Pacchero scooped up the Wabbit and Lapinette and flew through time to deposit them back where they'd come from. When they lurched from Pacchero's capacious girth, they saw he'd landed beside a caricature of the Pope. The Wabbit smiled. he knew Pacchero was playing a final joke. "What's this? A refugee from that Banksy exhibition?" asked Lapinette. The Wabbit laughed and laughed and waved heartily. "It's St Peter the Roman who will preside over the last judgement." Lapinette waved too. "Rome under heavy manners?" she asked, "I didn't say it was that bad." Pacchero trembled slightly. "Your description of Rome sounded like the end of the line. So I brought you to this quiet spot to contemplate the future." Pacchero went on. "He will pasture his sheep in many tribulations and lay waste the seven hills of Rome." The Wabbit smiled and shook his head. "Much too apocalyptic for me." Lapinette was thoughtful and changed the subject. "What are you going to do now Pacchero? Pasta World doesn't seem to be working out for you." Pacchero laughed. "I'm thinking of a new venture. The great Pasta Trail. A Pasta path leads round the coast and takes you past all the great Italian seascapes." The Wabbit dissolved into laughter. "You'll start with Ponzi." Lapinette put her paws on her hips. "You mean Ponza with its wonderful history." The Wabbit doubled up. "No. I meant Ponzi, for money making fun." "Ponzi bought a macaroni factory you know," said Lapinette. Pacchero trembled. "What happened to it?" "His management pasta way," quipped the Wabbit.
