Chapter 3: "Over Hill and Underhill"

The palace kitchen was always warm and strangely comfortable. Perhaps that was why Jethro liked it. His close companionship with the staff had led to him becoming something of an unknown resident. Rather than let him sleep in the cold stables with the horses he cared for, they had built a low camping bed behind one of the larger stoves. It was this bed that Gwendolyn was presently occupying, wrapped in blankets as she lay recovering from the physical assault she had suffered at the hands of Dimacari and Andal. Sebastian paced back and forth across the kitchen. He had been the one to carry his prone sister to this little sanctuary.

"What in the Good Lord's name were you thinking, woman?!" he exclaimed. "Oh, wait, I forget! You weren't thinking at all, were you?!"

Gwen curled tighter under the blanket and responded with a hint of whining, "It's not my fault. You're the one who ordered the attack, you know."

"You cheeky little…!" Sebastian growled and pointed to the two tiny red marks on his forehead. "I didn't know! I thought this was the worst that could happen!" Nearby, the cook was peeling potatoes and watching the exchange with interest. Molly Randolph, known to the younger staff members as 'Mother Molly,' or 'Old Ma Randolph,' was a Scots woman with a relaxed demeanour who took everything in her stride. Noisy little Sassenach, she thought, not quite sure how a simple card game could cause so much uproar.

"And besides, that's not even the point!" Sebastian spluttered. "The point is that you entered this tournament under false pretences. You do realise what could happen if you're exposed, don't you?" He made a noise in the back of his throat while crossing his finger over his neck.

"Well," Molly spoke up, "whennit comes tae enterin' an' all that, Ah dinnae see how any of us coulda stopped the wee lass. After all, ye may talk like London jessies, but yer family's Scottish tae the core."

"What makes you say that?" asked Sebastian. It was true that their grandfather had come down from Scotland in his younger days, but the siblings and their parents had all been raised in the midst of London life.

"Ye don't look before ye leap, boy," said Molly. Gwendolyn poked her head out from under her blanket.

"Answer me this, Seb," she croaked, "would I have been allowed to compete otherwise?"

"Well…no," Sebastian admitted, "but is a piece of jewellery and a fancy title really worth it?"

"That's not-" Gwendolyn began, interrupted by a bout of coughing. Molly promptly ushered Sebastian towards the door.

"Now if wi' ye," she said. "Can ye no' see the lass dinnae feel no weel?" The young man nodded and beat a hasty retreat from the room. As he escaped into the hallway, he almost bumped into an imposing, broad-shouldered man dressed all in black. He had a lofty domed forehead and a long, thin nose. His thick eyebrows almost met in the middle over piercing eyes the colour of flint. This was not a man to be trifled with.

"Sebastian, my boy," said Robert Cecil in a smooth, slow manner, "to think, I chose you over all the other duellists in my employ to represent me, and you still disappoint me. Still, brave heart, child, victory may still be ours."

Sebastian was not quite sure how to reply to this ominous declaration. Something about his master always made him feel small and weak, unsure of himself. The only thing he could manage was a rather tiny, "Sir?" Cecil clapped a hand with long, spidery fingers on the boy's shoulder and pulled him close, bending down so they were at eye level.

"I smell a rat," he whispered, "and the best thing to do with rats is…to remove them." The young pageboy paled as the man's intentions made themselves clear. O calamity! O misfortune! "MacWood was injured, I saw you leading him away from the throne room after your match. Pray tell where you took him."

"I helped him as far as the gate, sir," Sebastian replied quickly. "After that he said he could walk on his own."

"When the day's games are not yet over?" asked Cecil, feigning confusion. "He must live quite close, then. You wouldn't lie to me now, would you?"

"Of course not, sir," Sebastian shook his head. "Perish the thought, I say." Cecil's eyes darkened as some calculating clockwork clicked and clanged behind them. There was always something not quite right about this man. He could render men to gibbering puddles of flesh with just a few sounds of that devilish tone.

"I see," he murmured after a moment. "Then come, we've work to do." He steered Sebastian ahead of him, all the time they walked his eyes burned into the back of his servant's head, as if he were peering right into his mind. Following a few minutes of walking in complete silence, he said without a flicker of real meaning, "Your lack of ability to remain focussed aside, I'm sure you used your deck well. I shall have to increase the number of lessons to ensure you do not fail again."

"Yes, sir," whispered Sebastian.

XXX

A couple of hours passed, and Gwendolyn had sufficiently healed. Now back in her more comfortable maid's attire, she sat at the wooden kitchen table, sorting through her deck as Molly stirred a large pot of stew. Gwendolyn held her Parshath card up to the light. The armoured centaur's eyes now gave off a green sparkle of life. She felt a pang of guilt at the abuse the poor thing had suffered in the last conflict.

"I wonder what they think when they're called into battle," she mused.

"Well, bein' made from parchment an' such, darlin'," said Molly, "Ah shouldnae say they think much at all, but then Ah'm just the cook. Whit do Ah know about such things?"

"No, this was different, Molly," said Gwendolyn. She reached for the Fairy Pin resting on the table and picked it up. "There's something about these brooches they gave us. I don't know how they work, but when we duelled with these on our cards were brought to life!" Molly stopped stirring and lifted up the little trinket. She gazed at it for a while as if searching through her memory. Finally, she shrugged and popped it back in the girl's hand.

"Wonderful whit they can make these days."

Gwendolyn smiled at her. The door of the kitchen opened and Jethro poked his head round.

"They're setting up your next match, Gwen," he reported.

"Who's my opponent?" she asked.

"I dunno," he shrugged. "Probably some posh nob."

"Well that narrows it down," Gwendolyn rolled her eyes. She stood up and walked over to the corner, unbuttoning her dress to remove the stomacher underneath. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Jethro still standing there.

"If you want your eyes to remain in your head," she glowered, "I'd suggest you leave."

"Pff! You've nothing I haven't seen already," the stable-boy replied, turning his nose up and disappearing from the room just as a wooden spoon flew through the air and banged against the door. Molly, who had previously descended into the cellar, returned carrying a neatly folded pile of pale blue and grey clothes, a brown cap and a red sash. Upon seeing this last article, Gwendolyn winced, "Ooh, I hate this part."

"Look, dearie," Molly told her, tapping her foot impatiently, "if they aren't completely flat, someone will notice." The girl sighed and finished disrobing, then lifted her arms up above her head.

"Brace yerself," said the cook. With that, the sash was pulled tight, crushing Gwendolyn's small breasts to her torso. She squawked breathlessly, "Too tight!" Molly shook her head. How in the world had she let herself get talked into this ridiculous cross-dressing business? Well, she loved her girls (for that was how she saw the maids) and she would do anything for them, so maybe it was her own softness at fault.

XXX

There were few individuals as downright repulsive as Wilfred Underhill. From his greasy bowl cut hair and ridiculous goatee to his slime green clothes and his likely out-of-proportion codpiece. He had never worked a day in his life and had been given everything. He acted as if he were a person of absolute importance, and was the only one who thought so. Even his parents were rumoured to carry a level of disdain for their irritating offspring. Now in his teens, he was just as childish as he had ever been. He now sat at one of the duelling tables in the throne room, arms crossed and tapping one gloved finger against the crook of the opposing arm.

"Where is he?" he screeched. "He is already five minutes late! Surely that means a disqualification!" He looked towards the throne. The Queen remained silent as Sir Francis Walsingham and Robert Cecil stood at either side of her, barely able to maintain eye contact with the spiteful little goblin.

"There is nothing in the rules regarding time limits, Mr Underhill," Walsingham sighed.

"Well there should be!" Underhill spat. "I can't waste my time here all day! Honour as it may be to duel in the presence of Her Majesty, I've a business to run and ships to build!"

"As if," Cecil muttered. Walsingham smirked.

"What are you snickering about?!"

"Oh, nothing," Cecil smiled innocently. The doors opened and Douglas MacWood entered.

"Please forgive my lateness, Your Majesty, sirs," he said, bowing apologetically.

"You are forgiven," said the Queen, thankful she no longer had to listen to the little green man's sniping.

"Please take your seat, Mr MacWood, so we may begin."

"Do not let it happen again," Walsingham added.

"It's about time," Underhill grumbled. Just as before, the players cut and shuffled each other's decks, then Walsingham flipped a coin and the call was made. It landed in favour of MacWood.

[Begin Duel: Douglas MacWood vs. Wilfred Underhill]

MacWood drew his opening hand of six.

"First," he said, "I'll play a Field Spell, Sanctuary in the Sky."

The throne room shuddered and melted as it was replaced by the flying city. Underhill glanced over his shoulder at the marble staircase behind him. He made a nervous noise when he saw it led to nothing and scooted a little further in, although there was already plenty of space for him providing he did nothing silly. The Queen and her advisors had their vantage point at the top of the ascending stairs. Cecil looked around in interest, brushing his beard between finger and thumb.

"Now I'll set a monster in face-down defence and end my turn," MacWood continued.

Underhill hmm'd to himself as he drew his own first hand.

"I'll summon my Leghul (300/350) in attack mode," he announced. His eyes widened as his creature rose from the marble floor. It was a purple, segmented earwig with two large mandibles and three rows of spines leading down its body towards a pincer on its tail. It was only as long as one's arm, but the sight of it made MacWood shiver.

Underhill gathered himself, encouraged by his opponent's posture. Scared of my lovely mini-beast, he thought, joy. "My Leghul's effect," he explained, "is that despite his low points, he can bypass your defences and attack your Life Points directly. Go, Leghul!"

The earwig chirped and clicked hungrily. It squirmed along the floor a little, pulled itself into a tight coil and sprung forward. MacWood reacted by raising his hand to swat it away but the creature still managed to sink its sharp mandibles into his palm before it bounced back to its starting point. The enemy duellist looked at the two pink bite marks on his skin.

"Finally," said Underhill, "I'll lay a card face-down and end my turn."

[MacWood's L.P.: 7700 / Underhill's L.P.: 8000]

Didn't take my bait, MacWood thought as he drew, no matter, I'll just have to take the offensive, if anything to get that disgusting Insect off the field.

"I activate my face-down monster, Nova Summoner (1400/800) and destroy your Leghul!"

An orange wreath wrapped in teal ribbon rose out of the floor. Blob-like particles were pulled from the sky in all directions, gathering as a single ball in the middle of the wreath. It fired off like a cannonball and smashed the earwig to smithereens. Underhill's lips quivered like an animal's. He drew.

"You'll regret hurting my lovely little pet," he growled. "First, I'll play Verdant Sanctuary." Cracks opened up all over the landing and the two staircases as various tropical plants and thin trees grew up in seconds, beating nature's progress by decades. Leaves and grass sprouted and birdsong and bug-hum could be heard, though as far as the players and the spectators could tell, there were no new life-forms yet.

"Marvellous, isn't it?" Underhill chortled.

"Get on with it," MacWood huffed. "I'm used to this magic now."

"Fine, be a spoilsport, see if I care!" the bug-man snorted. "By removing Leghul from play completely, I can summon this. Aztekipede, the Worm Warrior (1900/400)!"

The Sanctuary rumbled as a new monster burst out of one of the cracks in the floor. Its flat, green body was lined on both sides by a multitude of stubby purple legs. Four compound eyes stared out of its grey head. A pair of violet tusks curved out under its skull with a four-jawed mouth between them, which slid open to reveal two rows of disturbingly human teeth, from which hung white-yellow strands of saliva. Raised up on half its body, the monster stood three times taller than its master.

"They just keep getting uglier, don't they?" remarked MacWood.

"Shut your mouth!" Underhill snapped. "Aztekipede will now take a big bite out of your Nova Summoner!" The giant arthropod reared back and howled hungrily. Its jaws opened wide and snapped shut around the Nova Summoner, scattering the wreath's twigs and ferns to the wind. "And due to his effect, the top card from your deck goes to your graveyard."

"Then I lose my Guardian Angel Joan (2800/2000)," said MacWood, confirming the loss, "and with the destruction of my Nova Summoner, I can call on another monster in its stead. Normally that monster's attack points must be 1500 or lower, but since my Sanctuary in the Sky is active, I can summon this card…" The sound of a horse neighing echoed throughout the flying temple and an armoured centaur appeared before its master. "…My Airknight Parshath (1900/1400). Now it's my turn."

[MacWood's L.P.: 7700 / Underhill's L.P.: 6900]

He drew, then shook his head and said, "I pass."

Underhill drew, and a wide, stupid grin grew on his lips.

"First, a change of scenery is in order," he tittered, "so let's do away with your Sanctuary of the Sky and replace it with my Forest."

Those gathered felt their stomachs rise in their throats as the Sanctuary plummeted, crashing to the ground with such a thunderous impact it almost sent everyone flying. They had landed in the heart of endless woodland. The trees already breaking up the surface of the marble expanded, becoming bigger and thicker. The bright day became eerie night, with a full moon floating high above. MacWood and Parshath looked around as strange sounds reverberated through the foliage.

"Prepare yourself, my foolish friend," Underhill sneered, "because this is where the wild things are. First, I'll tribute my Aztekipede in order to summon my Insect Princess (1900/1200)."

The Insect monster bent down as an olive-coloured cocoon materialised around it. There was a hideous wet sound of eating and smacking lips, and when the cocoon opened the Aztekipede was gone. In its place there now stood a woman. Or at least it looked like a woman. She had soft yellow skin that glistened in the moonlight, four arms gloved in violet, white compound eyes and antennae longer than her limbs stretching out from a black crest that framed her face. Two beautiful wings spread out behind her and an eldritch glow radiated from every pore.

She was much easier to look at than Underhill's other minions, but her human frame made her even weirder. She smiled submissively at Parshath, and the centaur actually blushed.

"Show some pride," MacWood groaned.

"My Insect Princess is the pinnacle of beauty in her race," fawned Underhill, "just like you, Your Majesty." The Queen looked ill. What a positively frightful thing to imply!

"I'm not finished yet," said Underhill, "for now I activate my face-down Trap Card, Tribal Make-Up." Rhythmic drums beat a tune in the distance and two blue-skinned women dressed in breechcloths, headdresses and jewellery made from bones and fangs danced out of the trees. They surrounded Parshath, chanting a repetitive song. Out of the darkness there also popped a blue-skinned man in similar attire, his face obscured by a huge demonic mask that stretched from a foot above his head to midway down his stomach. He was rattling a staff covered in all manner of charms and holding out a carved wooden bowl full of green powder. He blew the powder into Parshath's face and the centaur started coughing.

"That's bloody sabotage!" MacWood exclaimed, not realising that he had just cursed in front of the monarch. The witchdoctor shook his staff at Parshath and then hopped away into the forest with his dancers close behind. When the dust cleared, the skin of the centaur's upper body had turned from bleached white to dark green, two antennae extended from under his helmet and his feathers had been replaced by the same silky membrane that made up the Princess' wings.

"Tribal Make-Up changes all monsters on the field to a type of my choosing," Underhill explained, "and of course I chose 'Insect'. Next, my Princess will take your Airknight. Go, O mistress of the green horizon." The Princess fluttered her wings and hovered several inches into the air, then glided towards Parshath.

"Don't fall for it!" MacWood cried. "Girls like her are a penny a dozen!" His attempts to shout some sense into his monster were sadly for naught. Using her lower arms, the Princess pushed the Airknight's shield and sword down while her upper hands gently clasped his head. She pressed her lips to his. MacWood's expression made it clear he was about to be violently sick. They all heard a cracking sound and Parshath's eyes opened wide.

The veins on his face were protruding thickly and had turned an unhealthy purple colour. The Princess whispered something his ear and the centaur staggered back, dropping his weapons and clutching his throat. He sank to his knees and exploded into fragments.

"Due to the power of my Forest," Underhill explained, "my Insect Princess gained an extra 200 attack points, and the death of your Airknight gives her another 500, raising her attack to 2600. Try and wriggle out of my web now."

[MacWood's L.P.: 7400 / Underhill's L.P.: 6900]

"Poisonous little bunch-backed toad," MacWood mumbled, drawing his card. So long as his Tribal Make-Up remains on the field, his Princess can keep preying on my creatures, so that'll be the first to go. "I play the Spell Card, Mystical Space Typhoon."

A powerful wind blew. The trees bent and swayed as the witchdoctor and his dancers were sucked out of their hiding places and disappeared into a swirling black abyss in the sky. The Insect Princess clutched the soil with all four hands and MacWood held his cap down with a more confident smirk on his face.

"Next, I'll play Valhalla, Hall of the Fallen."

Parts of the forest collapsed as the Queen's throne became one of marble and patches of an ankle-deep red rug grew from the earth below. White columns shot up and the moon was replaced by a warm and delicious sun. The Insect Princess looked around her in wonderment, then nodded in approval.

"You're supposed to be on my side you Jezebel!" Underhill hissed at her. The Princess shrugged him off, appreciating the more royal setting befitting her status. Elizabeth was also glad for more familiar surroundings. There was an aura of warmth and courage from Valhalla.

"And Valhalla allows me to special-summon a Fairy from my hand so long as I've no other monsters on the field," MacWood continued, "and I call upon Athena (2600/800), the Greek goddess of wisdom." A beautiful warrior woman in white appeared. "Now I'll normal-summon Shining Angel (1400/800) in attack mode!" A young man with four golden wings appeared next to Athena. "One of Athena's effects is that when I summon one of her fellow Fairies, she can deal 600 points of direct damage to your Life Points. Ready to show him what a real woman can do, Athena?"

"Mm-hmm!" Athena grunted. She bellowed proud bloodlust and swung her caduceus above her head and aimed it straight at the shuddering Underhill. The staff extended, pricked his forehead and returned to its normal length. Underhill blinked. He put a hand to his forehead, then brought it to eye level and stared at the spilt blood. He made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded a lot like mimble-wimble.

"Had enough yet, my friend?" MacWood chuckled. "Tough! Now I'll use Athena's other effect, which allows me to send one Fairy to my graveyard in exchange for another Fairy. Ascend to the kingdom of heaven, Shining Angel." White rays shone down from the sky as the Shining Angel spread its wings and flew up into the air, disappearing into the afterlife.

"And I resurrect…"

The rays swung away like strips of parchment in the wind as a woman slightly taller than the already vertically advanced Athena appeared. She had bobbed red hair and tanned skin, from which glowed two sapphire eyes. She wore a beautiful white dress framed with gold-and-silver metal and a long matching scarf that twirled around her body and flowed across the ground. Two transparent saffron wings spread out behind her.

"My Guardian Angel Joan (2800/2000)!"

Athena and Joan looked at each other like old friends meeting after so many lost years. They clasped hands and nodded acknowledgements, then turned to Underhill with fire in their eyes. The Insect Princess stared wide-eyed at the two women, a young girl witnessing the glory she always hoped to have for herself.

"And Athena deals you another 600 points."

Athena's caduceus struck Underhill a second time, right between the eyes. He muttered and spluttered, gasped and gaped, squawked and gawked.

"Now, Joan!" MacWood actually stood up as her blood pumped from exhilaration. "Kill the Insect Princess with Light of Reckoning!" Joan stretched out one hand and thin yellow strings fired out of her fingertips, plunging into the Insect Princess' heart and out of her back, impaling her against the ground.

"My Princess!" Underhill screamed. The defeated monster's body evaporated into particles that spiralled into the gemstone in MacWood's brooch. The ghost of a last enraptured smile was on her cold face. The Fairy duellist took a deep, relaxing breath.

"Thought I'd let you know, Mr Underhill," he said, "that when Joan slays an opponent, I gain Life Points equal to its original attack, which I believe was 1900, yes?"

"Y…y-yes…" Underhill choked.

"Your turn," MacWood smiled.

Cecil was utterly transfixed by the battle. He was wringing his hands tightly and thinking to himself, My God, the power this boy has. No wonder he defeated Sebastian, even with all the training I gave him.

[MacWood's L.P.: 9300 / Underhill's L.P.: 5500]

Underhill hesitated. His hand shook over his deck. Forcing it to become still, he drew and examined his available cards.

"While my Verdant Sanctuary is on the field," he said, "when one of my Insects is destroyed, I can add another one of equal level from my deck to my hand, and the Princess' level was six." He did so. "Now I play Card of Sanctity, so we both draw until we have six cards each."

A shower of coins rained down on them until one struck the corner of each deck, flipping four into his hand and three into MacWood's. "I'll play one card face-down and summon my second Leghul to attack your Life Points directly!" Another purple earwig sprung out of the grass and sailed towards its target. Joan and Athena attempted to block it but the little creature actually travelled through the gap beneath their crossed arms and planted its mandibles in the same spot as the first did. MacWood grunted in pain and shook his arm until the Leghul let go and scampered back to its own side of the field. Joan made a grinding motion with her foot and the bug clicked at her challengingly.

MacWood drew and immediately played his new card.

"I summon Majestic Ohka in attack mode," he announced. The white wolf appeared between the warrior women and growled as its body markings shone and a rosy mist covered the floor of the battlefield, almost totally screening the miniscule Leghul. A third prick from the caduceus. "Ohka, bite that Leghul in half!" Ohka howled and pounced.

"Activate Trap Card!" Underhill shrieked. "Windstorm of Etaqua!" The sky turned a dirty yellow and a murder of black crows swooped over, kicking up a gust that sprayed sand and dirt up into the faces of MacWood's servants, who got down on their knees and covered themselves for protection. The wind died down a few moments later but the monsters remained where they were. "This card automatically sends all your face-up monsters into defence position."

"You're tricky, I'll give you that," MacWood frowned. "Since I summoned Ohka without a tribute, she should go to my graveyard, but instead I'll use Athena's second effect and exchange her for my Airknight Parshath, who is unaffected by your Windstorm. I should really put your Leghul out of its misery, but I'm happy with picking you apart slowly. It's more fun that way, so I'll settle for the 600 points Athena deals you."

Athena and Joan looked with slightly disapproval at their master as Parshath replaced Ohka on the field. The centaur's nose was wrinkled up and his lips were sucked in as if biting into a lemon. He was fearful of another kiss of death, but relaxed when he saw the Princess had long since been felled. Despite her inclinations, Athena lowered her shield and struck Underhill higher up on his forehead with the fourth attack from her caduceus.

[MacWood's L.P.: 8400 / Underhill's L.P.: 4300]

"You'll regret your arrogance," Underhill sniped as he drew.

"Heh! Look who's talking," MacWood scoffed. Underhill snorted indignantly.

"I'll play this card, so say your farewells to Athena and Joan!" he taunted. Two white streams of silk fired from somewhere in the shadows and wrapped themselves around the confused warrior women. They struggled as their arms were pinned to their sides and their legs were sealed together by the webbing. MacWood reached out futilely as the duo were dragged away from her and disappeared. He recoiled in fear when he heard an almighty crunch of bones and the sloppy sloshing of flesh being torn and blood spilt. Two black, hairy legs as long as horses and tipped with deadly knives stretched out and dug their pin-point feet into the soil. Six green eyes lit up in the ebon behind Underhill.

"And say hello to my Mother Spider (2500/1400)! So long as all the monsters in my graveyard are Insects, I can sacrifice two of your defence position monsters to summon her. So no more 'picking away,' at my Life Points, you common fool."

The Mother Spider made a rumbling noise in her throat.

Underhill chortled. "Mother Spider's still hungry after eating those silly little girls, so I'd say it's time for pudding. Devour Airknight Parshath!" Another sticky glob of webbing fired out and wrapped around the centaur's torso, dragging him slowly towards the giant hidden arachnid. MacWood cried for his creature to fight back, but no matter how much he squirmed and kicked and bucked, Parshath followed his companions into the lair of the beast. Another hideous cacophony of gore and Parshath's empty helmet rolled out onto the field before shattering.

"And that leaves you open for Leghul to strike directly!"

The earwig bit the same spot yet again. That hand was feeling sore, and MacWood tucked it under his armpit. In his mind he yelled every forbidden word he could think of. Ah, how he hated that despicable cretin across the field now. Even more than he hated the creeping crawlers he insisted on using. After the pain in his hand became just a dull ache, he drew. He smiled, then burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?!" Underhill shrieked. "Play your next monster so my Mother Spider can make another meal out of it!"

"Your spider's about to get squished," MacWood said in an assured tone. "First, I'm going to use Valhalla's effect to special-summon one of the strongest monsters in my possession. Behold, my Majestic Goryu (2900/1800)!" Thunder and lightning cracked and bellowed above as the clouds swirled into a single spiral of gas. A beam of star-shine burst through and from it emerged a gargantuan, white, winged serpent, covered from its head to its tail with gold markings. Underhill screamed again.

"But I'm not doing crushing you under my boots yet, Underhill," said MacWood, "I'll also normal-summon this monster, Mudora (1500/1800)!" A patch of the grassland opened up to reveal a pool of bubbling quagmire, and a figure rose from it. He was muscle-bound and wore scant gold-and-blue armour, including a pointy-eared death mask. He was holding a curved Egyptian sabre in his hand.

"Mudora's effect is he gains 200 attack points for every Fairy in my graveyard. By my count, that's six, raising his attack to 2700! Go, my mud warrior, eviscerate his Leghul!"

"Run, Leghul! Run!" Underhill squawked as flecks of spittle flew from his mouth. The Insect squealed and attempted to burrow into the ground, but was unable to escape as Mudora's blade came down and cut it perfectly in half.

"I think you know what's coming next, Underhill," said MacWood. "Goryu, annihilate! Heavenly Fire!" Goryu opened its jaws and a stream of brilliant flames burst out, tearing through the shielding foliage to reveal Mother Spider. For just a second, everyone could see its huge, dark purple body, covered in orange lines and fleshy growths like stretched pores. Mother Spider released a pained cry as it flipped onto its back and its legs curled in before it was reduced to nothing but ash.

"Make your move," MacWood licked his lips.

[MacWood's L.P.: 7200 / Underhill's L.P.: 1700]

Underhill quivered and quaked like a jelly. Not only had his entire swarm been exterminated one after another, but the difference between the Life Points was utterly staggering. He reached for his deck to draw again, then released a strangled cry and fell backwards off his chair, eyes rolled up in his eyes and froth pouring from his mouth. There was a long silence before Walsingham spoke up.

"It seems that Mr Underhill is unable to take his turn," he said, "so it would only be logical to declare Mr MacWood the winner by forfeit."

[End Duel: Winner – Douglas MacWood]

The monsters bowed their head as the amalgamation of Valhalla and the Forest gave way to the Queen's throne room. Seeing the rather pathetic pile of skin lying sprawled on the floor and suddenly felt quite unfulfilled. What a waste of good tactics, and so close to the finish line too.

"That is the end of today's matches," said the Queen.

"Someone get that disgusting creature out of here. Mr MacWood, good show, the title duel will be held two days from now, so practise and ensure your deck is ready. You've done well so far and I've a lot of faith in you."

"Your Majesty-" Walsingham tried to protest but was stopped by a raised hand in front of his mouth.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," said MacWood, bowing once more before gathering his cards into the protective case on his belt and leaving.

XXX

Gwendolyn returned to the kitchen with a disappointed look on her face. She had expected more from a fellow finalist, but it seemed Wilfred Underhill was just as lowly as his reputation implied. How he got so far into the contest she could not imagine. Setting aside her cap and unbuttoning her blue doublet, she turned to see Molly rearranging her utensils.

"Good match then, darlin'?" asked the old cook.

"Not really," Gwendolyn sighed, now removing her shirt. She reached for the knot that kept the restrictive sash in place and undid it. As the length of material came loose, she released a groan of relief. "Good God! That feels much better."

"Thought I'd let ye know," said Molly, "ye'll be takin' the Queen her luncheon the morn."

"Me? But that's Mary's job!"

"Afte' seein' whit was goin' on in'at throne room, poor Mary said she's never goin' in there again. So congratulations, ye've got haer job."

"The good news just keeps rolling in, doesn't it?" Gwendolyn whined and puffed out her cheeks.

XXX

Mother Spider- Only Available in the OCG

Majestic Goryu – the same as majestic mech goryu just changed for time period

Tribal Make-Up - the same as DNA Surgery just changed for time period

XXX

AUTHOR'S NOTE (Scott): Well, with the intensity of the last duel, we decided to do something a bit more comical to break up the action a bit. So yeah, three guesses for who Wilfred will reincarnate as. Heh-heh-heh.