Chapter 111 - 5 Rock Street.

"There it is," Urt said. "Number five Rock street." 

Reginald whistled. "Nice digs," he said, looking it up and down.

Indeed they were. The house they'd been directed to was standing in a row of similar houses along a pleasant street, and was certainly more upmarket than Urt had been expecting. Made of light coloured stone, rather than the usual swaying wood, it stood three floors high, and featured large square windows of real glass. A small garden ran along the front of the row of buildings, with an iron fence separating them from public land. Gates allowed entrance to each residence, and it was outside number five's that the small group now stood.

"So, what's the plan then?" Reginald asked. 

"I see no reason to sneak around like common thieves in the night for this enterprise," Urt said.

"Aren't we common thieves though?" the werewolf pointed out. "Or is it because it's not night, and we should sneak around like common thieves in the day?" 

"You may be a commoner," Urt frowned. "I, however, am a…"

"Dark mage of great power," Reginald finished for him. "Yes, I know, you keep telling us." 

"I'm glad we have that understood anyway." Urt sniffed and paused for a moment, wondering if the lad was making fun of him in some way. "So, where was I?"

"Not stealing this clock like common thieves, in the night anyway."

"Right. And we aren't stealing it, we're… recovering it. For a client."

"She's a client now is she?" 

"Shut up and come along," Urt said. "And let me do the talking."

"What if things get nasty?" Reginald asked, eyeing the door nervously as Urt pushed open the gate.

"Then your job is to hold any attackers off whilst I get a spell going."

"I see, I'm the fodder am I?"

"I prefer to think of you as a noble warrior in my army," Urt replied, magnanimously promoting the lad whilst walking up the path and admiring the flowers that lined it.

"Funny, I don't remember enlisting," muttered the wolf, but trotted obediently behind regardless.

The door of number five was painted white, and had an iron knocker set in the middle. Urt used it to rap loudly three times.

"Maybe they're not in," Reginald suggested, after waiting for several minutes. Urt wasn't about to give up that easily though, and was about to knock again when the door creaked open, to reveal a middle aged woman dressed in the traditional maid's outfit.

"Good morning," Urt said, "we are here to speak with the master of the house."

"I'm afraid he's not in at the moment," the woman replied, taking a step back from Urt's dark robed figure. "Only the mistress is in, but she's taking a nap…"

"We'll wait," Urt said, rudely inviting himself in. "I don't deal with underlings." 

"Ah, I'll just fetch the mistress," the maid said, retreating rapidly in the face of such ill-manners.

"Nice digs," Reginald repeated, holding the door open so Lucy could step inside with Horace's head bag.

"Through here," Urt urged, peering through into what appeared to be a living room. 

"Nice…" 

"Stop saying that!" Urt waved a hand, cutting off Reginald. He examined the room they found themselves invading, and decided that the Deidre's ex had found himself a rich mistress. He wondered what his secret was. 

The carpet in here was pure white, which must be hell to keep clean. The walls were decorated with fine oil paintings, mainly of beasts both natural and magical, and the variety of comfortable looking furniture was arranged with a focus on the large fireplace, currently not lit, set into one wall. Above it, on the mantel, was a large wooden clock, merrily ticking away.

"Is that…?" asked Reginald, as he followed Urt into the room.

"I do believe it is!" Urt said, striding over to the timepiece. "Yes! It's an exact match." He reached up to grasp his prize, only to stop suddenly as a woman's voice interrupted him.

"And what do you think you're doing?" 

He spun around, to meet the gaze of a steely eyed, tall woman with long white hair. She was older than him, probably by a few decades at least, but she looked very much in shape, and had the demeanour of someone used to giving commands, and expecting them to be obeyed. She wore a long flowing blue dress with a belt at her thin waist. To one side was a short dagger in a leather scabbard.

"I asked you a question," she repeated, frowning.

Urt sniffed and stepped a pace away from the fireplace. He decided to take the straight forward approach. "My colleague and I are repossessing an item that your current beau has taken without permission. Stand aside and let us be at our work, and you shall remain unharmed."

"Shall I now?" She raised an eyebrow. "Here's my counter offer. You get out of my house right now, and I'll let you live, albeit with some residual pain."

"I'll have you know that you are threatening a powerful wizard," Urt said, rolling up his sleeves. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Reginald putting a hand over his eyes.

"A wizard is it?" the woman replied, apparently un-phased.

"Indeed, so now you know what you are dealing with, I shall give you another chance to let us pass."

"Let me introduce myself," the woman said. "I am Bethany the Blue, from the council of Groan. Mage of the order of Ice. Now, stand aside, or we shall see what you are made of… wizard."

Urt took a deep breath. Deidre had apparently forgotten to include some vital information about her ex-husbands floozy.

In the corner, Reginald made a whimpering noise.

~ * ~

This was no time to back down. Here was Urt's first real test against another wizard. He stood straight and squared his shoulders. 

"You realise you are challenging me to a waark!" He ducked as a bolt of ice narrowly missed his head. It shattered behind him, cracking the wall.

"You shall pay for that too!" Bethany said. She raised her hands, which were now glowing blue with magical energy, and pointed them at Urt. Another bolt of power shot forward, and Urt dropped to the floor to avoid the attack.

"Get her!" he screamed at his loyal companions. Reginald whimpered and dived behind a sofa in way of response, but Lucy moved forward at top speed, obeying her master's command.

"Pathetic," sneered Bethany. She made a gesture and Lucy was swatted backwards. Horace's head bag bounced on the floor, trailing complaints. 

"Reginald!" Urt rolled to one side and held up a hand to deflect another attack. The spell, Oswald's Compression if Urt had gauged it right, bounced away and hit a picture hanging on the wall near the door, which crumpled in on itself.

"You dare resist me?" Bethany screamed in fury. Judging by her face she should have been called Bethany Beetroot. 

"Dare and then some!" shouted Urt back at her before squeaking like a girl and throwing himself behind the coffee table as the enraged wizard attacked again. The table exploded into a million small, sharp wooden shards, a goodly percentage of which lodged into Urt. "Ow! You bitch!" he cried.

"There's more where that came from," the other mage snarled, hands dripping with magical fire.

"Really?" Urt regained his feet. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Reginald quietly picking up a vase and then ducking back down again. The werewolf winked at him, and made a gesture with his hand. Urt gave a tiny nod in reply before addressing his unexpectedly powerful enemy once more.

"Is that all you've got?" he asked. 

"Oh, you are so going to pay for that," she replied. 

"You're all talk, do you know that?" 

"Die!" was all she said in response, throwing some kind of ball of purple haze at him.

"Dreg!" said Urt, and scuttled to one side. The ball followed him. 

"You can't escape Xendrih's Haze," Bethany cackled, as the purple energy changed course, homing in. 

Urt tried a spell of deflection, but the light was unaffected, and rolled relentlessly towards him. 

"Prepare to die!" snarled Bethany, arms in front of her, guiding the spell to its target. "I'm told it's very painful."

"Foosh." Urt backed away, trying to think of some defensive magic as the pulse approached his head. He couldn't think of anything. 

There was a shattering noise and the purple light vanished. 

Urt blinked. 

"Got the bitch," beamed Reginald, standing over the prone figure of Bethany the Blue. Around the body shards of porcelain lay. "A good bash on the head with a pot will do for you nine times out of ten I always say."