The Least Dangerous Game--Chapter Twelve

Later in their cell, Benny and Gordy were sitting down on some bunks when the door opened. The man that came in to the room shocked both of them. It was the person they least expected to see in the world.

 "Oh my god!" said Gordy.

 And he was right to.

 It was Irving Braxiatel.

 

The Bernice Summerfield Internet Adventures
BIA#2: 'The Least Dangerous Game'
Chapter 12: "Cards on the Table"
by Mark Phippen.

 

The arrival of Irving Braxiatel usually, mused Benny, meant one of two things: Either a) everything was about to become much, much clearer, or b) things were going to get much, much worse. Her money was on the latter.

 "Wha...?" Benny got as far as one syllable before Braxiatel clamped a gloved hand over her mouth. With his free hand, he activated a small, round, metallic device which emitted a high-pitched wail. He pointed to a camera set into the ceiling of the cell.

 "Look antagonistic," he said, removed the hand.

 "Look antagonistic?!?" shouted Benny, advancing on him, and stabbing her finger into his chest. "I bloody *am* antagonistic. What the hell are you playing at?"

 "Contingency plan, in case something went wrong. Which of course it did. Very wrong." He looked around the cell. "Where's Fiera?"

 

Fiera was, at that moment, hiding with George in an alcove out of sight of Phu-Tan-La and his followers, watching as Abraham bowed before his resurrected master before beckoning two of his followers to him.

 Fiera strained to hear what he was saying, but even with the good acoustics afforded by the circular room, she could not decipher the words. His message given, Abraham sent the followers scurrying off for the exit, a route that took them dangerously close to Fiera and George's alcove.

 When they had passed, Fiera stole another glance at the room. Abraham was now draping a vermilion cloak around the shoulders of Phu-Tan-La.

 "Wait here," she said to George, and made her move before the boy had a chance to protest.

 George watched as the assassin strode out into the room, in full view of its occupants. What was she doing? She was going to get herself killed! But no - Abraham had seen her, and he was smiling. He was actually pleased to see her. And then George noticed the cloak - that vivid vermilion red, that gold braiding, those... no, they couldn't be *scales* could they? George shook his head.

 Fiera had reached the table now, and was standing in front of Abraham and his master. Abraham had laid a hand on her shoulder.

 "Fiera, my dear, so glad you could join us." His voice was clear now, though he was talking no louder than he had been to his followers. "I was beginning to think we had lost you." Fiera was smiling. "I wouldn't let that happen. At least, not until I'd finished my mission."

 "A woman of honour. The Guild of Assassins would be proud of you. My Lord," he said, turning to Phu-Tan-La, "may I introduce Fiera, one of my best agents. I believe she is here to kill you, by the way."

 Fiera was clearly not expecting this, and the element of surprise, it seemed, was something she had hoped would be *her* trump card. She barely had time to reach for her rifle, before the device that Abraham was holding against her shoulder shot bolt of electricity through her body.

 George watched as the assassin's body began to shudder, and smoke, and blacken, and she was screaming, and oh god he was watching her die right in front of him. And then he saw it. Lying on the table, apparently forgotten was the dagger, its energy spent, and special no more. But it was still a weapon. It could still *kill*.

 George wiped away the tears he hadn't realised he had wept, and took a deep breath. It was down to him now. Time to be a real hero, George, time to slay that dragon. He steeled himself, then ran across the room, towards the table. He reached it before the room's occupants had even registered his presence, and slid across its surface, grabbing the dagger as he did so. Dropping off the end of the table quite neatly onto his feet, he spun round, bringing the dagger around in an arc towards Phu-Tan-La.

 It would have all worked out beautifully had he not smashed face first into Phu-Tan-La's fist, coming in the other direction.

 

"So are you going to get us out of here?" Benny asked.

 "Hmm? Oh yes, but all in good time," Braxiatel replied. "They haven't actually figured out who I am yet, which is quite surprising, to be honest. I don't want to rock the boat just yet, at least not before..."

 He was cut off by a scream from the main hall.

 "I'd say the boat's just been tipped right over," said Benny, running for the door, Gordy and Braxiatel in tow.

 When they reached the hall, the scene that greeted them was one of death and blood. Fiera's smouldering body lay on the floor, barely recognisable, and George was sitting next to it and clutching his nose, which was bleeding profusely. Benny handed him a handkerchief.

 "Your warrior was sadly lacking, Braxiatel," said Abraham.

 Braxiatel looked sadly at the body of the assassin, ignoring the fact that Abraham had referred to him by name. "At least she knew whose side she was on in the end."

 "Nonsense. You simply paid her more - there are no 'sides' as far as assassins are concerned." Abraham replied.

 Braxiatel shook his head. "I never paid her anything."

 Abraham, for the first time, looked a little taken aback, but his reply was interrupted by Phu-Tan-La.

 "ENOUGH!", he roared. "I was not resurrected to listen to these petty arguments." He walked towards Braxiatel, a little ungainly, Benny noted, which was only to be expected. He was probably feeling a little stiff after years of being, well, a stiff. "Braxiatel. I take it you are a man who believes he can stop me."

 "That was the intention." Braxiatel replied.

 "If you think yourself so worthy a foe, then I will grant you a place in the audience for the premier of a very special show. In fact, you are all invited."

 

Robin and Arthur had found their way back along the corridor along which they had first come after arriving at the building. Without the assistance of Gordy and Bernice, they had found it hard going, avoiding all of the security measures, but they were pretty sure they had managed it so far without bringing attention to themselves.

 "Well, this is *very* chivalrous, I must say," said Arthur.

 "I don't see what else we could have done!" replied Robin. "Our best bet is to get back to the ship, get off Monwin, and tell the authorities. I'm not playing this game anymore."

 "It stopped being a game long ago, surely you realise that. We have to go back and rescue Benny and George."

 "As long as you're OK, I don't care!"

 "You don't mean that."

 "No, you're right, I don't," admitted Robin. He leaned against a wall, and let himself slump to the floor. There were tears in his eyes. "It's just too much. I don't think I can cope anymore, not when there's *real* danger."

 "It's because of the real danger that we *have* to cope. People are relying on us, and not just the damsel this time." Arthur realised the irony in his referring to Benny as a damsel, given that she was more capable than the entire Noble Chivalric Society put together.

 Robin wiped his eyes, and staggered to his feet. "You're right, Arthur. What would I do without you?"

 Arthur smiled at Robin, and put his arm around him affectionately. "Come on, let's head back and see what we can do."

 It was at that moment that they walked into the group of Phu-Tan-La's followers who had been trailing them.

 

Robin and Arthur were shoved roughly back into the main hall, where they were reunited with Gordy, Benny, a bloody George and a smart, bearded man they did not recognise. Robin spotted the corpse first.

 "Is that... I mean, is she...?" he trailed off.

 "Yes, it's Fiera, and yes, she's dead," mumbled George, from behind his handkerchief.

 "So, the gang is all here?" asked Phu-Tan-La. "Good, take a seat, why don't you. The game is about to begin..."

 To be concluded...

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