The ice-cap reigns

"Where's the fishy?" inquired Karsill for the second thyme.

"Where's my growbag?" inquired Mr Stranger-Sort-Of-Potato, who didn't.

"Only me!" said Mr You-Don't-Want-To-Sniff-That, who couldn't possibly have.

The world ended for about the sixteenth time that week (which was weird for a Wednesday).

In one universe, it is always ending. The metaphysical has no guard rail, like a perilous escalator. The five has no three, being irreducible. This time it won't — promise!

"Whirled in that destructive fire / Which burns before the ice-cap reigns."

"But wouldn't it snow?" corrected Arthur.

"Be thankful you're not a poetic subject," Professor Carswell responded. "A pun like that and you might die of hypothermia."