Disclaimers: Dangermouse, Penfold, Greenback, Stiletto and Colonel K, as well as the whole general idea, belong to Cosgrove Hall. Anything that doesn't belong to Cosgrove Hall belongs to me, and like any of my ideas you're free to use it under the Creative Commons Attribution Non Commercial Share Alike licence.
This story has very strong Pagan influences. If you think that might offend you, don't read on. It's OK, I don't mind.
The rating's for violence, death, statue nudity and supernatural themes.
"That's not fair."
Dangermouse and Penfold had travelled in silence for the last fifteen miles, and the mouse jumped when his assistant spoke.
"Wad's dad?" Dangermouse breathed through his mouth and tried again.
"What's that?"
"Well, I got a 'good job' from the Colonel, and all you got a punch in the nose."
"Well, you did do a good job." DM stared into the distance, deep in thought. "A very good job." He realised Penfold was watching him nervously and did his best to shake off his mood. "Anyway, the occasional bump on the nose is just a part of the job."
"Did you give Stiletto one back?"
Dangermouse thought of Greenback's henchman being taken away on a stretcher in the confusion after the police arrived at the counterfeit chrysanthemum factory.
"Yes, I gave him one back."
"And what about that Jack B. Nimble character?"
Dangermouse deliberately looked at the horizon, invisible in the thick Scottish darkness. Jack B. Nimble. A minor Glasgow thug. Another one of Greenback's pawns. The wiry lizard had ambushed him in the overgrown courtyard, jumping onto his back from his blind side with claws ripping and tail lashing. He'd panicked. He'd overreacted. He'd used a nerve pinch too powerful for a reptile nervous system. Nimble was dead before he hit the paving stones.
Penfold didn't know a lot of the darker aspects of this job. Not yet. Penfold was still one of life's innocents. Yet, while Dangermouse was fighting off Greenback's hired muscle, Penfold had found the factory, sneaked inside, laid the explosives and called for reinforcements. The mouse glanced across at his assistant. He'd grown recently; nearly an inch, which was a lot for a hamster and left his too-big suit suddenly a touch on the small side. The hamster was growing up. Dangermouse swallowed slowly.
"Nimble's dead."
Penfold nodded, apparently not surprised.
"Did you kill him?"
"Yes." The mouse was very quiet.
"Did you have to?" The question was strangely lacking in accusation.
"I don't know."
Penfold nodded, and the pair lapsed into silence.
A few miles out of London, the Mark III videophone crackled into life. There were a few seconds of white noise as the secure channel stabilised, then Colonel K's rotund rodent face appeared on the screen.
"Ah, Penfold, DM." Dangermouse flinched inwardly. Yes, Penfold had saved the day, but no need to rub it in. Especially while his nose still hurt so much.
"What's your ETA?" the Colonel continued, "You should be home from Manchester by now."
"We were in Gladthsgow, Colonel."
"I beg your pardon DM?"
"Glasgow. Scodland.
"You have a head cold, DM?"
"No Colonel, by dose is boken."
"Your what?"
"By dose. Is boken."
"Well, stop off at a chemist and get something to clear it up. You sound like your nose is broken. Now, when are you likely to get back to Mayfair?"
"I'm nod sure. We have another stop."
"You do?"
"We do?" Penfold was too tired for the Colonel's conversational roundabout.
"Penfold did a very good job today. I think we need to stop at the guild hall."
The Colonel seemed surprised.
"Oh. Well. It's your decision I suppose. On your head be it." The Colonel signed off in a hurry. Penfold looked up, sleepy and confused. "What was all that about?"
"You'll see. Here we are."
Dangermouse parked the Mark III neatly in the alley behind the guild hall, and Penfold followed him to the side entrance. It was nearly two in the morning, but sounds of life filtered through the nondescript wooden door.
The small bar tucked at one end of the hall was still serving a dozen or so agents, drinking and playing darts and chatting. Penfold vaguely recognised a few of them, and they all seemed to know Dangermouse.
"'Allo, DM!"
"Come an' have something to warm the - what happened to you?"
"You want to get that snout seen to. That looks nasty."
"I'd hate to see the other bloke."
The greying plover behind the bar held up a glass with a questioning glance, but Dangermouse shook his head. Carefully.
"May I have the key to the chapel, please?"
The plover retrieved a heavy key from a hook behind the bar. It was ornate and goodness knows how old, with a swirling spiral design along the thick shaft.
Penfold had never been in the chapel, and it didn't look like that was about to change.
"You want us to babysit young Ernest for a while?"
"No, thank you. We're both going."
Penfold wondered why the drinking agents looked so surprised. He drew closer to his chief and shivered.
"DM?"
Dangermouse looked up from the lock. "Yes, Penfold?"
"Why does the guild hall even need a chapel?"
The ancient key turned smoothly, and the door opened. Penfold was surprised to see orange light glowing inside.
"Do you know how old the guild is, Penfold?"
"It goes back a frightfully long way, doesn't it?"
"Yes. All the way back." Dangermouse turned and went through the chapel door, beckoning Penfold to follow.
"What do you mean, 'all the way back'? How long does -" Penfold stopped. He stopped talking, stopped walking, and stared.
There were candles, candles massed on a stone bench in a wide circle, with a fire smouldering lazily in a rough hearth in the centre. Weapons were scattered between the candles like offerings, swords and other things Penfold couldn't make out in the gloom. It was hard to say how big the chapel was; outside the glow of the candles and the fire, the darkness seemed to stretch on forever. There was a gap in the bench wide enough to walk through. Dangermouse took Penfold's hand firmly, and stepped through into the circle.
Penfold moved in closer, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. A chill ran down his spine. A set of fire irons with a similar spiral design to the key lay near the fireplace, and Dangermouse prodded the fire into life. As it flared up, Penfold realised there was a statue standing in the centre of the circle, apparently surrounded by the flames.
"It's-"
"She. Not it." Dangermouse corrected firmly.
"But She's-"
"The reason the guild exists. She goes all the way back."
Penfold gazed up, and the statue seemed to look back. It was a woman hoisting a spear, proud and strong and obviously some sort of soldier, but that wasn't what struck Penfold first. It was obviously very, very old, and should probably have been in a glass case in a museum instead of a fireplace the East End, but that didn't occur to Penfold until later. He didn't even notice at first the heavy breast exposed by her robe. What he noticed was that She was a hamster.
She had the squinty look everyone in Penfold's family pulled when they weren't wearing their glasses, and was looking up sharply as though whatever She was about to run through with her spear was much bigger than She was. But She was not afraid. Penfold swallowed.
"Now, don't panic."
Penfold turned around, and jumped when he realised Dangermouse was holding a sword. Hysterical thoughts of hamster sacrifice ran through his head and he nearly backed into the fire as he tried to put some distance between himself and the sword-wielding warrior mouse.
"I said don't panic. It's old and blunt, and I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."
Maybe it was the weird shadows cast by the firelight, or the otherworldly atmosphere, or just the knowledge that Dangermouse had already killed someone that day, but Penfold didn't find the promise particularly reassuring.
The mouse hooked the blunt tip of the sword under the untidy knot of Penfold's tie. He gently levered the tie over his assistant's head, and flicked it into the flames.
"Hey! That was my tie! The Colonel gave me that!"
"What did it mean?" Dangermouse rested the tip of the sword on the floor and rested his hands on the hilt, like a stone knight on a tomb.
"Pardon?"
"What did it mean? Why are you upset?"
"Upset? I'm upset because it was my flipping tie you've gone and ruined and I'm going to need another one and it'll take all the money I've saved up for a new pair of knitting needles." Penfold wasn't sure where this was going. "And I need a new suit," he added.
"Why?"
"Because it's my uniform! I need it to do my job!"
"What if you didn't have that job?"
Penfold went quiet. Dangermouse hadn't moved and wasn't giving him any hints, just riddles. It wasn't at all like the Chief he knew, and it worried him.
"Are you going to have me sacked?" Penfold's blood froze. "You're worried I showed you up by clobbering Greenback before you could, and you're going to have me thrown out so it doesn't happen again." Penfold backed away, trying to find the gap in the circle so he could run for his life. "Chief, what's going on?" The mouse didn't move. He seemed to be waiting for something. Or maybe he'd just fallen asleep standing up.
Something about the statue caught Penfold's eye. He was standing face to face with Her. She was looking upwards, spear at the ready. She wasn't afraid. Penfold looked back at Dangermouse, still unmoving. He stopped backing away, and reached for a rusty looking sword nestling amongst the guttering candles. It felt far too heavy and Penfold didn't have a clue what to do with it even if he got back to Dangermouse without dropping the thing, but he swung it over his shoulder and the movement flowed surprisingly smoothly, as if the sword at least knew what it was doing.
The mouse didn't move until Penfold was within sword's reach. Dangermouse very gently pushed Penfold's sword sideways with his own, until it overbalanced and twisted from his grip, falling with a dull metallic noise that echoed deeply though the darkness. Penfold looked up, wary. Dangermouse was smiling. He threw his own sword aside.
"Well done, Penfold!"
He swept his assistant up into a warm, tired hug. Penfold relaxed a little, pleased to have back the Chief he knew. DM set Penfold back on his feet, and crouched down.
"Well done."
"I still have a job?"
"Of course."
"I'm still your assistant?"
"Of course not." Dangermouse put his arm around Penfold. "An assistant wouldn't challenge their agent like that. What you did shows a great deal more courage and resourcefulness."
Penfold tried to work out this strange, strange night. "Did I just get a promotion?"
"Yes." Dangermouse smiled. He didn't look like the world's greatest agent. He just looked tired. "You're a full agent now."
"Wow."
"However…" Dangermouse gave his former assistant a meaningful look.
"Yes?"
"I could use a partner."
Penfold reached out and hugged him. Dangermouse looked up from the hug to the statue, darkening as the fire died down again. Britannia gazed back at him, long legged and tall with Her bow ready, arm drawn back and ready to fire. Since his first visit to the chapel, so many years ago when it had been K wielding the blunt sword, he had wondered why the long forgotten sculptor had chosen to depict Her as a mouse, and what strange co-incidence made Her look so much like him.
Penfold yawned.
"You're right," DM agreed. "It's been quite a night."