The Master paused for a second, before adding: As soon as possible, please, I sense that the shift is now occurring and the world must see what has been written for The Days of Transformation!
After another hour spent rearranging the whole of the small but superlative library – by now engulfed by a vast, dark shadow-web of captured dreams – the Master ascertained that Pros Theon was definitely not on the bookcase. The situation had become intolerable. A prayerfully desperate sound escaped the Master’s lips. Then, suddenly, a brainwave struck:
Did I put it in a safe place following the comet’s ominous portent?
The specific thought-question yielded an equally direct response from one of the Master’s spirit guides.
No, you’ve lost it, man.
The Master sighed, all at once feeling acutely tested.
Thanks for that Jim… any idea where it could be?
It’s the mother of all mysteries.
The Master let out another behemothic sigh; why couldn’t Soaring Eagle have flown by instead?
OK, but at least let me know if it’s been stolen?
You’re paranoid, man…
Oh for Heaven’s sake! Give me a clue will you?
Maybe it’s in the outer limit.
“Must we go there again,” the Master muttered, looking up all the same. I just need some light to be shed on the actual issue, which as well you know is the precise whereabouts of Pros Theon.
We need lights out here in the perimeter as well.
And why would that be? The Master scowled ferociously. As if we didn’t know already!
Because out here in the perimeter there are no stars; out here we are stoned….
Immaculately[i], eh, you don’t say!
Why don’t you just chill, man, It’s not ME whose lost it?
The Master levelled a thunderous glance at the South-East corner of the ceiling. How do you expect me to ‘just chill’ – as you so eloquently put it – until I’ve found The Magic Book?
Deafening etheric silence was followed by another two hours of frantic searching, during which time all the drawers in the building were pulled inside out (the contents checked thoroughly for the first time in years) and every cupboard and closet, including the drinks cabinet, turned upside down in the feverish quest.
Finally giving up in despair, The Master poured a quadruple Jack Daniels and injected it with a splash of coke, smoked a large pipe full of pure marijuana and headed off to the bathroom with the latest edition of Psychic Circular.
That’s the spirit, man, if you relax, it’ll find you.
[i] With thanks to J. Morrison