The Unknown Necromancer stepped out of the door, thanked it's guard then strode briskly down the street. Once she'd rounded the corner she broke into a fast trot and didn't stop running until she'd put three streets between herself and the 'House of Fun'.
She'd walked out of Hengest's room after waiting half an hour, dressed in the dead Henerik's shirt and Hengest's britches. The shirt was too tight and the legs of the britches too long but beggars couldn't be choosers. She'd also hacked her distinctive three-foot braid back to shoulder length where it still covered her Elven ears. Just to make sure she had been wearing the widest brimmed of Henerik's hats too. She'd pulled the hat low over her face and stridden out confidently, just as if she were another customer. She'd left him bound, gagged and unconscious in his room, and shut the door behind her quietly. He might be able to wriggle out in a couple of hours if he was fast enough.
She turned over Hengest's information in her mind. In between the babbled pleas for his life he'd given her the password for the gate to Yaggis Compound for that afternoon. Sadly it was too late for it to be of any use to her, but after a bit more threatening, he came up with something far more interesting to her. He'd volunteered about his cohort, who he only referred to as Minos. The gateguard where organised in a quasi-military hierarchy. Minos was his shift's sergeant, and was entrusted with the next shift's password. This allowed the previous shift to enter into the compound, which, Hengest told the wizard, was considered a separate area from the House itself, where security was far tighter. Even better Minos had stolen a key to the gate's portal opening. Take him and they had a way into and out of the compound. Struck by a sudden suspicion, she'd asked Hengest why Henerik had been in the room he'd reserved with Minos and Henna. He'd looked away at that but eventually admitted that Henerik had been waiting for Minos, who'd been turned away at the door for brawling the last time he'd been there. Smiling at this new information the Unknown Necromancer walked unseeing through the streets, scheming about how to wrinkle the sergeant out of his pub. Behind her a large black cat watched the Hungry Hobbit from across the street.
She turned the final corner and almost bumped straight into the priest.
Covering her surprise she asked "Have you got the horses?"
"Yup," he nodded suspiciously "They're quartered in the stables. We'll have to pick them when we're ready."
"Have you sold the candles?"
Ron nodded wordlessly, worried by her bland expression. She'd had the same look back in the temple when she was trying to talk him into joining this mad scheme.
"Give me the money," she demanded holding out her hand.
He handed over a leather pouch and she frowned in concentration.
"Just give me a minute. There's going to be one or two things I need to pick up, then we're going to see a friend of mine. After that...well we'll then see," she said sweetly, smiling at Ronald.
The Cleric began to feel uneasy. She was being nice to him. That spelt trouble.
The wizard stepped into the shop and returned several minutes latter with a tape measure. She carefully took Ron's measurements then disappeared into the store again. When she returned the purse was a good deal lighter and she was carrying a leather jockstrap, huge pair of leather fishnet tights, a huge black cloak and a make-up kit, which she proceeded to bundle into the bag while the Ceric watched suspiciously.
"What are we going to do with that stuff?" he asked.
"When I left you I watched the compound where Torfindel and the others are being held. When their guard shifts changed I followed the commander of the day watch to a whorehouse where he was beaten up by his ex-mount's big sister, a girl called Henna, in revenge for a pasting he handed her little brother the last time he was there. He then staggered off into some pub opposite where I have no doubt he'll still be, drunk, broke and horny. He's got the keys to the gate and the day's password. That'll be current until the sun goes down and the evening watch turns in for the night shift. We still need to get him though, and we can't do that while he's in the pub. We need to lure him out with a decoy and we'll need help to subdue him when we do. What we're going to do with this stuff is..." she trailed off and gave the Cleric an endearing look before standing on tiptoes and whispering in his ear. Ron's expression twisted through interest, shock, horror then outrage.
Everyone standing inside the Store suddenly heard a deep voice shout "YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT?!!!!"
The Necromancer and the Cleric hurried down the cobbled street towards Oglad's Pie Shop still arguing over the details of the mage's honey trap.
"I still can't believe you want a member of the clergy to impersonate a rentboy, and a street one at that!" snarled the Cleric "you could have at least given me some clas-"
"Look, we've been over this twenty times tonight," repeated the Necromancer wearily "We need Minos. He holds the postern keys and has this afternoon's password. That's still valid until six- by which time we'll be inside the compound. He's on his own and half-drunk by now. He can't get his usual lay. It's perfect. Is it my fault the Gods made him gay?"
"It's these clothes," moaned the Cleric. "I'll look ridiculous for Corriellion Levethian's sake! Have you ever met a whore? None of them'd be seen dead in stuff like this! In fact they would dead if they wore these clothes. It'd be a race between the psychos and the cold to see which got them first. Half of them are addicts! They all wear normal gear! Anything else is just too much trouble."
The Necromancer shot her partner a curious look.
"How would you know anything about prostitutes?" she grinned at him, raising her eyebrows. The Cleric was having none of it however.
"You try hanging around on the streets preaching in the evening," Ron said wearily "Usually them and the mushheads are the only audience I have. They say listening helps pass them the evening. They can't understand a word of Elvish of course but they like the hymns."
"Yes..." drew out the Necromancer thoughtfully "Anyhow I've already told you why we need the costume. He's going to be drunk. We need to make it obvious to him. Unless you want to tattoo 'get it here big boy'over your forehead?"
Ronald flushed and whined "Couldn't you just ensorcell him? Save all this trouble?"
The Unknown Necromancer scowled, unpleasant memories of the cathouse bubbling to the surface of her mind.
"I've used the only spell of that kind I had prepared already today, and there isn't the time to memorise it again!" she snapped. "Besides," she continued "we're trying to be inconspicuous. How do you think people will react if I just walked up to him in the middle of a bar and did this?"
She struck an exaggerated spell casting pose as she spoke. The Cleric rolled his eyes and gestured at the entrance to Oglad's Pie Shop. "I just hope you know what you're doing, that's all," he said. "I always know what I'm doing," stated the wizard flatly, and she yanked Oglad's door open and in they stepped. The interior of the Pie shop was old and crumbling. Various rusty agricultural implements hung unused from the walls. The floorboards, stained and splintered, creaked under the weight of the pair as they stepped forwards. At this time the Shop was just beginning to fill up with the evening trickle of customers, and was nearly deserted.Ignoring Oglad's inquiring glance the Unknown Necromancer threaded her way through tables still cluttered with the lunchtime rubbish to a female Hobbit seated by the window. Dressed in well cared for leather armour, she sat slumped in front of a half-eaten omelette, unmoving. Ron pursed his lips sympathetically. Oglad's meals tended to get you like that.
The Unknown Necromancer stopped abruptly beside the recumbent Hobbit as a familiar smell hit her nostrils. She looked sharply down at the half-eaten omelette in front of her. Carefully picking up a slice she nibbled off a small piece which she immediately spat out.
"Deep and empty!" she swore incredulously "I thought I recognised that smell. The taste seals it- that omelette," she gestured for the Cleric's inquiring gaze "is laced with mushrooms." She reached down and began picking up chunks. "Look here's a banger. This one's a Button, these are M & Ms, all sorts. No wonder she's comatose. I don't understand this. This omelette's worth a small fortune. There's no way Yeseld could have afforded it, and she'd have needed to rob a dozen mushheads to collect this lot. Plus it's always been rootbeer she's been after before."
Ronald looked about nervously.
"This could be a trap," he said uneasily "they know she's one of your friends and they're watching us-"
"Don't be stupid," said the mage scathingly "we'd have been picked up by now."
She turned and gestured at the deserted shop. "And this place is just so crawling with gangsters-"
She was interrupted by a blood-curdling scream behind her, followed by a sudden crash. Whirling around and half drawing their blades they saw Yesel standing bolt upright. Her chair lay fallen behind her. Pale faced, her face glazed with horror she pointed straight at the Necromancer and moaned "Spider. Big. Green. Crawly-"
"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" whispered the wizard frantically, frozen in place. Her eyes darted frenziedly round, seeking. "Find it," she whispered from the corner of her mouth to Ron.
The Cleric grinned at her.
"You don't like spiders do you?" he asked teasingly "Oh hold on, it's a big one alright. Here, just let me..."
Clumsily he leaned forwards and plucked something off the Necromancer's hair. She screamed and crashed forwards onto the table.
The Cleric held up piece of leaf for closer inspection and said innocently "Oops. My mistake. Are you alright?"
The Unknown Necromancer shot the priest a glare that promised they would discuss this later. The Hobbit meanwhile had sunk into a foetal position on the ground where she was twitching and moaning. She shook her head as if to clear it, and looked at the pair standing over her.
"Hurry! Get me to my room. Ooowwwwgods here comes the rush again- arrggh! Please! No, notthespidersagain-uggh."
There was a thud as her head hit the ground again and she lapsed into unconsciousness.
Ron knelt down and gently took her pulse, which fluttered madly. Ever the intellect the Cleric glanced up at the wizard and said "She's semi-conscious, but hallucinating intermittently. Her pulse is racing."
The Necromancer dropped into a crouch next to Ronald and picked up the Hobbit by her shoulders.
"You take her legs," she ordered brusquely "Come on! We'll take up to her room. It's only across the street. We can't do anything for her here."
Ignoring the curious onlookers the two lifted the Hobbit between them and carried her through the door. Outside, one supporting her on each shoulder, they set off back to the run down tenancy which Ysel called home. The mage's Elven memory had stored the whereabouts of Yelsd's room perfectly, right down to the stench, and finding the Hobbit's room presented them no difficulty. Entering was harder. Ysel had locked her door. Knowing the absent landlord would be no use whatsoever, and with no key, the exasperated Cleric simply kicked the flimsy obstacle in. Two minutes latter a chair was under the door handle as a makeshift lock, and Ysel was thrashing around in her own bed. The Cleric stood off to the side of the room gazing out of the window while the Necromancer looked on at her friend pensively. They needed a third partner to for her rescue bid. The Cleric looked up at her. She looked back at the Cleric.
"It's a lot of power to use up on a non-Elf," he said doubtfully "Plus she's a thief. I have to tell you I'm not comfortable about it."
"We need her,"
"Plus she's your friend, mmh? We're not supposed to use our powers for family gain. Priests are here for the community," said the Cleric, giving her a considering stare.
"This particular community would kill you if they found you helping me. They've no use for you anyway; they're not Elves. You've picked your side already," pointed out the mage "Now you and me will be inside that compound. We need a third person. Someone to guard our backs and watch the horses. Ysel is the only person outside that jail that I'd trust. And yes, she is a thief, and that's precisely why I want her. Who better to have with you on a break in?"
"A better thief perhaps. Certainly one in better condition," observed Ronald dryly.
"This one will owe us a big debt, and that's a big favour to have with someone. I trust her. No other independent thief in this town would cross the Milosevices for the amount we could offer, and the Kostunitsas won't help us. Too petty for them, plus it's an internal feud. They'll respect the old traditions if there's no gain in it for them. That reason enough for you, you uncompromising bastard?" snapped the Unknown Necromancer. "I admit I want to make her right again anyway," she admitted "What friend would I be if I didn't try? It hurts me to see her like this. I want her to be up and about so I can bash her ears for being so stupid. But the decisions yours."
The Cleric sucked his teeth for a moment then nodded sharply, as if listening to an internal dialogue.
Avoiding her eyes he said "Okay, I'll try. I always carry some Delay Poison scrolls with me anyway. So many people here need them what with the mushrooms. I can't get rid of everything she's taken though, there's just too many. I can cure the worst, but she'll still be confused and vapid. I'm doing this strictly for the rescue of course."
The Necromancer rolled her eyes skyward, then decided reluctantly to let him keep up his pretence. She suspected that if he'd been on his own Ysel would be up and moving by now without any of the theological soul-searching, but decided to apply restraint. For now…
"Priests!" was her only comment.
The Cleric removed his helmet and cloak and hung them from the door peg. He laid Ysel out on her back on the filthy floor and knelt next to her. He took her pulse and waited patiently until she'd quietened. Judging her ready, he realised her wrist and sank back, beginning the chant he'd been taught as a novice. Slowly he fell into a trance. When he had closed off all sensation from the outside world, he imagined the room as he had last seen it, but with his perspective from above. Holding this image in his brain, he then allowed his awareness to seep out of himself, until he was in fact floating above his entranced body. Careful to keep his body in sight he opened his mind's eye to the flows of magic.
He would take his time here. A priest directs the magical energy they receive from their prayers in much the same way as a wizard or sorcerer. As each spell is fully formed and memorised in their minds after every prayer session usually a simply word and gesture is all that is needed, even in serious healing. But if a healing spell is not to be wasted a priest must know what it is they are curing. Ronald wanted to direct his spells to specific poisons, and the Hobbit had half a dozen of them in her system.
To Ronald she appeared translucent, as did the entire scene below him to his spirit eyes. Only her network of arteries and veins, filled with magic-tainted juices held any trace texture or colour. Her small form was criss-crossed with dozens of streamers, each a mushroom consumed. The Cleric counted five different colours, each hue a different species.
Summoning the power contained in the scrolls he mouthed a quick prayer to his God before reaching out and touching one of the streamers, a rancid yellow colour. Like a lightning bolt earthing itself, a network of gold power flashed out from his finger, each line striking a yellow streamer and neutralising it, purging the Hobbit's system of the drug. As Ron watched one streamer began to dissipate, smoking away into a dense fog above the Hobbit's body, before drifting apart. Working quickly now the Cleric repeated the spell twice more, leaving only a mild blue and a blood red mixing through the thief's body. Having no more spell scrolls effective against the poisons he withdrew himself back into his own body and slowly opened his eyes.
In front of the Cleric, Ysel groaned and feebly pulled herself upright. Wincing theatrically in the gloomy room, she gave a start of surprise when she noticed the other two occupants. Fighting against the fogginess in her mind she cursed her carelessness in checking the stolen mushrooms. How she came to be in her own rooms with the Necromancer and a lanky Half-Elf towering over her she didn't know, but it was infinitely preferable to being chucked unconscious out onto the streets of Lower Wyrmling. She groaned again in greeting to the wizard, who knelt down and placed a hand across her forehead.
"How are you feeling, little one?" she asked in a motherly fashion.
Before the thief could answer another voice cut across her fragile consciousness, this one crisp and impersonal, the detached tone of someone engaged in their professional capacity.
"Her body is dehydrated and tired, but in perfect psychical health. Motor control will be returning to normal, although she'll have one bad reaction-headache from all those spells. Too much magic in too short a space of time," said the Cleric. He frowned in thought, then continued "Mentally, she's still under the influence of two mild strains of mushrooms. She'll be short of temper, underestimate risks, lose concentration easily and be prone to hallucinations if placed under extreme stress."
"Is she fit to help us?" asked the Unknown Necromancer over the nettled Hobbit's head.
"She's fine. Just don't ask her to unpick three locks while running on a rotating barrel," replied the Cleric.
Feeling slightly like sack meat being inspected for its quality Ysel pettily stepped on the Necromancer's foot to gain her attention. When the elf looked down in annoyance she smirked back up at her.
"I'm fine Neccy," she said, using the pet name the wizard hated.
"In that case some thanks might be in order," snapped the Elf.
"Oh yes," said Ysel hurriedly "Many thanks, many thanks. Much gratitude felt. But three questions. One, how did I get here? Two, who is Kettlehead over there, and three, what has he just done to me?"
Ignoring the Clerics muttered comments about the sins of ingratitude, the mage smiled down at her friend's brashness.
'Typical of a Hobbit to smart-mouth us,' she thought.
"Ysel, this here is Ronald," she said "He's a priest. We found you splayed out at Oglad's and brought you here. He used healing magic to get you back on your feet."
The Cleric shyly stuck a hand out, which, was taken warily by the Hobbit.
"My friends call me Ron," he said with a bashful smile.
"Nice to meet you."
"Ysel, when we found you we weren't just passing through," said the Unknown Necromancer tentatively "We're in a bit of a fix right now, and we came to get your help."
Ysel paused, her thoughts working furiously. The Hobbit was a caperous creature, with a strong streak of mischief in her. She resented obligations being imposed upon her especially by custom or law. She hadn't asked for the priest's help and now she was beholden to him for his gift. But she was also given to impetuous acts of generosity. The Necromancer was one of her few friends in this town. And the Cleric had expended a lot of power on a stranger with no guarantee he would have the favour returned. Her survival instincts warned her against unnecessarily exposing herself to danger, whilst her sense of adventure, stirred by drugs tingled in anticipation. Aren't you bored? It whispered to her. Here was the chance for some action!
Whilst she warred with her thoughts she studied the pair in front of her with heightened awareness. With a surge of shock she realised that the Unknown Necromancer's usually indomitable expression had been replaced by a subdued one. She sat huddled, her cloak pulled tight around her. Next to her the Cleric sat hunched and grim-faced. They both had a hunted air about them.
The silence in the room had strained to breaking point. The Necromancer leaned forward.
"Ysel?" she asked softly.
A Cheshire cat grin spread over the Hobbit's face. She patted the bed beside her.
"Come and tell us your problem," she said.
It was getting late as the three of them hurried up to the Hungry Hobbit. The Necromancer shooed the reluctant Cleric and his thief shadow across to the mouth of a fetid alleyway. With practised ease the Hobbit faded into the darkness, trying to ignore the dizziness she felt. The trouble was it was just so difficult to concentrate!
The wizard meanwhile sank on her knees and scooped up the black cat, which, had trotted across the street to meet her. It purred contentedly as she scratched it under its chin.
"Hello Smokey, how is our prey?" she thought-sent him.
Her familiar sent her a back an image of a deserted street, as well as a pulse of boredom. Cats are restless creatures. Smokey wanted some action. Trying not to laugh, the mage sent him a mental picture of a huge mouse dressed in Minos's clothes pinned under a paw squeaking frantically. The cat stretched and yawned, unsheathing its claws before stalking off to the alleyway in pretend indifference. Ignoring her familiar, the Necromancer, walked into the smoky interior of the tavern and watched for her man. She found him seated alone, close to the entrance. He hugged a final solitary jack to himself, empties spread out in front of him.
She walked straight towards him, making no attempt to disguise the fact that she was intent upon him. He looked up as she neared him and his expression changed from one of glazed misery to glazed wariness. With a look of rat-like cunning his hands disappeared under the table, and the wizard guessed there was some sort of weapon trained on her. She stopped while the table was still between them and spread out her hands.
"Evening basher, y'up for business?" she asked evenly.
His face twisted into a sneer, but he visibly relaxed. A whore wasn't a threat.
"Am not interested in ya girl. Beat it."
He waved at her dismissivly, but the Necromancer was not to be moved. She leaned across the table to him.
"I'm not for sale. He's waiting outside, at the alley mouth. Come to the door and see?" she asked.
Suspicion warred with interest on Minos's ugly face. Interest won, the drink he had consumed overcoming caution.
"Aye, but only to the door mind. An' your goin' first girl."
He stood up, weaving unsteadily, and she saw that he carried a small crossbow pistol, not quite aimed at her. Yet. Tensely she led the way back to the alehouse entrance. The Milosevic gate guard lurched after her boozily. She pushed open the door and turned to the side, beckoning the Cleric across. Minos lurched forwards and leaned against the doorframe. Upon seeing the Cleric draw closer, his cloak still drawn around him he finally lowered the crossbow pistol and leered appreciatively. As they'd rehearsed the Cleric halted legs akimbo in front of Minos and, as if opening a pair of curtains spread his cloak open. He held the pose for a heartbeat, giving Minos a flash of fishnet stockings and bulging thighs, before dropping the protective cloak back again. He paused and shot a poisonous glare at a street tramp who'd whistled his appreciation, before teetering on pink strap-on high heels back to the alleyway.
Minos screwed his face up in thought.
"Yeesss, why not," he slurred to himself "How much?"
The wizard watched him cautiously, trying to judge how much money he had left.
"For you, the special first-time rate of two gold pieces," she said.
"Two bloody coins! Is that all you think I'm worth! Bog off! Hang on one minute, I'm coming over here to handle this myself."
"Deal," said Minos hurriedly passing the coins to her.
There was a crash from the alley where Ron had toppled over his heels, and was now clawing at the wall trying to right himself while his cloak flapped freely in the wind. The old tramp was laughing and slapping his knees while Minos fugitively tried to cross the street without swaying. The Necromancer clapped her hand over eyes and sighed.
The Cleric had just hauled himself upright when Minos arrived. The drunk squeezed the priest's backside hard, before grasping him by his cloak fastener, and dragging him staggering, deeper into the alley. With a smile the mage sprinted across the street herself, and plunged into the shadows.
Ysel woke from her trance as the pair crashed down the alley. The pink fairies dissolved in front of her eyes as she fought against the mushrooms to remember what she was doing here. Acting more on instinct then thought she hefted the blackjack in her hand and stepped out of her pool of darkness as the first man passed her. Her attack was a Hobbit classic as the blackjack shot out and crunched into the man's knee. He howled in sudden pain and pitched forward, dragging the second man, who Ysel dimly recognised, down with him. This was unfortunate for him as the club smashed into the front of his skull as she completed her backstroke.
Minos lay shocked on the floor of the alleyway, his left kneecap smashed, pinned under the weight of the stunned Cleric. Fumbling for his dagger he had no hand free to protect his face when a black shape launched itself at him and scrapped its claws down his cheeks. His screams ended abruptly as Ysel struck the right head the second time. The wizard arrived in time to see the Hobbit standing sheepishly over the two felled Big Folk, her blackjack behind her back while Smokey cleaned his fur in the corner, as if denying any responsibility.
"Another triumph I see," she said acidly.
Together they managed to pull the groaning Ronald off the unconscious form of Minos and propped him against the wall. Ysel leaned down and slapped his face, trying to hurry him round. The Cleric shot to his feet as if stung, and Ysel left the ground with him, with a squeak of alarm. The wizard tried not to laugh as the unfortunate Hobbit dangled by her wrist, her face inches from Ron's furious expression.
"The next time I'm clobbered by you Munchkin, I'll use you as a football for the next three streets!" he hissed.
He would have gone on but the wizard broke in sharply "Come over here Ron, he's out cold. We can't question him like this!"
Muttering the priest dropped the Hobbit into a heap on the floor and stalked over to inspect their prisoner. Behind him Ysel picked herself up and pulled a face at his retreating back, before sighing and giving the prisoner a quick frisking. Having relieved him of his crossbow pistol, keys and a hidden knife, she nodded to Ron to begin to awaken him.
Ronald glanced briefly at Minos's injuries, but ignored them. They weren't immediately life threatening and with any luck the pain would help shorten the interrogation. Bringing Minos round was quickly accomplished by the priest. A brief gesture and a word of power and a gallon of water of freezing water spun out of the air drenched the unfortunate Minos back to wakefulness. The Cleric began pulling his clothes back on, waiting for Minos to come back to full wakefulness, but the Necromancer was acutely aware of time passing. Last minute traffic would hold up the closing of the compound's gates for the night, but not forever. She reached out and slapped him back to wakefulness. He awoke to a circle of faces staring down at him.
He opened his eyes and glared at her, but made no move to grab her; Ysel was covering him with his crossbow pistol.
"Mr Minos," said the Unknown Necromancer.
It wasn't a question. Minos's eyes widened as he realised this wasn't an ordinary robbery. She waved the set of keys in front of him. He made a half-grab but stopped the motion as the Cleric, cat and Ysel all started forwards.
"Mr Minos," repeated the Necromancer evenly "We need the evening password for the side gate of Yaggis House. We know you know it. You're on the gate guard, and you need to get back inside yourself. Understand we will get it one way or the other. You can tell us willingly, or be… persuaded."
Minos was still drunk. Ignoring his knee he stared with drunken contempt at the Elf.
"Run along girl and go back to your dolls. You don't scare me," he sneered.
He felt himself picked up and slammed upside down against the wall. The blood rushed to his head, and when he opened his eyes he founded himself face-to face with a leather-clad Hobbit holding a blackjack. Her pupils were wide open, and dribble run down open side of her slightly open mouth. The stench of 'bangers' rolled off her breath. It dawned on Minos that he was face to face with a crazy.
Somewhere behind two figures blocking the sun the Unknown Necromancer said, "That was the wrong answer Mr Minos."
Gurney the tramp watched enviously as the guard and the prostitute staggered into the alley. He was just about to shuffle off and see if he could find any drunken bashers to thieve from when he noticed that the Elven woman who had pimped the boy had crossed into the alley mouth. Always on the look out for anything unusual he settled down to watch her progress. It helped pass the time plus occasionally someone would pay for information.
He wasn't particularly surprised when she drew her dagger and charged up the alley suddenly. To his experienced eye it had already begun to look like a robbery, probably ending with murder.
"Milo might pay to know who offed one of his shift," he thought happily, thinking of the extremely paranoid human who stewarded the mansion gates of the local Milosevic pad. He hated being inconvenienced like that. After all if someone began offing gate guards then Milo was only a step above.
He didn't have to wait long. Just as he settled down to watch he heard a babble of voices, followed by a thud as something heavy slapped into the alley wall. As he would latter recount tremblingly to Boss Pretzel himself, the next few moments sounded something like this:
Krummptsplash.
"Nnnghhhowowarrgh-"
Krunch.
Classsshung.
"Arrrggghh-"
Splat.
Slugggh.
Smack.
Smack.
Smack.
Smack.
"Whuun,"
"Whoaaaaa-"
Crack.
"MMMmmmuhhh…"
"Are you ready to talk yet?" said a female Elven voice.
"Sod off, bitch," came a croak Gurney thought might be Minos.
"Wrong answer again," said the Elven voice with a distinctly impatient overtone.
"Arrrgghh! No! Not the cat! Not the catnotthe-"
"Arrrrrrrrggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-"
Screee, scree, scree.
"NAAAggghhhhhh!"
"Crash,"
"OOOhhhhhh…"
"He's ready," another Elven voice said, this one a deeper masculine one.
"Mr Minos, it's really up to you," said the first voice sweetly "Either you can tell us the password, or…
Gurney didn't hear any more at this point as he was high-tailing it off to warn Milo when he tripped arse over tip over a piece of trash left in the gutter and knocked himself clean out.
After the tramp's abrupt exit from the realm of consciousness three figures cautiously poked their heads out and took in the deserted street. One broke away and returned with a string of horses, over which a fourth form was hastily flung. They cantered off, leaving the road deserted, except for a little black cat, which trotted up to the alleyway mouth and began to clean itself contentedly. Presently it cocked its head, as if hearing a voice only it could sense. With a growl of irritation it trotted off towards a large whitewashed compound across the other side of the village.
Brother Cadel of the order of the Raving Mad Atheist Monks of Heironeous was quietly brushing down the steps of his order's ornate temple when a thundering sound made him look up. He had just enough time to sink into a terrified crouch around his broom before the herd of horses was upon him. They crashed over and around him leaving the monk shaking with fear but miraculously unharmed. Such was the shock to his wits it took him several minutes to notice the prone figure beside him, unceremoniously jettisoned from a passing horse.