The following is a circular posted through the letterboxes of a number of Muses in Spindle.

Happy with how your fellow Muses treat you? Satisfied that you are safe in your own home? Grateful that you’re finally getting some peace and quiet?

Then thank Bet Wimpole!

I certainly do!

My name is Stabby McStabface, and I used to be a criminal. Not just any criminal, but I’d go out of my way to make everyone’s lives miserable. I was simply unhappy with myself, and I took it out on other people!

What I didn’t know at the time is that I was breaking

Bet-ter Consequences: Three Rules for becoming a Happy Muse!

In fact, I had no idea that they were mandatory since Bet rewrote a lot of our laws! Once I learnt these, my life became so much easier!

• If you’ve done the crime, you need to do the time!

• Punishment is good!

• Don't punish those who don't deserve it!

All I needed to change my life around was someone giving me a little tap on the shoulder, and suddenly I stopped stabbing people! I was punishing them because I was sad about myself!

Now I've learnt my lesson, I'm delighted that I'm being forced to hand out these flyers, because I deserve it!

I'm so glad Bet made me a better person! Maybe she can help you too!

“Give it up, Lord Farthingworth! You have nowhere to run now.”

Farthingworth glances over their shoulder. Beyond the broken railing, there is nothing but half a league of open sky, down to the distant rocket factories far below.

“Or what? You’ll push me off my own sky-dock? You don’t have it in you, Parker. Nevermind, though – I’m quite happy to do the deed myself!”

With that, Farthingworth leans back and lets the wind pull them off the edge. Parker rushes forward and steadies himself on what remains of the railing, watching the figure tumble away. Suddenly Farthingworth’s small leather backpack springs open, revealing a pair of mechanised wings. Hughes finally catches up with Parker and joins him staring over the edge.

“The fool!” She says, adjusting her magnifying goggles, “those wings are far too small – he’ll never survive the fall, even with them!”

“Drat. I really was hoping we could take him alive. We still don’t know where the prototypes were being constructed. Wait – something’s happening, look!” Parker points to a dark shape emerging from the cloud layer. An airship glides into view, and the rapidly diminishing speck of Farthingworth banks and drifts towards it.

“That ship, I recognise it – it’s Miss Rosethorn’s personal transport. Ha! The fool has flown right into a trap. Perhaps we’ll get some answers after all!”

But as the airship continues to rise and the deck comes into view, it’s clear that things are not as they seemed. Miss Rosethorn and Lord Farthingworth are arm in arm at the prow of the ship.

“Miss Rosethorn!” Cries Hughes, “But…why? I don’t understand!”

“I suppose the cat’s out of the bag now, isn’t it?” She replies. “Well I won’t keep it a secret any longer. Yes, you can call me Lady Rosethorn now, and with the help of my new partner and those blueprints you so trustingly handed right over to me – let’s just say, the sky won’t be the limit for much longer!”

The airship continues to rise and as the deck passes overhead, the Lady Rosethorn gives a condescending wave to Parker and Hughes below. “Ta-ra for now!”

“Oh and one more thing,” shouts Farthingworth, “that sky-dock is rigged to detonate in, oh, about ten minutes. I do hope you have a way down.”

Laughter echoes through the air.

Dream remains bright and full, Jo creative to the last. And yet somehow you know: somewhere deep down, you sense that the Narrative is closing and the end to all things is near. Jo is dying and Dream will die with them.

You stand with Brink, side by side and hand in hand, gazing out across the cloudscape below. Around you, the warm wood and polished brass fittings of the grand airship Final Judgement are cast in gold by the soft light of the setting sun. The rigging creaks in the gentle breeze.

You run your hand down Brink’s arm. They proudly bear the scars of many battles, both won and lost. Your skin is clear, but you can feel the weight of a thousand judgements resting inside you. Brink turns from the sunset to face you and gaze into your eyes.

“Do you think we were too harsh on them?”

“Never.”

“…too soft?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Just right, then?”

“Just so.”

The sun sinks slowly towards the horizon.

“Did you think it would end like this?”

“No.”

“Is this how it should end?”

“