Cassie did as instructed. Pythia grinned.
"Tripwire. Tricksy little beggars. Point up."
Cassie pointed the beam of the torch at the ceiling. Above their heads, they saw an old bed frame suspended from the ceiling. Many sharp wooden stakes had been affixed to it, all pointing downwards.
"Well, that's that sorted," said Cassie. "Now, if you no longer need my help hunting possibly sentient, rabid weasels, there's some important shopping I could be getting on with--"
"You stay here," Pythia ordered her. "It's your stupid fault the building is infested with these things. Hmm, what's this?"
The beam of the torch had picked out a small table stood a few feet past the tripwire. On it there was a cake, with "EAT ME" clumsily written on it with icing.
"Sloppy, guys, sloppy," Pythia murmured. "Even Danni wouldn't fall for that one. Underestimating your enemy is a mistake that's going to cost you."
But both she and Cassie jumped as an unexpected voice addressed them from the direction of a pile of cardboard boxes to their left.
"One is on a secret visit to this country, all the way from Windsor. One is in search of a blonde-topped breeding female of suitable age."
"What the hell...?" Pythia began.
"It sounds kind of like Prince William," said Cassie doubtfully.
"The bipeds of this country may not be aware of it, but this is the rutting season for the Royal sept that inhabits Windsor. Any blonde-topped breeding female of suitable age that happens by could be in for a treat."
"Only he sounds kind of weird."
"Inbreeding," Pythia suggested.
"Ah,
one has just detected an appropriate breeding female in the vicinity! One refers
to the blonde-topped one wearing the musk of crushed ungulate's testicles mixed
with various synthetic volatiles, not the other borderline psychotic one. If
she would only approach a little nearer, one would perform an extravagant courtship
dance in her honour."By moving her head from side to side, Pythia had more or less pinpointed the spot the voice was emanating from. She fired four rounds from her shotgun into the cardboard boxes. Spck-Spck-<quick flash of white underbelly>-eeEEek's speech, and his life, ended abruptly. A little shaken, the women continued their progress into the interior of the basement.
"We're nearly at the far wall," said Pythia. "The nest has got to be behind these packing cases. Get ready for fireworks."
"Halt!" a small voice squeaked at them from the top of the packing cases. A furry brown form emerged from a bundle of oily rags, clutching a pointed stick. Pythia levelled her gun at it.
"Where is the satisfaction in using your killing stick?" Sneep-frrrrt-<two drops of urine placed just *so*> demanded haughtily. "You are your sept's greatest fighter, I am mine. Let us engage in close
combat."
"Suits me," said Pythia. She crouched down to place her shotgun on the floor. As she did so, the weasel screeched a war cry and charged. Pythia plucked a throwing knife from her boot and transfixed the small creature with it before it even reached the edge of the packing cases.
"You didn't wait for the count of three," Pythia chided, retrieving her shotgun.
"You think you have won," Sneep-frrrrt-<two drops of urine placed just *so*> gasped. "But this action was only intended to delay you. It is we who will celebrate the final triumph."
He felt himself slipping into the other world. His last thought was whether he would meet the mad ones when they went on their spirit journeys.
Pythia shook the dead weasel off her knife and cleaned it on the rags. Then they rounded the packing cases. Here they encountered an enormous nest made from old blankets, towels, boxes, chewed-up cardboard and all kinds of bric-a-brac. It was deserted.
"Fuzzy Rambo wasn't kidding," Pythia mused. "They've evacuated."
"Good!" cried Cassie. "Can we go back to the office now?"
"Guess so. Hey, where are you going?"
"To fetch that cake. We can have it with our morning coffee."