Chapter Three - Is This Europe?

Kernel panic! Buffybot's eyes snapped open. She'd lost power for a moment and rebooted. Which meant, quite possibly, that she'd travelled between dimensions. Again! She got to her feet, and dusted herself off. There was a faint whumping sound above her, and she looked up to see the dragon's silhouette in the sky, growing rapidly smaller. She gazed around her, at the huddled houses and cobbled streets, thrilled to the core. This must be Europe. Everything was so small, and cramped, and above all, smelly! She gave a little skip, delighted to have a chance to see some authentic European squalor, and hear the natives talking with their funny accents. Spending time here was going to be the most tremendous fun. She squared her shoulders. First though, she should find a phone and ring Tara. She wouldn't want everyone at home to worry about her. She set off down the street looking for a phone booth, hanging the orb absently around her neck while leafing mentally through her encyclopaedia entry on how to make international phone calls.

Johnny 'Masher' McDougall jiggled the cut-throat razor in his pocket as he gazed at the young woman walking in front of him. She had a large gold knob on a chain slung casually about her neck, and the unmistakeable air of a tourist who is lost in an unfamiliar city. He shifted from one foot to the other, and groaned. Why didn't he have a licence for daylight robbery, and assault with a deadly weapon? Why had he wasted it earlier on that old man with that oh so promising sack over his shoulder, which had turned out to be nothing but cabbages?

Masher stared again at Buffybot's irrepressibly perky figure, and the back of her shiny blonde head, just as she took a turn from the main cobbled street and into one of the darkest, smelliest, bendiest, and above all quietest blind alleys in the Shades. He broke into a run after her. It was too much to resist. And he hadn't taken the cabbages after all, and the old man might survive that head blow for all he knew. Morally speaking, that licence was still unused.

Buffybot wandered slowly down the alley, making use of her excellent night vision to stare at the fascinating vernacular architecture around her. There were broken cobbles shifting beneath her feet, under a thick layer of straw, dung, soil and coal dust. The walls were coated in some sort of lime plaster that had fallen off in large chunks, laying in crumbling piles and revealing a chaotic infill of stones and mortar. Water dripped down the walls and black evil-looking mould sprouted from every crack and flaw.

Buffybot drew a happy sigh. This was great. Way more cute, and quaint, and historical, than even the county courthouse in Sunnydale, which was only a hundred years old, if that, and very clean. She drew an appreciative breath, taking in the competing scents of dirt, decay, stagnation, and the persistent reek of stale urine that permeated the alley. Now that was what she called authentic!

The sound of approaching stealthy footsteps came to her super-sensitive ears. She turned, using her super keen eyesight to pick out the approaching crouched figure, and the glint of metal in his hand. A broad grin split her face. Hoorah! It was an authentic native European mugger, coming her way. She flexed her knees and prepared to kick him where it hurt most.

Masher crept forward into the darkness of the alley. He'd lost sight of his victim, but she couldn't be far ahead, and there was no way out without brushing past him. His mouth stretched into a feral grin; this was going to be good. And there she was. Standing to face him, with her puny little fists held up in front of her like a featherweight boxer. His grin stretched even more broadly. This pretty little pigeon was too pigeon-brained even to run. He crept forward, razor at the ready, and then jumped. As he did so, his victim blurred into motion and a fist crash landed on his nose, just as a dainty but pointed boot travelled upwards into his privates. He screamed and collapsed into the dung and straw of the alley. And as he tried convulsively to get his legs working again and stagger to his feet, a heavy boot fell on his shoulder, and he heard a familiar voice uttering a very familar phrase.

"Hello Masher. You're nicked." And then another heavy boot accidentally connected with his forehead, and he passed out.

"Oops," said Nobby Nobbs, "clumsy me."

"Foot slipped, did it, Nobby?" Fred Colon bent over the reclining figure of Masher. There was a click of handcuffs, and then he straightened, puffing a bit. "Now, Miss," he said, gazing at Buffybot reprovingly, "What's going on here, then?"

Buffybot gazed at the new arrivals. The first was large and fat and red, while the other was small and rather hard to see under his baggy uniform, and helmet. It was just possible he was a monkey, but she thought he was probably human, which was a shame. She liked monkeys. Also they both had breastplates, and helmets, and little square swords. It was so quaint! She zinged her very best white-toothed smile at them, and they gawped. "I'm the Buffy Bot, and I'm looking for a phone booth to call Tara. Then I have to find the dragon and give its orb back. This bad man tried to rob me so I kicked him in the testicles. Thank you both for saving me," she added kindly, "though I could have kicked him in the testicles again of course."

Sergeant Fred Colon recovered from this announcement first, and touched the peak of his helmet. "I see, Miss. Yes, well, that makes it all much clearer." He winked at Nobby. "Now, then," he said kindly, "we've got to haul this here miscreant off to the lock-up, before the Thieves Guild get him. Maybe you ought to come along with us, Miss. And you can send a message from there."

"Oooh! Are you a policeman?" Buffybot asked eagerly. "Can I try on your helmet?"

Fred and Nobby looked at each other, uncertain. Buffybot was the cleanest, shiniest person they'd ever seen. And clearly she was stark raving bonkers, wandering through the Shades with a piece of jewellery the size of a small cannonball slung around her neck. But on the other hand, she was also very, very pretty.

"Can she try on your helmet, Fred?" said Nobby at last.

Fred thought, heavily, sucking his teeth. "I don't recall an actual regulation says we can't let members of the public try on our helmets, Nobby. Not as such." He thought a bit more. Of course, if the loony ran off with his helmet and he had to explain to the Commander that he'd given it her, he could just imagine some of the words that might be spoken. And they were of the withering and sarcastic variety. He nodded, once. "No reason you can't lend her your helmet, Nobby, none at all."

He looked over at Buffybot, who clapped her hands, thrilled. "Fancy being a Member of the Watch, do you, Miss?" he said indulgently.

"Oh yes!" cried Buffybot. "I'd love it. Where do I sign?"

End chapter