The New Day is a Great Big Fish!

The last thing any of the Ins-and-Outs remembered was a flash of something, a tremendous roaring noise, a sort of rushing sensation, and then...then they'd been here. Where here was, none of them could venture to guess, but it did have all the hallmarks of a bar about it. It was also empty except for them, at the moment.

"That was octarine," said Maladict. "No doubt about it." Octarine. The colour of magic. It wasn't exactly a surprise, but the confirmation did not seem to be welcome either. There was silence for a moment, and no-one spoke until Carborundum rumbled from behind him, "Dat's not good." It didn't look like one would expect the Dungeon Dimensions to look, but how was anyone to know?

Blouse had one hand on the hilt of his sabre while he stared nearsightedly around the room.

"Well, my lads, no use standin' about," Jackrum announced, ambling up to the counter; he leaned one arm on the polished wood and bellowed in a slightly-moderated parade-ground voice, "Anyone home?"

"Yow" Polly clapped her hands over her ears. "Whoever's got a sword that's poking in me, please move it. It's right..." Well, it was very near the socks, but not quite there.

"Thorry," Igor said apologetically, side-stepping away. They'd all bunched up together when the flash happened. "Ith anyone here, Tharge?"

Polly grabbed for her battered shako, with its badge of a flaming cheese, and crammed it on her head. Somehow, just having that on made her feel better.

"Anyone know where this is? It doesn't look like anywhere I've ever seen," she said, looking around. "There's a tavern over there, though. Might be a good place to start looking."

There was always someone in a tavern, after all, even if they were passed out in one corner of the taproom.

"I don't know, Ozzer," Maladict said, prowling forwards to join the sergeant at the counter. His senses were tingling still with the magic that had sent them all here, and he couldn't tell if anyone might be about.

"D'you think it might be, well, you know..." Shufti began, a little hesitantly. Next to him, Wazzer had his eyes screwed up and was whispering fervently under his breath. "...the Dungeon Dimensions?" Shufti finished in an even quieter voice than she'd started out with.

Jackrum's face had relaxed into a predatory grin. "Don't seem to be nobody around," he said cheerfully. "Time for some requisitioning."

"What," a brass-toned voice bellowed, "in the bleedin' hell is all this ruction about?"

"Um, Sarge?" Polly said, looking over at Jackrum. "That don't sound like nobody." She tugged her jacket straight and hoped her socks hadn't been dislodged in the.... whatever-it-was that had brought them to wherever this was.

Jackrum rounded on the man who'd just spoken at a volume to rival his own. He was briefly a little taken aback at the red uniform with the Sergeant's stripes that so closely resembled his own. But this fellow wasn't a Borogravian. That was sure.

A click sounded out as Tonker leveled his crossbow at the man who'd just come in, causing Shufti and Lofty to do likewise, and there was a heavy thud as Carborundum stepped closer, looming over Crawford and casting a massive, craggy shadow.

"Stand down, lads," Jackrum said, eyeing the sergeant. He was outnumbered by seven men, an Igor, a vampire, and a troll. No need to worry. "How about you tellin' me that, Sergeant?"

Crawford's thick eyebrows drew together sharply. "Ain't tellin' ye a blees'd thing," he barked, seemingly unperturbed by the obviously-hostile nature of these intruders. "Tresspassin' on in a tavern 'longin' to the King's men an' all's ye are!"

"A tavern's open to anyone," Polly pointed out, wondering who in hell 'the King' was and what, if anything, he had to do with their Duchess.

Carborundum didn't seem to have gotten the meaning of 'stand down' yet (it was hard for a troll to do that in any case), but perhaps that was all for the best. He cracked his knuckles and rumbled, "We not trespassin'."

Jackrum presented the sergeant with a wide smile that could have passed for friendly. "What King's that, then?"

What King? Crawford's frown deepened. "His Majesty King George the Third," he replied crisply, as if this was information even this motley lot should know.

"Put them daft weapons down, too, 'fore I call out me lads to turn ye out."

"We gotta troll and we ain't afraid to use him," Polly said. The Zlobenians had been easier to deal with than this fellow, whoever he was. "Though there isn't a law says we can't have a friendly drink, now, is there?"

"Never heard of a King George," Jackrum answered thoughtfully. At least George was a good, honest, sensible name though - nothing ominous, like Asmodeus or Nyarlathotep. "Course, I don't mean to let Private Carborundum here go and do anything," Jackrum added to what Perks had said. "Not much tellin' what he might come up with on his own, though."

That was when Blouse stepped in. Jackrum sighed. Bleeding officers. The lieutenant's Adams-apple bobbed up and down nervously as he swallowed before he spoke. "Excuse me, Sergeant, but I believe there has been a misunderstanding. We're soldiers of Her Grace, the Duchess Annagovnia of Borogravia, and we appear to have...lost our way."

He eyed Crawford's hand for a moment and then extended his own, wrist hanging a little limply. "Lieutenant Blouse, of the Tenth Foot."

He had never heard of any Duchess Anna-something, or any place Boro-whatever, and didn't much care even if he had. This was the purest form of witchcraft possible, without a doubt.

"Tenth Foot." Crawford eyed the slack-wristed officer with a trace of dismay. "That ain't the Tenth's coat. Sir."

Polly felt like thumping him. "Look, we're not from round here, and I dunno how we got here." Something told her that to mention 'magic' probably wouldn't be a good idea. It might even be an Abomination, here. "But we're from the Tenth Regiment in our own country, we're lost... and some of us would rather like a drink while we figure out how we got here, where 'here' is, and how to get home again."

Blouse took off his spectacles, polished them on his sash and blinked at her. "Um, yes. That."

Jackrum nodded curtly. "We're the Tenth, all right - the good old Ins-and-Outs. And we're not lookin' for trouble, but we can sure bring it on if you want it. So how's about we just not go there? A drink sounds a fine idea to me."

Maladict, who had been watching for the lads that the sergeant had mentioned earlier, turned at this and yawned like a cat, displaying white, pointed canines. He then smiled lazily. "You have such a thing as coffee about this place?

There were voices rumbling quietly from a room down the hall. Blackwood, finding it more comfortable to discard his jacket in favour of a well-cut tailcoat, ambled toward it. He had been making a curious study of the Crown's bar and held a tumbler of rather fine brandy in one hand.

"Ah," he said upon his entrance to the room. "More guests, I see?"

"Only temporarily." We hope. "Have you got any coffee around here? Please?" They'd better have coffee - things were likely to get desperate if they didn't.

Maladict turned smoothly to the newcomer, an inoffensive fellow in evening dress. His eyes flickered down to the glass in his hand. Brandy. At least they had normal food and drink - and perhaps they would have coffee after all. "Apparently so," he replied. "Do you get...guests...like us, often?"

Blackwood glanced sidelong at the redcoat sergeant, whose longtailed coat was noticeably less unusual than the overall... form... of the room's other occupants.

"I should there is coffee here," he replied. "But... I daresay I've not seen guests of your class before - but I am new here myself."

The standoff seemed to have been defused by the appearance of the new gentleman. Jackrum leaned his heavy bulk back against the counter, watching them all with a considering look.

"Dey got troll drinks?" Carborundum finally asked, stepping away from Crawford.

Troll drinks? The captain lifted an eyebrow. "I could hardly say," he replied. "But... Sergeant. Do at least fetch these... fellows... some coffee?"

The sergeant gazed at him appraisingly a moment before shrugging. "Aye aye, sir." Without another word, the big man was gone.

"Much obliged to you, sir," Maladict said with a smile that had two points to it. He'd not cared for the sound of the pause before fellows at all.

Bolitho had just come inside, having been off quenching his thirst on some of the animal inhabitants of a nearby forest, when he heard voices coming from a nearby room. Upon entering the room, he saw Captain Blackwood speaking with some newcomers...some very odd-looking newcomers indeed.

"Good evening, captain," Bolitho nodded at Blackwood, glancing around at the others and wondering who they all were.