The Shadow Dragons - James A. Owen [80]
“Curse it,” Charles exclaimed. “There wasn’t supposed to be any fighting. We’re the espionage division, for heaven’s sake!”
The witch continued to laugh as she came around again, but this time she wasn’t targeting Charles. She was aiming at Fred.
Charles threw himself in front of her just before she ran down the little mammal, and the bicycle bounced violently off of his back. It knocked the wind out of him and only irritated the witch.
“Fred! Run!” Charles shouted. “I’ll buy you some time and keep her attention on me!”
“I’m not leaving my partner!” Fred yelled back. Then he turned and dashed inside one of the houses.
“I didn’t really expect him to go,” Charles said under his breath. “That was just something you’re supposed to say.”
The witch stopped laughing as she realized that she’d just lost track of one of her quarry. She rode the bicycle more slowly now, and a dark rage settled over her face.
“I can catch you anytime I want,” she said with menace as she brandished the fork, which was tipped with crimson.
My blood, Charles realized. This was not going at all well, and it promised to get worse.
“I enjoy the game,” the witch said, “but now it’s time to finish it.”
She dropped down to a height just level with Charles’s head and hovered in front of him.
“You aren’t going to escape,” she said, grinning wickedly, “and neither will your dog.”
“He’s a badger, actually,” said Charles.
“Did you really think you could defeat me? Was that your plan?”
“Not precisely, no,” Fred responded as he appeared in a nearby doorway. “The plan was to get you to come closer and hold still.”
Before she could react, Fred threw a handful of a thick, cream-colored substance at her. It struck her in the face and stuck like glue.
The witch shrieked in fury and wheeled the bicycle about. She let go of the handlebars to clutch at her face with her hands, and the bicycle spun crazily around, finally flipping end over end, completely out of control.
The bicycle crashed into a wall and plummeted to the ground. The witch fell off it just before it struck, and she rolled several times before she finally came to a stop against a barrel. She didn’t move.
“Betcha no dog can do that,” Fred said, wiping his paws and smirking. “Stupid witch.”
“What was that?” Charles asked, flabbergasted.
“You said I couldn’t eat anything, but you didn’t say I couldn’t use the food as a weapon,” said Fred. “There were no muffins in there anyway. So I used the next best thing. Tapioca pudding.”
“Fred,” said Charles, “I’m completely impressed!”
“It’s not as good as a poke in the eye with a sharp stick,” said the little badger, “but it’ll do in a pinch.”
Charles and Fred had finished binding and gagging the witch, whom they hid behind a bushel of potatoes in the cellar of one of the houses. She only narrowly avoided being put into an oven.
“I still say we should have flipped the coin for three out of five,” Fred grumbled. “She wouldn’t have given us that much of a chance.”
“That’s what separates her from us,” Charles said in admonishment. “We try not to eat anyone else.”
“Oh, I wasn’t going to eat her,” said Fred. “But she would have made a nifty chunk of charcoal.”
“At least she provided us with transportation and a disguise,” Charles said as he pulled the shawl over his shoulders. “What do you think?”
“You make a pretty good witch,” said Fred.
“Thanks a lot,” said Charles. “If anyone asks, you’re a dog.”
“That’s very insulting,” said Fred.
“Hey,” said Charles. “If I have to go in disguise, then so do you.”
“Fair enough.”
“How do you think this thing works?” Charles asked, examining the bicycle.
“It’s not mechanical like the principles,” Fred said, crouching to examine the gears. “I think it’s purely magical.”
“Oh, excellent,” said Charles. “No risk there,” he added with obvious sarcasm.
“Unless you’ve got a better idea, this is our best means of seeing the entire area at once,” said Fred. “Time is of the essence, remember?”
“Okay,” Charles said as he straddled the