of Jack and Jill's sand castle and disappeared in front of the angry crowd which had gathered around him. The last thing he could recall was a tiny voice, crying ‘Me, me, me!’
Baby spoonette
It took all of Shylock’s persuasive abilities to convince Jack and Jill to accept tubs (without chocolate flakes) instead of cones, but even then he had another problem, pointed out by Jill. ‘And, how are we supposed to eat them?’ she asked.
Recalling how he’d dropped the spoonettes as he grabbed the tubs, Shylock groaned and tentatively suggested that they could use their fingers.
The expression on their faces was sufficient response to this suggestion of pure genius. Suddenly tired and devoid of ideas, Shylock sat down cross-legged on the sand to think, which was where he was when a vaguely familiar small voice interrupted his cogitation’s. ‘Me, me, me,’ the small voice cried. ‘Me, me, me.’
Alarmed by how close the voice appeared, Shylock jumped back to his feet and looked down suspiciously at his gabardines, which appeared to be talking to him.
‘Me, me, me,’ repeated the tiny voice coming from his right hand pocket. Gently, he reached in, withdrew a small red spoon, and held it up in his hand for everyone to see.
‘Me, me, me,’ it reiterated, joyfully.
‘Oh, thank goodness!’ cried Jill, grabbing for the baby-spoonette in the palm of his hand. ‘A spoon!’
Shylock just managed to pull back in time. ‘WAIT!’ he shouted. ‘We need to talk about this .’
‘Talk?’ said Jack. ‘Can’t we eat ? My ice-cream’s melting.’
‘No,’ said Shylock, firmly. ‘You have a promise to make.’
‘A promise?’ asked the twins, together.
‘Yes. If you want to use this spoon to eat your ice-cream, you have to agree to return it to the ice-cream parlour in Bb’s palisade,’ Shylock told them. ‘And if you do, there will be a large red spoon behind the counter who I’m sure will be very grateful…if you know what I mean?’
The twins looked at each other, both thinking of the same thing – mountains of ice-cream, cones, tubs, and as many chocolate flakes as they could eat. They quickly agreed and Shylock lowered his hand allowing Jill to gently take the small spoonette, most reverentially. ‘Yum, yum, yum,’ it gooed happily. Jill smiled and carefully scooped some ice-cream onto the spoonet. ‘Yummy, yummy, yummy,’ it giggled.
Without another word, the twins turned and started waddling away from Shylock in their practised three-legged movement, only pausing briefly some distance away to wave. They were still using the baby-spoonette moments later when they disappeared over the horizon. Strangely relieved and at least momentarily content, Shylock sat back down on the sand and began wondering how he was going to get in touch with the sandworm. He needn’t have worried.
The Sandworm
At first the noise barely registered in Shylock’s consciousness, then as the source grew steadily closer he looked up and cast an eye in the opposite direction from that which the twins had recently followed. There, having just come into view, Shylock saw a small speck appear on the horizon, growing steadily larger as the sound increased in volume. He stood and waited as the approaching speck came closer, eventually recognising it as a familiar four-wheel-drive dune-buggy.
The buggy drew to a halt a few paces away from where he stood and the driver immediately slithered out of the driving seat dragging a heavy jack behind him with it’s teeth. On second consideration, Shylock noticed that it wasn’t that the jack was heavy, more that it was reluctant – and was putting up a good fight. However, the powerful bulk of the Sandworm easily overpowered it and forced it under the front of the buggy, demanding threateningly that it take the weight, which it did – still grumbling.
‘Okay, you guys. Cut loose!’ the Sandworm said, apparently addressing the buggy as the Jack did it’s thing.
With much chittering, the two front tyres unwrapped themselves from the wheel-hubs and arched and humped their spiky backs - stretching thoroughly, then quite happily set about sand-chomping.
The Sandworm pushed his shades up onto the top of his head (the top-end of a worm-shaped body) and turned to face Shylock. ‘Okay Dude. Like why are you hanging out on my sand-stretch?’ he asked.
Shylock couldn’t think where to begin. Should he mention Earth, or Bb’s shop, or go straight to asking the whereabouts of his coin?
‘Tiger got your tongue, dude?’ prompted the Sandworm.
‘Eerrr, no!’ stuttered Shylock. ‘It’s just that I don’t know where to begin.’
‘Hey, that’s cool,’ said the Sandworm. ‘Well, let me see….as I can’t hang around here forever, how about starting at the end and working backwards – that way, when I’ve heard enough, you can stop and I’ll still know why you’re here.’
Somewhat stunned by the apparent brilliance of the Sandworm's reply, Shylock followed his suggestion and explained that he was looking for a small silver coin that he had previously lost in the sand, and asked if he still had it.
‘Sure, dude,’ the Sandworm replied. ‘It’s right here.’
Shylock followed the sandworm's nod and, although somewhat larger that he remembered it, immediately recognised his ‘free change’. It appeared to be in use as the steering wheel of the dune-buggy. Relieved to have found it so easily, he asked if it would be possible to have it back.
‘No can do, dude,’ replied the sandworm. ‘I’d love to let you have it, really I would…but, it’s not mine, you see.’
‘How do you mean not yours?’ asked Shylock, puzzled. ‘It’s right there on your buggy.’
‘Not my buggy, dude,’ the Sandworm explained. ‘It belongs to a little guy who goes by the name of Bb.’
‘Bb!’ shrieked Shylock. ‘This buggy belongs to Bb?’
‘Sure, dude,’ said the sandworm, not sure what to make of Shylock’s response. ‘The wheels and jack are mine, but the frame and the propulsion belong to Bb. He let me rent it for a reduced profit in exchange for the coin. Like, do you know the little dude?’
‘Know him!’ replied Shylock. ‘I just left him before coming back here!’
‘Hey, cool,’ said the Sandworm. ‘So did you ask him if you could have the coin?’
Shylock found that hard to answer. He was more than upset - he felt that he was just running around in circles and getting nowhere. Frustratingly, he realised that there was apparently even more to Bb than he had thought, even although he’d already had to grant him a major upgrade after seeing the entertainment arcade. Now, he would have to find Bb again, but surely on the bright side, at least getting the coin should be easy – then he could go home.
The far side
Shylock left ‘Change’s gaol’ one more time, having promised the Sandworm that if he did return to claim the silver coin, he would bring a replacement steering-wheel with him.
Now back at Bb’s arcade, he wandered up and down the myriad of pedestrian ways, jostling with the crowds, being careful not to burst any more safety-bags, asking for Bb’s whereabouts whenever he could. But Bb was nowhere to be found.
Eventually, convinced that he had exhausted all possibilities in the arcade, Shylock was considering thought-travelling to ‘Get-Lucky’ in the chance that Bb may be there, when he spotted a note attached to the front of a mailbox with Bb’s name boldly emblazoned on it.
Removing the note carefully, he was examining it when it asked him if he were properly registered.
‘Registered?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ replied the note. ‘Are you properly registered, with the Office of Composition, as officially entitled to hear notes?’
‘Eerrr, I don’t think so,’ replied Shylock. ‘How would I become registered?’
‘Oh, that’s’ easy,’ replied the note. ‘You just have to pass a three-question test. I can do it with you if you’re in a hurry.’
After confirming that if he sat the test, he would be allowed to read the note - or at least have it read to him - Shylock agreed, and the note aske
d the question. ‘Which note is a hemidemisemiquaver?’
Shylock admitted that he had no idea and was told that it was the sixty-fourth. The note tutted and asked a second question ‘Is an allegro played faster or slower than an allegretto?’
Again, Shylock was completely baffled and finally guessed, wrongly. The note explained that apparently an allegro is played faster than an allegretto, but slower than a presto. This explanation resulted in a raised stamp-corner and more tutting from the note, followed by the third and final question which Shylock also failed.
The note wrinkled it’s top-of-the-page, and rebuked Shylock for his lack of knowledge about music. ‘However,’ it explained. ‘Fortunately, you don’t need to pass the test to register.’
‘Huh?’ exclaimed Shylock, bemused.
‘Don’t worry,’ comforted the note. ‘As I said before, you only need to sit the test, I didn’t say you had to pass it! It’s a bit like the entrance qualifications for most jobs around here. No-one pays attention to them anyway, so in this case we decided it must be the sitting that was important, not the passing.’
‘You mean I’m now registered? Shylock asked, mystified by yet another piece of logical illogicality.
‘Yes,’ answered the note. ‘Would you like the note spoken or sung?’
‘Spoken, will do just fine,’ Shylock replied.
‘Typical!’ the note complained. ‘Do you know how long it has been since I was last asked to sing? Everyone’s always In such a rush.’
‘Sorry,’ apologised