In certain areas of Frangea could be found a distinct species of pigeon. For reasons only known to evolution these were somewhat stiff-necked creatures that had developed a technique for gauging the distance to a tasty morsel of food or the likely hiding place of predators by means of a repeated reference to three-dimensional displacement. Simply put, they wobbled.

They were notorious nest builders too, often imitating certain rich individuals among the human tribes by having several homes on the go at once. There was the family nest where young ones might be found lazing around cooing in bored tones that there was never anything to do. And then there was the holiday nest that often were constructed in out of the way places for Wobbly Pigeons could be said to enjoy a change of scenery every now and then.

A favourite place away from the dark breezy greenery of the woods was in unfrequented buildings such as the bell tower of Miss Plazenby's school. This splendid stone edifice sat at the juncture between two wings of the main school building. It once held a clock but that had long been superseded by grid time, a universal method of knowing when to eat, to sleep and tune in to the latest celebrity blast or shopper lure. But the bells were still there, chiming out on Founders' Days, there having been four of them, and celebratory tunes carilloned whenever a school team crushed some hapless rival in a sporting endeavour of breathless significance.

Now the Imp of Entropy, bent on some mischief, often selected the most innocent of tools to further a specific outcome and a particularly happy Wobbly Pigeon couple had by means most natural stuffed one of the lesser harmonic bells with all sorts of feathers and bits of fern to make a cosy home for themselves away from the complaining kids. Thus they unwittingly provided a possible opportunity to ensure chaos.

Of course to simply have applied some supernatural coercion or paranormal influence would have undermined the strict rules regarding nature, for if it were perceived a supernatural act had occurred in stuffing some pigeons up a bell that act by being an aspect of reality would cease to be supernatural, for it had truly happened. If say that very same bell had its tone altered by means of a paranormal adjustment to its very substance one could only conclude such an extraordinary event as perfectly normal. Therefore the cosmological forces residing within the Imp of Entrophy's grasp simply let nature take its own course, grinning in eager anticipation at the foreknowledge a certain group of first year girls would just then be entering the room below for a lesson in campanology under the capable guidance of Miss Evertude Sourdant, the partially deaf music mistress.

The eight girls, two from each dorm, naturally included a certain Pinky Ponsonby whose bright hair positively glowed in the dusty light of the old structure.

"Now girls, gather round me a moment," Miss Sourdant said, waving her notes at the curious little creatures who no sooner having entered than they dispersed to look at carvings on walls, mount some wooden steps to check if they creaked suspiciously, or flick the tasselled ropes at each other with intent. "Sadly today is not a Founder's Day," she continued once she had everyone's attention, "so we will not endeavour a more ambitious melody, sticking with quarter tones in three chime sequences. Please pair up and I will assign you a rope to pull."

There was a full carillon of four bells of course, helpfully numbered, and Pinky with her dorm mate Lyra Bellicosa found themselves assigned the biggest bell with its bass tone that they already knew from prior lessons would shape the rhythm with deep intonations as the lesser bells danced around creating a garland of silvery notes so to speak. The largest bell also had the greatest pull so that the rope often would trail across the floor in a snaring loop if one were unwitting enough to become entangled among its tasselled fibres. Too easy, came a universal thought upon unfortunate happenstance, a cousin of accidents unforeseen. Such chaos would ensure a satisfying moment of entropic disorder.

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"Silence itself opposes our chime," Lyra said, feeling the weight of the bell many yards above her in the tower as she tugged on the rope to try it out, "we need full strength for rhythmic time."

"Quite," Miss Sourdant said. "Girls on ropes two to four, I want you to pull first, to get the feel of the thing. Do not worry as yet about time. Just let the school know you're here," and she laughed at her oft repeated joke to beginners.

With a chatter of delight the six girls in their pairs tugged for all they were worth, bringing a small shower of dust down upon everyone as a cacophany of chimes vibrated through the structure, sending Wobbly Pigeons in a hundred different directions with warbles of alarm more melodious than any bell.

"Hmn," the mistress said as the echoes died away "Something amiss there I fear." She then turned to Pinky and Lyra. "You may now try upon your rope girls. Pull together and do not fear to tug as hard as you please so long as you remember to let go on the upswing." Someone cackled among the other girls at this.

The Imp of Entropy held its breath.

Pinky halted Lyra's attempt to begin and disentangled the rope that had unexpectedly coiled around her ankle. Something seemed wrong elsewhere so she approached Miss Sourdant to voice her concern.

The Imp of Entropy sighed cosmically.

"Didn't you hear?" she said with a smile, gesturing upwards. "One of the bells sounded off." Without further comment she went up the steps that spiraled around the inner edge of the stone walls, through the wooden floor above and could be heard clunking around in the top of the tower. This unexpected foolhardiness appealed muchly to the hidden forces watching on.

"Shall we continue, Miss?" someone archly suggested.

"I think not," came a puzzled response. "Girl, what are you doing up there? It's not safe," she shouted and then followed up the steps with everyone on her heels.

What they found was even more unsafe than imagined for Pinky Ponsonby precariously balanced on a beam, slowly approaching the set of smaller bells, cheered silently by a certain force for chaos.

"One of these is wrong," she explained her insane actions. Pulling a pencil from her blouse pocket, she stretched out and tapped each bell in turn while hovering over a gap thirty yards above a stone floor. To give her credit she had tied a rope around her waist and to the main support beam as a precaution which made the Imp of Entropy ground its teeth in dismay. "The middle one," Pinky eventually said, "number three." She pulled at it, lifted the rim and found a wedge of ferns and feathers so sedulously stuffed inside the bell it took an effort to dislodge it all. There was a cheer when a mass of decaying matter tumbled out to the floor below with a loud splat, like a holiday home collapsing into the sea, and the bell chimed as intended once more.

Without delay Pinky edged herself back onto safe ground, untied her safety harness and brushed herself down, order safely restored.

"There," she said. "Now we can resume our lesson."

"Well, I must say, I'm impressed you noted the discordance," the mistress praised her bright pupil.

"Oh, it helps to have listened to the chimes beforehand," Pinky said and she whipped a tablet out of her skirt pocket, flipped to a certain screen, tapped it and there burst upon everyone's ears a blast of bell ringing that shook the tower like the real thing. Everyone screamed and ran for it, tumbling down the stairs to get away from the noise so that only Pinky and the music mistress remained.

"Always important to think ahead," Pinky said, halting the digital chimes and removing hastily inserted plugs from her ears as she spoke. "Helps to have studied lip reading too."