With a princess killer to catch, a host of fairy-tale characters to wrangle and a crumbling career to resurrect, fallen hotshot Agent Fields has his hands full. And that's before the case leads to a story-obsessed, dimension-hopping scientist, hellb...
"Run?" Fields glared at Al. "That's it? After all your awesome powers and hyper-intelligence bullshit, that's the best you could do? Run?"
Crammed between Fields and Peregrine, at the very back of the shallow cavity their mad flight had revealed just a little way below the lip of the crater, the entity shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I suppose it is true I could possibly have been somewhat quicker to bring forth the salient point of my exposition. It has, on occasion, been brought to my attention that I can sometimes perhaps be a little wordier than is strictly necessary."
"You think?" Peregrine punched him in the arm—and not playfully. "Next time just get to the bloody point—preferably before we're staring a bloody dragon in the bloody face."
"I suppose. It's just that, well...I couldn't risk frightening you off coming here. I need to meet this Featherstone human, Peregrine. I need it."
She snorted. "Yeah? Well first we need to not get our arses barbecued." Their refuge briefly darkened, as with a tremendous rush of air the dragon soared past the entrance. "Ideas, anyone?"
"First"—Fields flicked off the safety on his handgun—"how about we don't listen to another thing Mr Wordy-Arsed Entity-Face here has to say? Second, our priority is that somebody gets to Featherstone and shuts that psychotic brain-box down." To his surprise, Fields found himself feeling strangely calm. Partly, it may have been due to the utter, inexplicable, unprecedented weirdness of the situation he found himself in. Who the hell knew how to behave while hiding from a dragon, in a cave, in the side of a meteorite crater, in the company a brain-dead prince possessed by a pan-dimensional entity, on the way to capture the murderer of a bunch of fairy-tale princesses, while suffering a serious case of indigestion? They hadn't really covered that kind of thing at the academy.
But mostly, he suspected, it was simply because there was something to do. Although not unintelligent (the Agency was no place for the faint of brain), Fields had always been at his best when presented with a clear course of action. With a problem to solve.
With a day to save.
And now, at last, this very long, very trying, very confusing, and frankly, quite humiliating day, seemed to have become just such a day. Gun at the ready, he shuffled to the cave's entrance.
"Peregrine, I'm going to lead the dragon away. There's a bunch of ridges and caves and cavities and stuff all along the crater wall, so I'm going to run from one to another and try to get it as far away from you guys as I can. Once the coast is clear, you head down to the buildings and take care of Featherstone. I'll join you if...when I can."
Peregrine shook her head. "No way, Fields. I'm not losing another partner to a dragon. I'll distract it, and you go get Featherstone."
It would be fair to say this was not the response Fields was expecting. Another partner? With firm resolution, he suppressed the multitude of questions that sprang to mind.
"Peregrine, don't be stupid. This is a no-brainer. You know about freaky shit. I'm fast. Who do you think is best qualified for which job?
Peregrine had no answer to this. But to the surprise of them both, Al did.
"Actually," he declared, moving up to crouch alongside Fields, "as much as I hate to admit it, I'm afraid I'm probably best qualified to handle the dragon."
"Huh?" queried both agents.
The entity sighed. "Princes and dragons, anybody? Are you forgetting your fairy-tale lore?" With a metallic rasp, he drew his sword. "I've just conducted a quick poll, and the mes from the dimensions with dragons are just about unanimous in their opinions. Our best bet here is for me to scare the beast away. You see, in most worlds fear of princes is basically built into dragon DNA. They're mortal, historical nemeses. If either of you go out there, then I'm afraid it's probably going to be a case of agent flambé. If I go, there's every chance the big, dumb reptile will simply bugger off in fright. And even if it doesn't, this new vessel of mine was basically born to fight dragons; I can feel the urge welling up from the most, basic primitive parts of his brain, deep in the cerebellum, way down in the medulla. If we want to get to Featherstone, this is our best shot. It's my best shot." And, without waiting for a reply, never mind consent, he leapt from the cave, sword held high.
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A short time later, a wary Fields and Peregrine watched the recumbent form of the iridescent, bewinged beast, its sinuous form stretched in languorous repose across a sunlit promontory some hundred metres or so down the crater wall from their cave.
"What do you think it's doing?" hissed Fields.
Peregrine shrugged. "Well, you know, it could be this or it could be that, but it looks to me as though it's asleep. It probably likes a bit of a nap, after a snack."
It would be fair to say the entity's plan had not been a complete success.
"You know, I'll miss him," reflected Peregrine, "even if he could be a bit of an arrogant, demanding, needy, overly-loquacious wanker at times."
"Pretty crap at dragon-fighting, too," agreed Fields. "Still, if that monster really is asleep, he may just have given us the chance we need—even if not quite how he intended. Let's not waste it."
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Although the fence surrounding them seemed in good repair, their crumbling paint, broken windows and weed-choked pathways testified to the buildings' long-abandoned state. All of them lay still and silent.
All but one.
Through the high-set windows of the largest structure, a hangar-like building fronted by a cracked and overgrown helipad, light could be seen—flickering green light, faint but discernible in the afternoon's waning glow.
Still a little surprised at how nimbly Peregrine negotiated the fence, a slightly breathless Fields joined her in the cover provided by a nearby shed. They considered their approach. "What do you think?" she whispered.
Fields pulled a face. "I think this sucks," he whispered back. "Not a shred of cover, broad daylight, and who-knows-what waiting for us in there."
Peregrine nodded. "No arguments here. So, we could wait for dark. Or call for backup. The man-eating dragon would probably do a lot of the heavy-lifting for us when it comes to explanations."
"No signal out here," replied Fields. "I already checked. And it won't be dark for a couple of hours yet. Who the hell knows what else we'll have to deal with if we wait that long? What the world will have to deal with? My vote is we hightail it in there as fast as we can move our highly trained arses—all guns blazing, if need be."
"So, this is a democracy, is it?" Peregrine lightly bumped shoulders with Fields, although given the difference in their height, it wound up as more of an elbow bump for him. "Well, lucky for you, my vote's the same. No guts, no glory. But listen, do your best to not get killed, okay? You're already in my top ten list of favourite partners, and I reckon you've got the potential to go even higher if you play your cards right."
"Top ten?" scoffed Fields. "Pfft. You're already in my top three."
"Really? Nice." Peregrine managed a surprised smile before the obvious question occurred to her. "Hey, how many partners have you had?"
"Including you?" Fields grinned at her. "Three. C'mon." And without waiting for a reaction, he took off for the hangar, doubled over in a crouching run.
