Chapter 1

The long standing alliance between north and south had broken, the angels had fled, the Devil - after getting bored of tempting souls into sin - had left for less green pastures, God was still nowhere to be found and the restless dead had decided it was nap time. This meant that things got less interesting, rather then more. However, this did not bother Timothy, it did not matter to him much except in History Lessons when it was little more then a mild annoyance. No, he had other things to worry about, such as getting to school on time and whether to smoke in the toilets or behind the chariot shed. No one was entirely sure why the rich still used chariots. They weren't cost effective, it was hard to get horses to pull them, you would get stuck in traffic and pedestrians and carts had right of way before you. Also, you got fined if you didn't clean up the dung after your horses and you couldn't burn it otherwise environmentalists would moan about polluting the city atmosphere. What was really needed, the rich would admit when amongst themselves, was some sort of self-propelled chariot, one with some kind of internal-combustion engine. It would replace the horses and solve all their problems, especially if they could make it go very fast. They would try to persuade the wizards to work on it only with the turn of the century their magic had decided to leave along with everything else. Some people blamed it on the Devil, rather quietly of course. He wasn't around to grant people temptations anymore, so they saw no need to advertise him loudly. All in all, the times were quite boring now; and kids, unlike in the old days, had to make their own entertainment.

So there Timothy was, walking to school just after noon, surrounded by ladies of the day and ladies of the night, ladies of both and women who were ladies of neither, but were just women. He liked these the most, they were the ones who let him get closest. So close, in fact, that that closeness had been banned from public places in case it made prudes and middle-class grannies jealous. He got fairly close now, and even slipped his hand up the top of the one he addressed as Cecil, who thought that she might have lost her keys under there. After a thorough check it turned out she hadn't. Timothy would have got closer to her but he was already late for school. So he continued on his way.

The school gates were tall, dark, imposing things. They had, however, been removed from the school gate posts by some hooligans, so for now the foreboding wall that surrounded the school had a breach. A tiny bit of string tried to bridge the gap. It failed. It was through this massive empty space Timothy walked. He admired the sheer logistical intelligence of whoever had managed to steal the gates. When he and his mate Dorothy had tried to steal the gates, they had run into some serious problems. They hadn't been able to manage it in fact. And if the rumours were true, those gates had stood up to almost three years of attempts, which for Private School gates in these parts was quite impressive. You could tell which schools were Private because they had PRIVATE written above the doors in large letters. After a meandering while Timothy walked under the A and into the school proper. There he was confronted by an irate Mrs Rose.

"And what do you think you are doing coming in at this time?"

"I-"

"You are late! Very very late! Aren't you meant to be in a lesson now? Haven't I talked to you about this, haven't I told you this when you have been late before? Don't be late, or-"

"I-" said Timothy.

"Don't interrupt me while I'm rhetorically questioning you! You are late! You know when school starts and you know when you have to get here! This lateness is unpardonable. I've told you before not to keep me waiting. Now, what do you have to say for yourself."