Sira Sinistra is a rising star agent for the Covert Covenant, the international agency for magical intelligence. After a botched mission – not her fault thank you very much! – she has been sent on a mundane dimplomatic mission to chaperone dragon researchers. But mundane is the last word that describes the dragon research world, particularly when certain dragon tamers are involved.
The last time Sira had been afraid to go to the toilet, she was a toddler in pre-school. This time around, she was a fully-grown, toilet-trained twenty-six year old woman with a persistent pressure in her bladder.
The problem was, any chance of relieving herself meant moving from her current position. Sira was laying prone under the cover of low woodlands foliage. Even to squat in the neighbouring shrubbery, just one metre away, would mean making alerting the campers ahead of her to her whereabouts. She was seriously considering just wetting herself and calling it a day. Unfortunately – or fortunately, you might argue – she had vague recollections of a colleague telling her a cautionary tale over a round of beers about the pungent smells emitted by synthetic Hippogriff-infused fibres when in contact with urine. The sort of fibres her backup tactical pants were made out of. Or at least, she had a gnawing suspicion that they might be, and that was just as bad.
More than that, her chosen bush shelter was in such close proximity to the campsite that she was worried the sizeable amount of liquid in her bladder would lead to an alarmingly sizeable puddle, thus also alerting the campers to her presence. All her knowledge of personal hygiene spells from base camp were useless too. She had been deprived of her wand for two days. It had disintegrated during the disastrous first phase of the operation, which partly explained her current predicament. Sira shouldn't even have been in her under-shrub position in the first place.
There was only one thing for it. She was going to have to retreat, and quickly.
Of course, this was easier said than done. Sira had rather successfully become one with the woodlands during the past 36 hours. Any movement on her part would be giving the campers a serious clue that she was there. Not as big a clue as pissing herself would entail, but still a real risk.
She would have to ever so gradually shift herself backwards, still prone, until all but her camouflaged head was shrouded by the dense tree leaves behind her. Then she would have to creep away, step by step, backwards, until she was out of earshot of the campsite. From there she would have to tramp back to her camp a mile away, disguised in a large tree trunk, and from there make it back to the nearest rendezvous point, a dirty flat in a small village not far away. All without the aid of magic, thanks to her partner Dickson's complete idiocy.
Sira had dedicated four weeks of unrelenting, back-breaking fieldwork to this mission, not to mention the months of research and planning that had come before that. This mission was the biggest mission she'd been on in her entire career. The last thing she wanted to do was admit defeat and abandon her chance at collecting vital intelligence (and career progression).
Sira knew, though, there was one possibility even worse than tarnishing her field record: compromising the mission. If the campers detected her, it meant the entire operation was in jeopardy.
There was nothing for it at this point. As shameful as it may have been to admit, Sira's bladder was to be the downfall of the most important mission of her life. So much for rising star in the academy.
The shuffle phase of retreat was the most nerve-wracking. It was simultaneously the most noisy and the most likely to press on her bladder. To her immense relief, her strategic choice to enact Phase Shuffle while the campers were trying to start a fire turned out to be the right move.
You'd think that international magical fugitives would be adept enough to light a satisfactory campfire but you'd be wrong. Camper A wanted big flames so they would provide some warmth to his tent (slightly questionable), but couldn't get the spell right. The fire vacillated between pitiful and comically enormous. Camper B wanted blue flames, for some convoluted and frankly daft reason. Campers C, D and E couldn't care less – they simply wanted enough heat to so they didn't have to eat wand reheated fish for a fourth night in a row – but they were not anywhere near the top of the international magical fugitive food chain. And so a vigorous argument ensued with sufficient snapping of logs and tempers to allow Sira to carry out Phase Shuffle undetected.
It was Phase Creep where it all went wrong. Camper A was so resolutely determined to prove that his fire was the best option that he managed to send sparks into several areas of the surrounding undergrowth. The first (but not last) patch to catch alight was the very dry shrub that Sira had been contemplating turning into a makeshift defecation station. That is to say, the bush next her went up in flame, drawing the attention of the campers and completely illuminating her entire body.
Campers B, C, D and E all yelled out in shock and turned their wands on her.
Sira did not hesitate for even a beat. Mere milliseconds after she'd started sprinting away from camp, a stunning spell soared past her shoulder. You've got to give it to fugitives; they may not always demonstrate magical precision but their reflexes are up there with the best of them.
Sira ran in between and around large trees, across stream-carved paths. Her way was conveniently, if frighteningly, lit up by the light of stunners and immobilisers whizzing near her person. One jet of light looked suspiciously bright green, although its trajectory was so off course that Sira thought it could have been more a turquoise colour.
A minute or two into the chase she felt the impact and pull of an expelliarmus but without her wand or anything in her hands, it didn't impede her escape.
She breathed in and out in regular spurts, the muscles in her leg searing with the effort of the chase. The campers were closing in on her slowly but surely, damn them! She took a sharp right and then left around a large boulder to try and get them off her tail. But she stumbled over a tree root in the dark as she cornered, due to a lull in the onslaught of spells.
Ignoring the gravel rash on her palm and sting in her eyes, she charged on. Sira was pure adrenaline at this point. No more fancy tactics, just hard running, straight to the tree trunk. Sira frantically grabbed at the items stashed within the large oak tree. She hoisted the pack on her shoulder and set off sprinting again, fumbling to attach a sleek utility belt around her waist.
The campers gave up the chase soon after this pitstop. At the time Sira put it down to her cunning and athletic ability. However, for all her quick thinking, Sira had led the campers directly to her little hiding spot. In her little hiding spot, and in her haste, she'd left behind a crucial item. Camper A, when he finally lumbered up to the point where Campers B, C and E were gathered, recognised it at once as belonging to agents of the Covert Covenant. The campers rushed back to their camp. Camper D was still attempting to douse flames and prevent a wildfire but five minutes later and they had all apparated their separate ways, now clued into the fact that they were being monitored by the magical world's international intelligence agency.
Unaware of this development, and paranoid that she was still being followed, Sira jogged the remaining distance to the village. Panting, exhausted and decidedly ragged-looking, she did not slow to a walk until reached the dingy safe house.
Several locals sitting in the window seats of next door's coffee house spared her a glance as she scurried by. Usually, Sira's dishevelled appearance would be noteworthy enough to be subject to a full lunchtime's worth of speculation and gossip. However, Sira was simply lucky to have been in view the day after a very scandalous village Gobstones tournament. As a special exception, the village locals forwent their propensity for commenting on the day-to-day happenings in the village, and the oddly-clothed, oddly-behaved (perhaps foreign?) young woman slipped by effectively unnoticed.
When Sira finally shut, locked and warded the front door, she breathed a sigh of relief. With that small gesture, her muscles relaxed and the floodgates opened. The horrifically strong smell of Hippogriff feathers combined with urine penetrated the air.
Sira stood not five yards from the safe house's toilet.
To say that Sira was furious, was to put it mildly.
She was left to fester in a stinking, windowless flat for two days – two days! – until finally someone was able to collect her. As her deposed partner on the mission, it should have been Dickson's responsibility, to check each nearby safe house every six hours. Instead it was 48 hours – two days! – until an agent from completely separate and unrelated mission dropped in to stash supplies and check that all backup communications systems were running (those not requiring wandpower).
They weren't. Clearly. Otherwise Sira would have been able to contact HQ as soon as she got there. But that was just another thing that Dickson had failed to check.
Sira could have accepted a mishap in the field. In fact, most missions did not go entirely to plan. But she could not stand for wilful negligence, especially when it had put her in danger. Particularly when it meant she was subjected to the stench of her own making for two days – two days!
Agent Lead 'JB' sat patiently while Sira Sinistra expressed these sentiments and feelings.
They were in JB's office at headquarters. He had expected Sinistra, one of his top agents, to provide him with a report of the latest mission on her return and had wisely braced himself for this outcome once he found out she was forced off the grid. JB watched, slightly unfocused while Sinistra ranted and raved about all that went wrong on her most recent mission. If he was honest, he cared less and less about the success of missions these days and started speculating that perhaps he should take a holiday. Somewhere sunny? Although, skiing would be good to entertain the kids.
'Dickson!'
Sira caught the sight of her colleague in the corridor through the office window. Having immediately leapt to her feet, she flew out the door, screeching his name.
Dickson visibly jumped and started to stride purposefully in the opposite direction.
'Oh, Sinistra. Hullo there. You look well. Have you done something to your hair? So good to see you in one piece. Must run though, I'm expected in a meeting with- with- well confidential, you understand. My latest mission and all that. Let's catch up later!'
Dickson was almost at a run now.
'We have the same latest mission, Dickson! And you fucking botched it!'
'Lovely chatting with you, Sinistra!' came Dickson's voice from round the corner he'd already made it to.
JB, who had sighed and followed Sinistra out his office door, placed a hand on her shoulder, stopping her from what would have been a heated pursuit of her colleague.
'Later, Sinistra. We have things we need to discuss.'
Sira let the fight drain from her body. Hackles lowered, she followed JB back into his office.
'What's the verdict, then?' she asked, uncharacteristically meekly.
Sira would not admit it out loud, but she was ashamed of how badly the mission went. She knew that her bosses were counting on her to perform at her best on this one. And she had failed completely and utterly. She had blown her big chance at cementing herself as a prime agent.
JB was all too aware of Sinistra's ambition and ensuing distress. As her manager it was also his duty to inform her that she had unwittingly divulged Covenant information to magical fugitives and had to be taken off the case. She was to be shuffled across to the diplomacy unit for four months, not as punishment mind you! For … recuperation. Her new assignment would be to babysit – sorry, chaperone – dragon researchers in Eastern Europe while the political climate there was still uneasy.
Sinistra was silent while JB explained the situation. She was a master of holding steady under interrogation, a great poker face, but right now she was barely able to choke back her welling tears.
'I'm sorry Sinistra. That's my final word. You were compromised and the operation has been unacceptably tarnished. I have to reassign you. You compromised yourself, so you get a menial mission to … get back on your game.'
'I didn't bloody compromise myself, Dickson fucked any chance the mission had!' Sira cried out, with a tell-tale raspy quality to her voice she wished wasn't there.
'I'm not here to debate semantics, Sinistra. You're reassigned.' JB rubbed his temples with thumb and forefinger, letting out the sigh of an overworked man. 'File your written report and get started on the next thing. You know better than anyone that missions don't go to plan. The quicker you accept this, the quicker you can get back to serious – I mean tactical missions.'
'Even you don't take this dragon research bollocks seriously! I haven't worked my way through the ranks for five years to be shunted off as a minder!'
'Sinistra. Take your new assignment be bloody grateful you're getting one at all. You're unbelievably lucky you haven't been demoted – or worse fired from the department.'
Sira had many more things she'd like to say but chose to keep quiet. She nodded mutely and made to leave, forlorn.
'I need you back here Thursday. And take a shower while you're on leave!' JB called to the open door as Sira strode away.