‘Quick,’ ordered Zyra. ‘Hides the stash.’
Tark hastily concealed the shopping cart behind another door.
Boom!
The metal door buckled and twisted, then flew off its hinges. Vera stood framed in the doorway, the sewage tunnel visible behind her.
‘Run!’ hissed Zyra, and the three of them dashed for cover behind the doors.
Vera stepped into the whiteness, trailing sludge and spitting a rat tail from her mouth. She was covered in wounds and dripping blood, her pearls gone, her make-up smeared, her clothes stained and tattered. Two of the monks’ crossbow bolts still protruded from her broad back.
‘Come out, come out, wherever you are,’ she shrieked, an odd quaver to her voice.
‘Doesn't nuthin’ stops that woman?’ said Tark.
‘It ain't no ordinary woman,’ replied Zyra.
‘Who is she?’ asked the princeling, eyes boggling.
Tark and Zyra ignored him.
‘Wots are we gonna do?’ asked Tark.
‘We needs the sword o’ light,’ said Zyra, turning on the princeling. ‘How do we recharge it?’
‘I'm not about to tell you that,’ said the princeling, crossing his arms. ‘I'll never get it back.’
‘If ya don't tells us, we is all done for,’ hissed Tark.
The princeling turned his back on them.
‘Why, ya little — ’ Zyra raised her gloved fist.
‘The glove!’ said Tark, excitedly. ‘That might slow her down.’
‘A whole temple full of armed monks couldn't stop her. Do ya thinks this glove's gonna do much?’
‘It's all we's got.’
‘Well, I thinks we just hides,’ said Zyra.
‘Peek-a-boo!’ screamed Vera, looking around the side of the door at them.
They nearly jumped out of their skins, but regained their senses and ran. Vera lumbered around the door.
‘I've got plenty of time,’ shouted Vera, toying with them. ‘I might even destroy the access console!’
‘Wot's that?’ asked Tark.
‘The pedestal that gives you entry to Designers Paradise,’ said the princeling. ‘Don't you know anything?’
‘Well, I guess we has gotta fight,’ said Zyra, stepping out in plain view.
Tark nodded and followed her.
‘Speak for yourselves,’ said the princeling, crouching lower.
‘All rights,’ shouted Zyra. ‘Ya wanna fight? Well heres we are.’
Vera stalked towards them.
Zyra took aim with the glove and fired three bolts of energy in quick succession. They hit Vera square in the face. The first stopped her in her tracks, the second made her stagger back, and the third knocked her off her feet.
Zyra and Tark looked at the fallen dragon's wife, then at each other.
‘Didn't expect that to work,’ said Zyra with surprise.
Princeling Galbrath joined them as they approached Vera. The flesh on her face was charred and hanging in tatters, revealing a face-shaped metal casing.
‘Wot in Designer's Paradise are ya?’ whispered Tark.
‘Vera 919,’ answered Vera, without moving her metal lips. The voice was distorted, with an electronic twang. ‘Cyborg. Wife model. Inbuilt retrieval prerogative. Special order for Edgar. Constructed by Fat Man Inc.’
‘The Fat Man has got a finger in every pie,’ said Princeling Galbrath knowingly.
‘Complete retrieval,’ said Vera.
Her hand shot up and grabbed Zyra's arm. She sat bolt upright, then stood shakily as Zyra attempted to break free.
Tark jumped back and drew the sword o’ light.
‘Tells me how to recharge it,’ he yelled at the princeling. ‘Or we is all dead.’
Vera lifted Zyra off her feet, tore the glove from her hand and enveloped her in a slow, crushing bear hug. Zyra kicked and punched and thrashed about, but Vera's arms slowly constricted, crushing the air from her lungs.
‘Not a chance,’ said the princeling, attempting to make a dash for the nearest door.
Tark grabbed him and dragged him towards Vera and Zyra.
‘Let me go,’ demanded the princeling. ‘What are you doing?’
‘This ’ere is our employer,’ said Tark to Vera. ‘We has only been doin’ wot we has been told.’
The princeling started to protest, but Tark gave him a sharp punch to the mouth.
‘The snotling gaves us the sword o’ light,’ continued Tark. ‘He tolds us to do in Edgar and takes his gold.’
Vera dropped Zyra, who fell to her hands and knees, gasping for breath.
Tark shoved the princeling towards Vera.
‘It's not true,’ yelped the princeling, as Vera wrapped her crushing arms around his podgy body.
‘Tells us,’ demanded Tark, ‘or ya dies first.’
‘The hilt,’ gasped the princeling. ‘Panel … open … button.’
Tark fumbled with the sword hilt, pressing at it with his fingers, until a small section clicked inwards and slid aside, revealing a red button.
‘Ya means — that's all?’ said Tark.
The princeling nodded, gasped and lost consciousness.
Tark pressed the button.
The sword flared into brilliant life. Tark tried to shield his eyes as it sprang from his hands, streaked through the air and embedded itself deep within Vera's side, missing Princeling Galbrath by a hair's breadth.
Vera immediately dropped the princeling, threw back her head and released the most inhuman howl either Tark or Zyra had ever heard. Light spilled from her eyes, nose and mouth. Her flesh and her clothing burst into flame, turning to ash in seconds. Her metal skeleton glowed white-hot, then disintegrated.
The sword clattered to the ground, spent and lightless. Tark sheathed it absently, his eyes fixed on the smouldering metal fragments scattered about the room.
Zyra staggered to her feet and shook Tark from his reverie. ‘Comes on,’ she said.
They made their way past the unconscious princeling to where Tark had left the cart. They slowly wheeled it over to the pedestal. Zyra fished their keys from a pocket and placed them on the pedestal. Then they put their hands, palms down, beside the keys.
‘Access granted,’ said the same disembodied androgynous voice as the Oracle's.
Tark withdrew his hand. On impulse, Zyra pocketed the keys.
And then everything around them melted away.
13: Into Paradise
Static! Grey, crackly, fuzzy, all-encompassing static. It was like being within electronic interference made tangible.
Tark and Zyra were surrounded, encased, in drab, sizzling nothing — suspended in the anticipation of things to come. They could almost feel themselves disappearing, ready to be reformed into something better.
‘Payment calculated,’ said the voice. ‘Access to Designers Paradise granted for sixty-three hours, seventeen minutes, three sec … seconds.’
There was pause. Tark and Zyra waited.
‘Avatars?’ asked the voice.
