‘You must be Zyra's pretty-pretty boy,’ continued the Cracker, eyes examining Tark from top to toe. ‘My, my, my. A thief for hire. The thoughts of potential coinage verily doth gives me the dizzies.’
‘Wot?’ snapped Tark, louder now, glaring at the Cracker. ‘Wot's ya on about?’
‘You, my pretty-pretty,’ explained the Cracker. ‘There is peoples who'd pay handsomely for a thiever the likes of you.’ He then shifted his attention to Zyra. ‘Of course, the two of you. Together. Now that's would be some serious coinage.’ He stroked the back of his hand across his burnt cheek. ‘Says the word, and I woulds be willing to forgets past grudges.’
The muscles in Tark's face twitched. ‘We works for no one!’
‘Sods off!’ snarled Zyra.
‘Haves it your way.’ The Cracker shrugged and reached into his coat. He pulled out a glove made of shiny black fabric, inlaid with silvery wires. It crackled and sparked with energy as the Cracker pulled it onto his right hand.
‘Nots more toys,’ grumbled Zyra. ‘Where, in the name of the Designers, does ya gets ’em all.’
‘Froms me employer, o’ course,’ said the Cracker. ‘And he wants you out of the way.’
‘Ya has an employer?’ asked Zyra.
‘’Course I does,’ said the Cracker flexing his gloved hand. ‘I freelance as well. But alls the big jobs is for the Fat Man.’
Zyra's eyes narrowed. ‘Ya works for that tub o’ lard?’ she spat.
‘Now, now, now, my pretty-pretty,’ said the Cracker. ‘Name callings will gets you nowhere.’
‘I can help you,’ called a voice from the whiteness.
Princeling Galbrath dashed out from behind a door.
‘Why woulds ya wanna ’elp us?’ asked Tark, surprised.
‘I have no intention of helping
‘Wot?’ asked Tark and Zyra together.
The Cracker also raised a quizzical eyebrow.
‘The sword o’ light,’ explained the princeling. ‘The Fat Man is my buyer. I was on my way to sell it to him when you,’ he pointed an accusing finger at Tark, ‘stole it.’
‘Shoulds ’ave used a star when ya hads the chance,’ said Tark to Zyra.
‘I believes I have the matter in hand,’ said the Cracker to the princeling, lifting his gloved hand and cracking his fingers, one by one.
Tark drew the sword o’ light. ‘It mays have lost its shine,’ he said, threateningly. ‘But it's still a sword. And I knows how to use it.’
The Cracker suddenly clenched his fist and thrust it forward. A bolt of white-hot energy discharged from the glove and blasted the sword from Tark's hand. Tark yelped and clutched his hand, which tingled and stung as if it had just been set upon by a swarm of bees.
‘Watch it, you moron,’ yelped the princeling. ‘That sword is worth more money than you'll ever see in your pathetic lifetime.’
The Cracker rounded on the princeling.
‘A dead sword o’ light ain't worth all that much,’ said the Cracker, flexing his gloved hand threateningly. ‘And you'd better watch your mouth or I'll shut it for you.’
‘The sword is not dead,’ said the princeling. ‘It just needs …’
His voice trailed off.
‘Fine,’ said the Cracker. ‘Then I'll be takin’ it to the Fat Man and getting all that coinage.’ He turned back to Tark and Zyra. ‘But first, I needs to be getting rid of these two.’
The Cracker punched the air in front of him and a bolt of energy sizzled towards Zyra. She jumped, rolled and sprang back to her feet with the ease of someone sitting down to tea. Meanwhile, Tark dashed for the nearest door and hid behind it.
‘Stands still my pretty bint,’ said the Cracker, all his attention focused on Zyra.
In response, Zyra flung two of her throwing stars at him.
As she did so, Tark slipped out from behind the door and raced to the next, working his way around to the Cracker.
The Cracker held up his gloved hand, palm out. The stars disintegrated in a crackle of energy.
‘Nice try,’ he said. ‘My turn.’
He pulled back his gloved fist, ready to punch another energy bolt at Zyra. Zyra cartwheeled across the whiteness, a spinning streak of red, and flung herself behind one of the doors.
The Cracker threw another energy bolt. It exploded on the door Zyra was hiding behind, but with no visible effect.
Princeling Galbrath watched as Tark slipped out from behind his current door and edged towards the former mage's robes and wand. The princeling dug in his pocket and pulled out the toad.
‘You may yet be of use to me,’ he whispered.
‘Croak,’ answered the toad.
The Cracker was about to shoot off another bolt at Zyra, when he noticed movement from the corner of his eye. He whirled around and hurled a bolt at Tark instead.
Tark dived for the wand and the energy sizzled past him. He grabbed the wand and staggered to his feet as the Cracker took aim again.
The princeling also took aim and threw the toad. The former mage landed on the Cracker's head with a wet plop, distracting him from Tark. As the toad slapped a webbed foot into the Cracker's eye, the Cracker grabbed him and held him aloft, ready to dash him against the nearest door.
But Tark now had the wand, and although he had no idea how to use it, he raised it high and flicked it in the direction of the Cracker. Sparks shot from the wand and hit the toad. With a
As the smoke cleared, Tark, Zyra and Princeling Galbrath approached. The Cracker lay unconscious in a crumpled heap, the naked mage, also unconscious, beside him.
‘Now there's a sight I hope I never have the misfortune to see again,’ said the princeling. ‘For the sake of the Designers, someone cover him up!’
Zyra shuddered her agreement.
Tark scooped up the mage's purple robes and threw them down over the former toad.
‘Me thanks to ya,’ said Tark to the princeling. ‘But the sword's still mine.’
The princeling eyed Tark and then sprinted for the sword. Tark flicked the wand again. It fizzled, but did little else. He dropped it and gave chase.
The princeling dived for the discarded sword o’ light. His hand closed around the hilt as Tark landed on top of him, bringing his elbow down hard on the princeling's arm. The princeling shrieked and let go of the sword. But he also bucked and threw Tark from his back. Scrambling to his feet, the princeling made for the sword again. It was almost in his grasp, when a sizzling bolt of energy burst right next to him. He looked up to see Zyra, wearing the Cracker's energy glove and a self-satisfied grin.
‘Gives it up, snotling! The only reason ya ain't dead already is ’cause yar toad-flinging saved Tark.’
Princeling Galbrath snarled, then hung his head in defeat.
‘Rights,’ said Tark, elbowing the princeling in the back of the head as he strode past. ‘Times to enter Paradise.’
Boom!
The noise reverberated through the whiteness. Tark and Zyra froze.
Boom!
The door that Tark and Zyra had entered through shook violently.
‘Ya don'ts suppose?’ asked Zyra.
‘Nah!’ said Tark.
‘What?’ asked the princeling.
Boom!
A large dent appeared in the door.
