded at the big guy setting up on the stage. Big fat guy, moving slow, balding.

Ford nodded. He grinned.

“Okay,” he said. “Get the beers, get the rolls. Keep the tab open.”

Arthur sat at the bar and rested. He was used to not knowing what was going on. He felt comfortable with it. The beer was pretty good and made him a little sleepy, which he didn’t mind at all. The bacon rolls were not bacon rolls. They were Perfectly Normal Beast rolls. He exchanged a few professional roll-making remarks with the barman and just let Ford get on with whatever Ford wanted to do.

“Okay,” said Ford, returning to his stool. “It’s cool. We got the pink thing.”

The barman was very surprised. “He’s selling it to you?”

“He’s giving it to us for free,” said Ford, taking a gnaw at his roll. “Hey, no, keep the tab open, though. We have some items to add to it. Good roll.”

He took a deep pull of beer.

“Good beer,” he added. “Good ship, too,” he said, eyeing the big pink and chrome insectlike thing, bits of which could be seen through windows of the bar. “Good everything, pretty much. You know,” he said, sitting back, reflectively, “it’s at times like this that you kind of wonder if it’s worth worrying about the fabric of space-time and the causal integrity of the multidimensional probability matrix and the potential collapse of all waveforms in the Whole Sort of General Mish Mash and all that sort of stuff that’s been bugging me. Maybe I feel that what the big guy says is right. Just let it all go. What does it matter? Let it go.”

“Which big guy?” said Arthur.

Ford just nodded toward the stage. The big guy was saying, “One, two” into the mike a couple of times. Couple other guys were on the stage now. Drums. Guitar.

The barman, who had been silent for a moment or two, said, “You say he’s letting you have his ship?”

“Yeah,” said Ford. “ ‘Let it all go’ is what he said. ‘Take the ship. Take it with my blessing. Be good to her.’ I will be good to her.”

He took a pull at his beer again.

“Like I was saying,” he went on. “It’s at times like this that you kind of think, let it all go. But then you think of guys like InfiniDim Enterprises and you think, they are not going to get away with it. They are going to suffer. It is my sacred and holy duty to see those guys suffer. Here, let me put something on the tab for the singer. I asked for a special request and we agreed. It’s to go on the tab, okay?”

“Okay,” said the barman, cautiously. Then he shrugged. “Okay, however you want to do it. How much?”

Ford named a figure. The barman fell over among the bottles and glasses. Ford vaulted quickly over the bar to check that he was all right and help him back up to his feet. He’d cut his finger and his elbow a bit and was feeling a little woozy but was otherwise fine. The big guy started to sing. The barman hobbled off with Ford’s credit card to get authorization.

“Is there stuff going on here that I don’t know about?” said Arthur to Ford.

“Isn’t there usually?” said Ford.

“No need to be like that,” said Arthur. He began to wake up. “Shouldn’t we be going?” he said, suddenly. “Will that ship get us to Earth?”

“Sure will,” said Ford.

“That’s where Random will be going!” said Arthur with a start. “We can follow her! But … er …”

Ford let Arthur get on with thinking things out for himself while he got out his old edition of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

“But where are we on the probability axis thing?” said Arthur. “Will the Earth be there or not there? I spent so much time looking for it. All I found was planets that were a bit like it or not at all like it, though it was clearly the right place because of the continents. The worst version was called NowWhat, where I got bitten by some wretched little animal. That’s how they communicated, you know, by biting each other. Bloody painful. Then half the time, of course, the Earth isn’t even there because it’s been blown up by the bloody Vogons. How much sense am I making?”

Ford didn’t comment. He was listening to something. He passed the Guide over to Arthur and pointed at the screen. The active entry read “Earth. Mostly harmless.”

“You mean it’s there!” said Arthur, excitedly. “The Earth is there! That’s where Random will be going! The bird was showing her the Earth in the rainstorm!”

Ford motioned Arthur to shout a little less loudly. He was listening.

Arthur was growing impatient. He’d heard bar singers sing “Love Me Tender” before. He was a bit surprised to hear it here, right in the middle of wherever the hell this was, certainly not Earth, but then things tended not to surprise him these days as much as formerly. The singer was quite good, as bar singers went, if you liked that sort of thing, but Arthur was getting fretful.

He glanced at his watch. This only served to remind him that he didn’t have his watch anymore. Random had it, or at least the remains of it.

“Don’t you think we should be going?” he said, insistently.

“Shhh!” said Ford. “I paid to hear this song.” He seemed to have tears in his eyes, which Arthur found a bit disturbing. He’d never seen Ford moved by anything other than very, very strong drink. Probably the dust. He waited, tapping his fingers irritably, out of time with the music.

The song ended. The singer went on to do “Heartbreak Hotel.”