Just a few hours later Sir John, Marie and Emile found themselves arriving into the same downtrodden alley that their adversaries had just been.

“Are you sure it’s here?” said Sir John, entering the alley first. “This place is filled with…”

“Merde!” said Emile, entering next and clamping a handkerchief to his nose.

“I was going to say filth actually,” said Sir John. “But you’re not inaccurate.”

“It’s here,” said Marie, bringing up the rear and staring at a stone in her hand. “I could tell even if this little one wasn’t saying so.”

“Where? Is it one of these doors?” said Sir John, looking about in confusion.

“That one,” said Marie, pointing to the dilapidated wooden door with a grate, covered in feathers. “That door there.”

Sir John went to speak. He saw the expression on his wife’s face and apparently had a rethink. He knocked on the filthy door. As before, nothing happened for a moment. Sir John turned away when the panel slid back and the same hook nosed face stared out, head tilting in all directions. Finally its beady eye settled on Sir John.

“Back?” it squawked.

“I’m sorry?” said Sir John.

“No. Others,” it cooed then shrieked, “Wait!”

The panel slid shut and presently the door opened. A tall woman with hair spiked up into a high coiffured arrangement came out. She was wearing colourful clothes and bold makeup. She looked at the three in the alleyway and nodded.

“We’ve come about the challenge,“ said Sir John.

“The challenge? The challenge?” she said.

“Yes,” said Sir John. “The challenge for the key.”

“For the key, for the key,” she said.

“Yes exactly!” said Sir John. “You know it! Tell me, how does one take it?”

“Take it?” she said. “How one take it?”

“Yes,” said Sir John. “Can you tell us?”

The woman strode over and leaned into Sir John’s face. Her head bobbed from side to side and she seemed to be thinking. Eventually she leaned back.

“Who’s a pretty boy then?” she said.

“I beg your pardon?” said Sir John, as another person came out of the door. It was the rotund, red chested man from before, with the peculiarly thin legs.

“Another one come for the challenge?” he said.

“Yes,” said Sir John, “as I was explaining to your, er…”

He indicated the woman.

“Polly want a cracker,” she said.

“Which one?” said the rotund man.

“Me,” said Marie.

“Wait, what?” said Sir John. “We didn’t…”

“Next Tuesday,” said the Oisienne. “Sunset we gather.”

The two strange creatures flew inside leaving Sir John aghast.

“We didn’t agree that,” said Sir John. “I thought we’d just…”

“He said another one,” said Marie. “That means Clackprattle and Pook.”

“Precisely,” said Sir John. “It’s far too dangerous.”

“Mon cher,” said Marie, “now I know about my power, it is best for me to do it. Safest for me too.”

“She’s right,” said Emile looking glum. “I hate to say it, but she’s right.”

Clackprattle, Pook and Bisset stood in the dingy alleyway in front of the door. Bisset had a handkerchief over his nose and Clackprattle was sniffing profusely.

“Are you sure this rat infested pox hole is the place?” said Clackprattle.

“Hey!” said someone from a window overhead. “Watch your tongue, fatso.”

“Most assuredly,” said Bisset, muffled by the cloth. It almost sounded like he was stifling a laugh.

“Well then Pook,” said Clackprattle, staring sourly at the upstairs window. “Have at.”

Pook stepped in front of a old wooden door, noticing the feathers and guano stuck to it. He rapped lightly, doing his best to avoid contact. For a moment nothing happened and Pook went to rap again when a wooden panel slid back at head height.

A slender man’s head with a long nose appeared at the panel. The man’s head tilted side to side and back to front, never actually straight up. Finally the right side of the face was pressed against the hole and the man’s eye rolled around.

“What?” squawked the man.

“We are most delighted to make your acquaintance,” said Pook brightly. “We are assuming we are addressing a member of the Oisienne?”

The head bobbed up and down vigorously in lieu of an answer.

“That is indeed wonderful news,” said Pook. “We are, you see, here in order to undertake the challenge we believe it behooves you to administer to those who request it. I refer of course, to the challenge for the famed key of the weapon of Paris.”

The man’s head bobbed back and forth a little more.

“Wait,” shrieked the man and the panel closed.

“I do hope we do not have to remain here too long,” said Bisset.

Clackprattle smirked.

“The difference between you aristos and me is that you’ve never seen an ounce of muck in your life,” he said jeeringly. “You don’t know what to make of it.”

He stepped back into some horse ordure.

“Bugger!” he said, and Bisset turned away a moment holding his cloth ever tighter to his face.

The door started to open then, and all three men watched it. A short man of an unusual style came out. His legs were exceedingly thin and were dressed in hose, whereas his torso was large and his bulging stomach, extremely bloated, poked out from his red waistcoat. He had a round face with a small pinched nose. Holding his hands behind his back he walked around them, nodding as he did.

He made a tutting sound and another strange gentlemen emerged, This one was unusually wide and had no neck. His eyes were round and the colour of amber. He waddled out into the alley as well.

“You come for the challenge?” said the first man. His voice was surprisingly thin and high.

“To wit?” asked the second.

“Indeed we most assuredly do,” said Pook.

“Which one?” said the first Oisienne, looking rapidly between the trio.

“To who?” asked the wide one.

“That will be myself,” said Pook. “Mr Ernest Pook of Lancashire and latterly London.”

“Hmm,” said the red-chested Oisienne. “Next Tuesday. Sunset we gather.”

The two strange creatures returned into the building and the door slammed shut.

“Tuesday it is!” said Clackprattle in triumph before kicking out at a small creature scurrying around his feet. The creature seemed to catch Pook’s eye who watched it then smiled.