You wake inside an egg yolk, immediately closing your eyes to the sunny onslaught.

“Where the hell am I?” you mutter to yourself.

There’s an answering groan from the pipes, and the radiator says something like, “pf-rrrr-glug.” But you don’t speak radiator, so you don’t know what it means. But you do remember that you took Violet up on her offer of a room last night. You just don't recall it being so yellow.

You sit up and swing your legs out of bed, your eyes still bleary in the face of the objectionably yellow room. It seems whatever magic Kane cast upon your clothes before you left his shop is finally adjusting to your needs. Last night, it provided you with soft bed socks and a fluffy onesie with billy goat horns, which admittedly offered limited sleeping positions since even squidgy goat horns are about as comfortable as one might imagine.

“I’m getting up now,” you tell your clothes.

Your clothes remain, resolutely, a goat.

You walk to the bedroom door, hoping your clothes get the message, but when you pull the door open, you’re still a goat, and the twin teenage boys you encountered in the dining room last night are staring up at you in alarm. They’re crouching on the floor, planting an array of tin cans and plastic cups outside your door.

They stand quickly, hiding their hands behind their backs, as if you didn’t just catch them red-handed trying to prank you.

You step over the obstacle as gracefully as you can manage while wearing a goat suit, and head for the stairs.

The boys break out into an argument behind you, which quickly turns into a back and forth of anatomy based insults. Fanny. Face hole. Cloaca.

You follow your nose all the way to the kitchen, where you find a woman transferring freshly baked croissants from a cooling rack to a plate.

“Just in time,” she says, eyeing your outfit like it’s the most offensive pair of pyjamas she’s ever seen.

You think about telling her they’re not your clothes, but why bother? Does it matter what these people think of you? After this, you’ll never see them again.

“Help yourself,” the woman says, gesturing to a stool at the kitchen island, where an array of breakfast foods is laid out.

Then she goes back to the sink, humming the tune of Magnum PI, which is playing on a screen at the end of the kitchen counter.

You’re halfway through a delicious croissant when Violet and the herd of noisy boys arrive. They barely notice you as they jostle each other, making a grab for this or that. They leave with almost all the food.

“You’ve got to be fast around here,” says Violet, taking the seat next to yours. “I usually get up long before they do.” She yawns into her fist. “I guess I must’ve been too excited to sleep.”

You don’t ask.

“This is Glenda,” Violet says. “She makes the best cakes.”

“Thanks, pet,” Glenda says, turning to glare at the giant man who just ducked through the door, letting the cold air in. “Put wood in hole.”

The man rolls his eyes and closes the door, then flashes the woman a dazzling smile before grabbing a croissant that hasn’t even made it from the baking tray to the cooling rack yet.

“Put it on a plate, you sackless berk,” Glenda scolds. “How you became a professor with armpits for brains is anybody’s guess.”

The man doesn’t seem to mind the insult, grabbing the plate Glenda holds out to him, then sneaking another croissant onto it when Glenda turns back to the TV. He winks at Violet as he leaves the kitchen.

Violet leans closer to me. “That’s Magnus.”

“Is he your dad?” you ask.

“No, but… it’s complicated.”

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” you ask. You’re here for an adventure after all. “I’m supposed to find a blue bun.”

“I know just the place,” she says, slathering her croissant with cherry jam. “Eat up!”

Ten minutes later, you’re standing on a gravel drive, and your outfit still hasn’t got the memo. So much for Kane’s spell anticipating your clothing requirements.

“Cute outfit,” says the runway guy who looks barely out of his teens. “Why are you blushing? You do look cute in it.”

There are three men, three teenage boys, two women and a goat on the drive. A goat who isn’t you.

Glenda flaps at Lucy the goat with a tea towel, until she runs back into the garden.

Magnus jogs after the goat. “I’ll put her back in the barn.”

“Good luck keeping her in there,” the woman who isn’t Glenda says, before sliding into the driver’s seat of an ugly green people carrier.

Everyone else is arguing about who’s sitting where, and Violet asks, “Are you going to change?”

“I think there’s a spell on my clothes,” you admit. “Hopefully, they’ll change soon.”

Violet drags you to the slimy green car because the sleek black one is already full.

“It smells of Wotsits in here,” says one of the twins you encountered earlier, who’s pegging his nose with his fingers.

“It’ll stop smelling of Wotsits in here when you learn to take your rubbish into the house, Ben,” says the woman in the driver’s seat, who you assume is his mother. “It’s not me munching crisps in here.”

“That’s Eden,” Violet whispers to you.

“Where are we off to?” you ask. “You never said.”

“We’re going to the bun throw,” Glenda says from the passenger seat.

Oh.

The roads are busy—everyone must be going to the bun throw—but the countryside flies by. A scent reminiscent of coconut drifts in through the open window, and you think it might be coming from the vibrant yellow shrubs lining the roadside. It certainly smells better than stale cheesy snacks. You pass wildflower meadows, patches of ancient woodland, and small clusters of houses just sitting in the middle of nowhere by themselves.

“Listen, whatever you do, don’t try to use your phone… for anything,” Violet warns. “Don’t want to mess up the timeline.”

You frown. “Well… when are we?”

She shakes her head. “That’s not the point. Just… don’t do it.”

Eden drives slowly into a quaint village that looks like it’s trapped in a time warp. It puts you on alert, because if this was Star Trek, you’d be a redshirt. This is definitely the sort of place where Miss Marple would show up to flex.

“Finally!” Violet says, nodding pointedly at your clothes.

You glance down to find you’re now wearing a beige jumpsuit speckled with paint. You groan because this is… well, it’s not even the worst thing you’ve worn since you left Kane’s shop. But you’d still rather be wearing Simeon’s washday boxers and Fraggle Rock t-shirt than this.

“It would’ve been quicker to walk,” Glenda says when Eden finally finds a parking space.

Five minutes later, you’re in a busy square, the crowd pressing in on you from every direction. Who knew bun throwing was so popular?

Violet pulls you forward. “We need to get closer, come on.”

You reluctantly follow her to the foot of a tower as the crowd grows louder, chanting and cheering now as…

“Ow!”

Something hits you on the head.

“You’re supposed to catch it,” Violet says.

You instinctively raise your arms over your head to protect it from the onslaught of buns being flung from the tower’s roof. You’re certain that any minute now, the pigeons will descend, and everyone will run shrieking from the square. But they don't. They just cheer louder as hundreds of buns are thrown from the roof of the tower into the crowd.

“Ow! What the hell?” you complain a few minutes later, when another bun hits you right on the wrist bone. “Why are these buns made of clay?”

“Are you usually prone to exaggeration?” Violet asks.

“No,” you grumble, hiding beneath your arms again.

“You can look up now.”

You reluctantly lower your arms, only now realising how ridiculous you must have looked in front of all these fearless bun-facing people. Thankfully, nobody seems to have noticed. They’re all cheering and whistling as the final few buns hurtle through the air. You scan the ground around you, catching flashes of cobblestones between hundreds of pairs of feet. Eventually, you spot the flash of blue you’re looking for, but someone kicks the bun, and it spins away.

“I need the blue bun,” you remind Violet, and she follows you into the fray.

As the crowd thins out, you figure the blue bun should be easier to spot, but it’s not. You can’t see it anywhere.

Rain spits from the sky, and Violet pulls you under a shop awning. “Rain is the nemesis of my hair.”

“It’s pretty,” you tell her.

She pats her curls, which bounce. “Thanks. I’m sorry you got bombarded. I should have prepared you better.”

You shrug. “I should’ve predicted it myself. Bun throwing is pretty self-explanatory.” Suddenly, you find the whole thing very funny. “Bun throwing, though? Really? What even is that?”

“English village living,” Violet says, two dimples popping in her left cheek. “Do you like it?”

“Sure. I can hardly wait for tomorrow’s goat riding competition.”

Violet laughs. It’s loud and somewhat manic. “Actually, it’s cheese-rolling tomorrow.”

Your face does something complicated with twitchy eyes and rogue eyebrows.

She laughs again. “I’m just messing with you. It’s welly-throwing tomorrow.” She lifts her leg to show you her floral wellies.

“Nice,” you say. “Listen, I’m going to have another look around for this blue bun.”

“Alright. I’ll nip in here and get us a hot chocolate, yeah?”

After five more fruitless minutes of searching, and watching countless buns turn to mush in the rain, you join Violet under the awning.

She holds out a cup of steaming foamy chocolate. “There’s a guy over there watching you. Don’t… look.”

You’re already looking. The man is huge, his shoulders and head deep in the shadows of a shop doorway. You can only see the rest of him because of the tiny rings of lights illuminating the bottom of the shop windows on either side of his knees.

“How can you tell he’s looking?” you ask. “I can’t even see his face from here, let alone his eyes.”

“I have very good eyesight,” says Violet. “I’m sorry you didn’t find your bun.”

You shrug. “Maybe I’m not cut out for adventure.”

“Everyone is cut out for adventure,” she tells you. “But not all adventures are meant for you. You’ll find the one that is.”

You smile. “Thanks.”

“Don’t look now, but he’s coming over,” she says.

It takes all your willpower not to turn around, but you feel the man’s presence as he approaches, not least because he appears to be blocking what little sunlight the clouds are allowing through.

“Looking for this?” a deep and newly familiar voice says.

A blue bun sits in the man’s large hand, and you look up, recognition firing relief into your veins. “Pride. You found it.”

“You know him?” Violet asks, eyeing Pride suspiciously.

“Yes,” you say. “Sort of.”

Pride hugs you to his side, grinning excitedly. “We’re adventure buddies.”

“Ohhh… kay,” says Violet. “I guess you’re fine from here, then. Just as well, since my best friend is visiting and we’ll need your room.”

“It’s not much of an adventure so far,” you tell Pride, noticing he’s still wearing the huge belt buckle—which is tarnished, possibly Celtic, and doesn’t go with his outfit at all.

“I’m easing you in,” he says.

Violet smirks. “Maybe I’ll see you some other time.” She walks off in the direction of the car park, her hood pulled tightly over her curls, but she doesn’t get far before she jogs back. She holds out a white feather. “Something to remember me by.”

You take it with a smile. “Thanks.” Then you stuff it in your invisible bum-bag as Violet walks away.

“Hey, don’t crush my gadgets,” Pride complains, trying to poke at a bum-bag he can’t see.

You jump back. “No poking.” You pull out an old-school whistle on a chain. “What’s this for?”

“Demons,” he says, just as you’re about to bring it to your lips. “Don’t blow it!”

“What?” You pull the whistle slowly from your mouth, glancing around like you think monsters routinely show up at village bun-throws. “Demons?”

“Specifically those below water,” he says. “Drives them nuts.”

“Are there a lot of water-based demons?” you ask.

“More than land-based,” he says, “which makes sense when you think about it. Doesn’t work on well-demons since they share so much DNA with humans, and they’re not truly water-based, but it’ll send a kelpie whinnying off into the sunset with sore ears and a grudge.”

“Doesn’t sound wise,” you tell him, swapping the whistle for a small corked vial. “What about this?”

“Ah,” Pride says, going pink. “You don’t want to be messing with that unless you’ve got seduction on your mind.”

You grimace. “It’s a love potion?”

“No.” He snatches the vial from your hand. “Love potions aren’t… well, I can’t say they aren’t real, but they aren’t legal. This will just make you smell damn sexy.” He hands it back, so you can put it away. “Not that I need such things because I always smell damn sexy.”

“Obviously,” you say, returning the perfume in favour of a packet of chewing gum. “This?”

“Is chewing gum,” Pride says slowly, as if you should've guessed he'd have something so normal in his magic bag. “Ready to go on an actual adventure now, adventure buddy?”

“Only if you stop calling me that,” you reply. “Anyway, what’s the blue bun for?”

“It was just a focal lock, so I could find you in case…”

“In case what?”

“In case you got separated from my bag. Doesn’t matter.” Pride snaps the bun in half like it’s a fortune cookie, revealing a slip of paper inside. “Also, coordinates. This is where the adventure really begins.”

***

In From Tangled Roots Come Twisted Wings, Violet discovers that Magnus kept one of these buns, but why?

I took some liberties with the bun throw at Abingdon, which usually takes place in the early evening. You can see a video of the Queen's Platinum Jubilee Bun Throw, which includes drone footage, here.