Chapter 6 - And she escapes!

T
racey, contrary to what River and the two men had thought, was conscious. A painful kind of consciousness but a consciousness none the less. She was also no-one’s fool and as a safety precaution, had pretended to be out, so that she could eavesdrop.

She had almost blown her cover when she had heard River. “A hazard?” she had thought angrily “How dare he!” but she had forced herself to stay still. Her consciousness depended on it.

She heard River’s light footsteps slowly fade and when they were completely gone, she felt herself being wheeled away.

She continued to play dumb, but then she felt a warm tingling feeling, and then the pain was gone. Again.

So she waited for a little while, then jumped up and slapped the first man’s temples. Then she pressed a single finger t0 a spot just above the second man’s nose.

They crumpled soundlessly.

Tracey ran down the corridor, making sure it was the one River hadn’t gone down. There didn’t seem to be anybody there, so she opened a door and went in.

There were a bunch of great big luminescent orange creatures with huge floppy ears and ray guns, all trained on her.

The biggest one held up a card that said, “Put your hands up, and don’t make any loud noises.” but they seemed to say to her, “Please don’t scream, because we are very sensitive to sound.”

Now let me explain. Tracey was generally a non human loving person and liked all creatures, normal or abnormal, but in this case when the creature is armed with a ray gun and threatening to zap her, she would make an exception.

She opened her mouth and let out a note that would have had an opera singer quivering with jealousy.

The creatures fell back, out cold.

Tracey, pleased with her handiwork, started to back out but at the back of the room a wall slid up so more floppy eared creatures stepped out, wearing bright pink earmuffs.

“Oh shoot,” she said, before she burst out laughing.
Tracey knew that she was no fashion expert, but acid pink and fluorescent orange were what most people would call a “fashion no-no.”

Tracey wasn’t too fazed at first, after all the laws of physics dictate that sound travels better through solids as opposed to air, however, this rule does not apply to soundproofed objects, plus that was only in theory.

So that was why she found herself being chased down five flights of stairs in an attempt to shake-off her evidently colour-blind pursuers, cursing her high school physics teacher as she ran.

After the sixth flight of stairs, she managed to give the orange-creatures the slip by ducking into a conveniently situated room, labelled, “Weaponry.”

She waited until the footsteps had died away, then she waited for five more minutes.

When she was sure there was no one who would notice, she turned on the lights and gasped at the sight.

The entire room, save the floor, was covered in guns, swords, daggers, throwing knives and stars, maces, staffs, scythes, bow and arrows, cutlasses, machetes, hand grenades, stun guns, spears and whips.

Tracey grabbed two sets of throwing knives and was about to leave when she saw a pair of twin swords.

They weren’t exactly right for her she thought as she pulled them off the wall, but they were better suited to her than the knives.

She moved to put them back, but instead put them in her utility belt, (don’t ask why she had one), and ran out the back door.

Tracey kept running until she came to a doorway that said exit. It was a bit suspicious but she was too hungry and too tired to care.

She was almost at the archway when a rather high voice piped up, “Excuse me, but are you an all-powerful elemental mage, who has been rammed off an entrance to a motorway, was kidnapped and brought here while incapacitated, escaped her carers and stolen weapons from the lax-security weapons room?”

Tracey whirled round, trying to hide the swords behind her back, only to find herself face to face, with a little boy about half her age. (For those of you with short memories, she is fifteen.)

“Who, me?” she said insincerely, “Naw!”

The boy seemed slightly doubtful. “Really? Because Mister River told me that the girl was your height, with your coloured hair, your coloured eyes and she looked like she’d been dragged through hell and back through a bush, and you match the description perfectly!”

Tracey muttered about where River could stick his opinion of her appearance.

The boy piped up again, “And oh yeah, Mister River said not to let anyone, especially girls who had your height, your coloured hair and eyes and looked like-” he said till Tracey cut him off.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright, look kid, I’ll tell you the truth, I am the powerful mage you were warned about, now step aside or I’ll have to gut you like a fish.” She admitted.

The boy shook his head gravely, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do that, I’m afraid I’ll have to detain you while I wait for mister River.”

Tracey did the math. She was twice the kid’s size and had much longer legs for running.

The boy saw her face and looked at his tiny body.
“I don’t suppose I look very intimidating, do I?” he commented absently, but before Tracey could nod in reply, he said simply, “I suppose I’ll have to fix that.”

Then before Tracey's disbelieving eyes, he began to swell.

His skin stretched as well then when he was about eleven feet high, it hardened so it was like granite, then suddenly a transparent slime flowed from the top of his head and hardened into a cocoon.

Tracey wanted to run towards the exit but she was transfixed in horror.

After a few minutes, the rumbling crunching noise stopped and it was silent for a while.
Tracey began to inch her way towards the entrance when the cocoon burst open and the thing inside let out a roar that put what can only be known as the fear of God in her heart.

What emerged from the split cocoon was nothing short of terrifying. A twelve-foot-tall, (it stretched another foot in the cocoon), thing that looked like it was a badly crafted puppet made entirely out of boulders, except for some twiggy things that seemed to hold it together.

“T-t-troglodyte!” she whispered in horror.

The monster turned to look at her in surprise, though it was hard to tell, because the only discernable feature on his face was his mouth.

“Now how did you know that?” it asked in an educated bass rumble.

“I don’t know.” She whispered again “I just did.” She was surprised to find that she was telling the truth.

“Ah, well.” The thing said “I suppose I shall have to keep you here till Mister River comes along. He wouldn’t be happy if I let you go.”

Tracey, despite her bleak and disagreeable situation, she realized that the trog wouldn’t hurt her because deep down underneath the rock, he was a gentle seven year old.

“Listen kid,” she said cajolingly, “I really don’t want to fight you, but you're between me and my way out. I’m begging you, let me go!”

The trog shook his head firmly.

Tracy sighed.

Then she pulled out the throwing knives.

The trog burst out laughing. “Ha ha! I’m made of rock! There’s no way one of those puny knives will pierce me!”

Tracey looked at the knives.

Then she looked at the towering monster that was convulsed in laughter on the floor. Then she saw the sprinkler.

Now everyone knows that there are two ways to set off a sprinkler. One, is to light a fire under it, second is to hit the nearest fire alarm, which luckily for Tracey, was right behind the trog.

What most people DON’T know seeing as they don’t frequently encounter troglodytes is that a trog’s weakness is water.

Tracey however, was one of the few people who happened to know this fact though God only knows why she did, so she positioned herself, prayed for a miracle and threw.

It was a perfect bull's-eye.

The water rained down and as soon as it hit the trog’s skin, it made a hissing sound and began to steam up.

Tracey watched the trog for a minute as it shrunk back into the weedy little boy, then ran for the exit.

She was almost there. Just one or two more steps and…

There was a dull thump as something buried itself in Tracey’s back. She stopped, pulled it out and scrutinized it. It was a dagger.

She expected it to be covered in blood, but it wasn’t. It also had some writing across the blade. It said Slumber Knife.

Slowly she turned to see who had thrown it, and there, standing in front of the little boy on the floor, was River.

Tracey tried to run but she felt her legs turning to jelly. She began to feel drowsy, her eyelids got heavier and soon it was all she could do to keep upright.

She turned to face River again and flung the dagger at him with as much force as it could muster, but it wasn’t enough.

The blade clattered to the floor a few inches from where it had begun.

After a long minute, her legs gave out and she hit the ground as well. Her mind seemed to clog up and her vision blurred, until eventually, she didn’t see at all.

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