She sighed. "I'm going to regret this, but okay. Let's go." She took hold of his arm, and followed him into the depths of the house.

 ---
The Bernice Summerfield Internet Adventures
BIA#2: 'The Least Dangerous Game'
Chapter Three: "When the Going Gets Tough"
by Susannah 'Zeus' Tiller
---

 "We're quite safe in here," George said. "The hounds will take care of those intruders, while we can make plans."

 Benny glanced around the room. She wasn't sure how effective these hounds would be, but he was right on the first count. The room was built like a fortress. The walls were thick Ð some kind of insulated concrete, she guessed, and her instincts told her they were underground. But under which ground Ð Dellah? Earth? The mysterious cities of gold? The room was sparsely furnished. The main feature was a table with a terrain map; little hills and valleys covered in trees. Surrounding the table were several comfy armchairs. And a bar fridge.

 "Another mug?" Arthur asked politely. Benny shuddered.

 "No. No thanks." One glass of that horrible blood-milk concoction had been enough, thank you very much. She'd felt every mouthful burning its way down into her stomach. Now all she wanted was something to wash out the taste. Scotch, preferably, a whole bottle. That would do nicely. "You errr, you wouldn't happen to have something stronger, would you?" she asked.

 She stretched out in the armchair, surreptitiously testing every muscle in her body. If needs be, she could be out of the room in 3.5 seconds flat. The young menÉ boysÉ in front of her looked harmless enough, but looks could be deceiving. George frowned.

 "Well, we could add some elephants' blood, if you like."

 "Of course," Robin said patiently. "It's not real elephants' blood. Simulated, you know." Benny slumped down further in her chair, feeling her stomach somersault and cartwheel.

 "I was actually hoping for something alcoholic," she said hopefully. "Brandy? Scotch? Cheap red wine?"

 "No," Arthur said. "With these foul fiends after you, you must be alert at all times. Danger lurks behind every corner. Each dark alley, each corner, spells danger Ð"

 "Spells 'clichŽ', if you ask me," Benny said. "Look, I'm sure I'm just being a silly old so-and-so, but what about those two assassins belting the cr-" She caught sight of Robin's shocked, little-boy face, and modified her language, "- belting the living daylights out of each other? Aren't you a little, well, underprepared?"

 "Underprepared," George snickered. "She thinks we're underprepared. Madam, we are the Noble Chivalric Society."

 "Hurt, old man?"

 His only reply was another volley of shots. Then there was a shot from behind her. She spun around, her hands clenched tightly around the gun. Freud would have had a field day, she thought.

 Dogs. There were several robotic dogs loping down the corridor towards them, and they didn't look like they wanted to play catch. Unless it was with her as the stick. They had blasters set into their muzzles, and Da Houndz scrawled lazily across a flank.

 "Gordy," Fiera called. "You know, when I called you 'old', it was a slip of the tongue. I actually meant to say 'incredibly witty, talented, and charming'."

 "What do you want?" Gordy called back, firing just for good measure.

 "We're under attack!"

 "Every man for themselves."

 Fiera fired a couple of shots at him, then started blasting at the 'Houndz'. Hopefully they wouldn't have any kind of inbuilt shielding; hopefully Ð Her first shot hit one of the Houndz. It whimpered a little, dropping back. The rest of the pack surged forwards. As the first one's paws touched her shoulders, Fiera felt a wrenching sensation. And then she was somewhere else.

 "Shall we present arms?" Robin said. "I like it when we do that."

 George took another delicate sip of his blood milkshake, and set the mug down on the armchair. He got to his feet in one quick movement: "Noble Chivalric SocietyÉ Present arms." Arthur leapt to his feet.

 "Arthur, named for the Pendragon, carrying Excalibur." He rolled up his trouser leg awkwardly, revealing a small scabbard strapped to his hairless shin. The jewelled handle of a sword was visible. He tugged at the handle. He tugged a little harder, and it shot out. The blade caught the hem of his trousers, and spilt the seams. George frowned. Robin pulled himself lazily to his feet.

 "Robin, named for the Thief of the Hood, carrying the Bow of Hern the Hunter." He reached up underneath his shirt, revealing a tiny quiver and pouch, strung over one shoulder. He produced the bow. It was more like a child's toy, only a couple of inches long.

 George had been frowning. Now he stood to attention, and bellowed: "George, named for the Saint of the Dragon, carrying Dragonstooth." In a swift, polished movement, he reached around his neck, removing a chain that hung there. On the end of the chain was a jewelled tooth, presumably the dragon's tooth. Benny looked at it carefully.

 "Dragon's tooth? Real dragon?" Robin's head dipped slightly.

 "Well, taken from a cast of the Gemellian Dragon. Really and truly." He dropped down into his seat again. "Ow, my quiver!"

 "Lovely," Benny said woozily. "Just the people I can rely on in times of danger." She blinked a couple of times, and rubbed her eyes. The room seemed to be swimming in and out of focus, like an old slide projector.

 "I say, you look awfully green," George commented. He stared down at his drink, screwed up his eyes, and finished the glass in one go.

 "You aren't unwell, are you?"

 "Fine," Benny said weakly. "JustÉ" She finished the sentence by sliding gracefully to the floor, her eyes fluttering upwards.

 The Noble Chivalric Order looked at each other.

 "Crumbs. What do we do now?"

 No response.

 Gordy fired off a couple more explosives for good measure. "Fiera? I heard you was beaten by a Mark 3 Assassin the other dayÉ in a game of Hide and Seek!" He laughed at his own wit. Still no response from Fiera. That meant she wasn't there any more Ð no self-respecting assassin would stay quiet after a jibe like that Ð but where had she gone? He eased his head around the corner. Nothing. No one there. Slowly, he eased the rest of himself around the corner. If necessary, he could pull back straight away. The corridor was clear. Gordy swore. Where in seven types of stasis had she got to?

 "You're getting old," he told himself. "Fifteen years ago, nobody would have gotten past Gordy Strattenheimer, no they wouldn't." He set off down the corridor, carefully checking each doorway and cross-passage. "'Deliver the message to Summerfield,' they said. 'Easiest job you'll ever do,' they said. Blimey, if this is easy, I'd hate to consider what a difficult job is. Not like when I was a boy, when being In The Business meant something. Not like it does today, no, not at allÉ" The one-man tirade continued down the corridor, still muttering to himself.

 Benny was still slumped on the floor. The Noble Chivalric society stood over her. As a body, they were looking at each other nervously, hoping someone would come up with an idea.

 Robin sighed.

 "This isn't the holovids. I say we get a medic-drone here, and I say we do it now."

 George stroked his chin, trying to look like he was deep in thought.

 "Of course, I could always try artificial respirationÉ"

 Sadly, Arthur and George's responses were lost. The door burst open, and Gordy strolled in.

 "Get back," George warned. "We're armed, and dangerous."

 "I only want to give her a message," Gordy said, pointing at Benny. He took a couple of steps towards her, and drew out a knife.

 "That's the message?" Arthur asked.

 "No. This is." Geordy raised the knife above Benny's still form, and brought it down with all his might.

 Robin fainted.

 TO BE CONTINUED.