"Ah, yes." Urt straightened up, aware that his previous stance could be interpreted as cowering. "Well, thank you. I was just about to put paid to her permanently, with death magic. However, perhaps killing such a high profile figure would be a bad idea. Good work minion."

    "I''m not your minion," Reginald replied, folding his arms.

    "No, er, of course not," Urt said, performing a quick diplomatic u-turn. "I meant… warrior. Hero even."

    "More like it." Reginald sniffed and then prodded the unconscious mage with his toe. "Probably best not to hang around though, eh? The housekeeper has likely run off to get help, and this one''s not going to be too happy when she wakes up."

    "Good idea." Urt looked around, grabbed the clock they''d come for, and turned back. "Is Lucy all right?"

    "Here master." The small zombie limped back into the room. "I think my leg is broken," she added.

    "I''ll fix it later," Urt said. "Grab Horace and follow."

    "Yes master." Lucy recovered the bag that held Horace''s complaining head.

    "Quiet Horace," Urt ordered. "That''s a command."

    The stream of curses stopped.

    "Better." Urt gave one final look around and stuffed a silver candlestick into his robe. He was beginning to realize that an army of undead would require financial backing. "Let''s go," he said.

    Urt''s small team made what he liked to think of as an efficient withdrawal, mission accomplished. They slid out of the front door and through the gate as quietly and unobtrusively as possible, which wasn''t all that hard. The few passers-by ignored them.

    "I hear whistles," Reginald said, as they scurried away. "The militia are coming."

    Laying a hand on his companion, Urt nodded to a side street. "Let''s keep calm," he said, over the sound of his racing heart. "We''ll go down the back alleys and make it back to the inn in time for lunch."

    "Back alleys, right you are," the werewolf agreed.

    They slipped down the small lane Urt had indicated, and then hurried away from the main street just as a squad of guardsmen jogged past, in the direction they''d just come from.

    "Can you cast some kind of masking spell?" asked Reginald. "The woman''s likely to use magic to track us once she''s woken up."

    "I''m not sure I know such magic," Urt pondered.

    "Try."

    As they continued into the maze of small streets, Urt did just that. He did know various transformation spells, often used to restore the appearance of the long dead that were just a little too far gone. Perhaps a variation… He stopped suddenly, as a tingle of power swept over them.

    "Did you feel that?" he asked.

    "Feel what?" Reginald said.

    "I think you may be right about her," Urt replied. "She''s casting some kind of detection spell."

    "Well do something!" the werewolf urged. "You''re the master wizard, so you keep telling me."

    "Fine fine," Urt made a gesture and stepped to one side of the narrow lane, under the shelter of a small alcove. "Give me a few moments to think."

    "Hurry," fretted Reginald, looking left and right.

    Urt ignored him, going over the spell in his mind and working out how he could change it. After a minute he nodded. "I think I have it," he said.

    "You think?"

    "Come close, stand together, I''ll have to cast it on us all at once."

    Reginald and Lucy, still carrying Horace in the bag, shuffled closer as he began his incantation.

    Casting magic was always tricky, though Mangle had insisted he had a talent for it. Even so, the pressure of the situation made Urt sweat. Why was he always casting spells in such dire circumstances? He had to plan this better in future.

    He swept his hand around, taking in himself and his companions in the target area, and spoke the final few syllables of his casting.

    There was a brief shimmering in the air, and their shapes stretched, morphing into new identities.

    They looked at each other.

    "Well, not really what I expected," said the form that used to be Reginald.

    "You there! Hold!" Another voice echoed down the street, and they turned to face a small squad of heavily armed troops marching towards them, swords at the ready.

    Without being able to see his own self, Urt had to ?ssume that he now appeared in a similar fashion to Reginald and Lucy.

    "Why do I have to be the woman?" hissed the werewolf, which confirmed Urt''s gender. He didn''t have time to reply before the guards slammed to a stop in front of them. The commander, a red face, portly fellow with a sword at his waist, looked at them uncertainly.

    Urt wasn''t surprised by his reaction. Reginald was now in the shape of an overpoweringly large woman in an elaborate red ball gown. ''She'' had a wig that, had it been real, would have probably been heavy enough to compress her spine. Its mostly white curls towered up over the group, almost doubling the female aristocrat''s height.

    In turn Lucy was now a pale child, female again, and garbed in robes that were a miniature copy of what was presumably meant to be her mother. The only difference was that she was carrying a large doll, which was probably Horace. The spell hadn''t obviously known quite what to do with the head, and the doll was burned, with one eye missing. A toy out of nightmares.

    "May I help you officer?" Urt asked, aware that the militia leader was still standing there.

    "Ah, sire," he replied, in the tone of someone who''s not sure if the person he''s addressing has enough power to order parts cut off or not. "We''re… ah, looking for some fugitives sir. Ah… they performed and unspeakable act upon Councillor Blue."

    "How awful," said Urt, waving a hand in what he hoped was a suitable style. "Bethany is such a dear. Please pass on my regards."

    "Ah, yes sire. What, ah, name shall I use?"

    "Whatever you''re called of course," Urt replied, deliberately misunderstanding to give him a few moments more to think.

    "No, ah, sire. I mean… ah, what is your name? If I may."

    "I am Lor… Duke, yes Duke Blame," Urt answered, figuring out he may as well pretend to be someone of rank.

    "Oh! Of course sire. Ah…" The captain obviously wanted to ask, but hesitated. Urt decided to help him out.

    "I decided to take a short constitutional after visiting a friend," he supplied. "I sent my carriage on ahead. Now, please don''t let me detain you sergeant."

    "It''s Captain sire," the man almost scowled before remembering who he thought he was addressing and saluted instead. "Have a good night Duke. Come on men!"

    Urt watched as the squad jogged by, sagging in relief as they disappeared from view.

    "Why am I the woman?" repeated Reginald.

    "Hush wife," Urt said in a voice a little too loud, and then, in a whisper added: "They might still be close. Come on."

    "Bah," said Lady Blame, but followed as Urt set off down a random alleyway.

    "Where are we going now?" Reginald asked, after several minutes of aimless wandering down various backstreets, where they attracted numerous stares.

    "We need to get the clock to the librarian," Urt replied.

    "You''re lost aren''t you?" the werewolf asked, after more wandering.

    "I''m merely misplaced." Urt scowled and then stopped. "I can''t think with you looking like that. Here, come over here, let''s dispel the illusion."

    "Are you sure that''s safe?" Reginald asked, stepping over to the dark alleyway that Urt had indicated.

    "Considering the looks we''ve been getting I''d say there''s more chance of being mugged than found by that blue mage at the moment. I can do without having you fight off a gang of cut-throats."

    "Me? Why am I fighting them off?" Mrs. Blame looked left and right, trying to spot any such threat.

    "Because you''re the fighter," Urt growled. "Now, hold still whilst I dispel the illusion."

    Mrs. Blame crossed her arms and tapped her foot as Urt closed his eyes and went through the motions needed to banish his spell. "There!" he said finally, opening his eyes.

    "Er, I don''t think you did it right." Mrs. Blame was staring at him, still very much present.

    Urt frowned. "That shouldn''t have happened, or not happened even. Let me try again."

    "Hurry up then," the disguised werewolf replied. "I think I see some of your ruffians hanging about." He indicated several skulking figures a little way off.

    "They''re not my ruffians," Urt said, but repeated the dispelling magic quickly nonetheless.

    "It didn''t work again," Reginald pointed out, needlessly, a minute later. "And I think we''re about to get mugged."

    Looking down the street, Urt saw four burly men approaching. They wore rough clothes and unfriendly expressions. Overall it was unlikely they were approaching to discuss the latest fashions and pass the time of day.

    "Plan boss?" Mrs. Blame asked him.

    "Now I''m the boss am I?" Urt looked about. "Very well. My plan is… run!" So saying he followed his own advice. Footsteps from behind him indicated his Reginald was hot on his heels, and he worried, briefly, that Lucy wouldn''t be able to keep up.

    "Easy come, easy go," he gasped. Unlike his life. He kept on running.