A Twisted Prophecy

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The king had a face like a bulldog licking vinegar off a nettle, while the doctor looked on, suitably chastised. As the bright lights assaulted Peter's eyes and the waft of industrial cleaning agents raced up his nose, the sheer scale of the ward he'd walked into mesmerised him. It was huge... at least the size of a hockey pitch, if not bigger. Steering the group along the wall to their left, the decidedly grumpy doctor weaved in and out of blood pressure monitors, laughing gas bottles and one or two commodes. All the time the three friends were aware they were skirting around what could conceivably be the biggest bed in the world, off to their right. A gargantuan dark blue curtain twenty feet high circled at least twenty five yards around whatever lay inside; it was captivating, but clearly off limits, judging by the scowl on the doctor's face as she looked back over her shoulder at them. Directly in front of them another dark blue curtain, about the size you'd expect in a human hospital, concealed whatever was inside it.

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