There was a noise of bolts being drawn back, and the sturdy wooden door that was the only egress opened, allowing the young woman from the hall to enter. A gigantic warrior in dark armour followed her, ducking under the doorway before taking his place in front of it, hand on the sword that hung at his side.

    Urt''s eyes followed the woman as she first wandered over to Reginald and looked him up and down. The wolf, for a change, was silent.

    The examination of his companion complete, she turned her blue eyes towards Urt. Once again he felt a thrill of energy run through him as she approached. Who was this girl?

    She seemed to feel it too, for she stopped and ???ked her head to one side. Urt noticed that her white gown was thin, translucent, and not only was she n?k?d beneath it, but was standing in front of the torch.

    "Who are you?" she asked, unaware of the effect she was having on him. "Which of my enemies sent you? Why do want to kill me?"

    Urt, who''d never seen the girl before, made mumbling noises through his gag.

    Wagging a finger in response, she shook her head. "Oh no. I''m no fool. I saw what you did to those men. You''re not going to find me so easy to dispose of. You were arrogant, coming into my hall like that. That shall be your downfall."

    "Mmmmfff mmmff!" Urt said, trying to spit his gag loose. She took a step back in response.

    "I''ll come back to you later, when my chief mage returns. In the meantime, we''re going to have a comfy chat with your servant." She nodded at Reginald.

    "Hey! I know nothing! He''s just a crazy necromancer I met on the road," the werewolf said loyally.

    "Oh, you''ll tell us what you know," the woman said, turning away from Urt. "It may take a little bit of… extracting. It''s a good job my chief inquisitor has a set of silver tools isn''t it?"

    "I don''t know anything!" screamed Reginald, who had gone pale.

    "That''s what they all say, at first." She snapped her fingers, and two burly underlings in stained robes entered and bowed. "Take him away. Make him talk. Use whatever means you see fit."

    "Yes m''lady," one of the jailers said, detaching Reginald''s manacles from the wall. Together with his colleague they dragged the screaming werewolf out of the cell.

    The girl in white turned back to Urt and ran one finger down his body, sending Goosebumps along his spine. "We''ll be back for you later."

    So saying she turned and marched out of the small room. Her gigantic bodyguard gave him a final glare, and then slammed the door shut.

    ~ * ~

    Reginald m??n?d in fear as the horrible - whilst at the same time incredibly attractive - girl finished speaking to her large bodyguard. The man nodded, and then turned and left the room.

    The room. No, that was the wrong word. It was a chamber. A full on torturer chamber. Instruments of pain adorned the place, with strong emphasis placed on spikes, sharp edges and large crushing objects. Many had worrying stains on them.

    Reginald had sometimes wondered, in passing, when times had been slightly less hard than usual and he''d had somewhere dry and warm to hide from the world, what a torture chamber looked like. Now he had his answer, and he rather wished he hadn''t.

    "Listen, I really don''t know anything," he said, whilst the hooded man made a show of cleaning a blood splattered implement next to the table he was currently tied down to.

    "Everybody knows something," the girl replied. "They just have to be reminded. Sometimes very painfully."

    Reginald tried changing tactics. "How about we sit down over a glass of wine and have a nice chat? I can be quite charming, given half the chance. And you''re a nice girl I''m sure. What do you say? Call your thug off and let''s be civil about this."

    "I''m no thug," the torturer interjected. "I''m an experienced professional. Been doing this for twenty five years, trained at the Torturer''s Academy in Real I did." He indicated the far wall, where a framed certificate was hung between the iron maiden and some kind of upside-down cross thing. "Apprenticed under the Mad King himself for a bit," he added. "Before he disappeared of course."

    "I see. It''s nice to know I''m not being cut open by some amateur," Reginald said. "Makes all the difference."

    The girl leaned forward, looking down at him with eyes full of crazy.

    "Oh yes it certainly does," she said. "An amateur doesn''t know what they''re doing. They could cut something important by accident and kill you."

    "Well, it''s nice to be in safe hands."

    "Indeed. Morris here can make the pain last for weeks."

    "I don''t know anything!" screamed Reginald.

    ~ * ~

    Urt stopped trying to bite his way through his gag, which had been very professionally tied, and slumped back against the cold wall he was shackled too.

    Why couldn''t things just be straightforward? All he wanted was an army of undead warriors and some countries to rule with an iron fist of evil. Was that too much to ask? It wasn''t like he didn''t have the power, according to old Mangle. In that appraisal at least, Urt had more confidence after his recent show of guard and cake explosive ability, though he wondered why it had chosen that time to manifest itself.

    Enough! He mentally shouted at himself. This was not the end! Sure, he may have lost his Werewolf General, but that was what minions were basically for: distractions to allow the leader to escape.

    So escape then, he failed to mutter.

    A movement caught the corner of his eye, and he twisted his head around to see a rather haggard translucent figure floating across the cell.

    "Mmmmff!" Urt shouted, thrashing about. The ghost stopped and looked at him with hollow eyes.

    "Mmffff!"

    "Are you talking to me?" asked the spirit.

    "Mmfff!" Urt replied, then nodded to clarify the statement.

    "Oh, you''re a necromancer." The ghost drifted closer. "Haven''t seen one of you lot in here before. Annoyed one of the big nobs have you?"

    Urt nodded again, and then rolled his eyes up to the chains restraining him.

    "Something wrong is there?"

    Urt rolled his eyes again.

    "I can''t get you free of those chains, you need a more powerful spirit for that."

    "Mmfff!" said Urt.

    "What''s that?"

    "Mff mfff mffmfmfff mffmff!"

    "I''m sorry, I can''t understand a thing with that gag in your mouth."

    "MMMMMFFFFFF!!"

    The ghost paused, rubbing an insubstantial chin. "Perhaps I could get Patrick. He''d be strong enough to remove the gag at least, hear what you''re trying to say."

    Urt nodded vigorously.

    "He''s a bit touchy though, is Pat. Wouldn''t want to get on the wrong side of him, if you know what I mean."

    Apparently this ghost had to consider actions carefully. He must be an old spirit indeed, thought Urt. The longer they drifted the earth the more removed from reality they became. It made them somewhat absent minded, amongst other things.

    "Well, I suppose you are a necromancer. You''d probably be able to control him, if it came to that."

    Urt waited.

    "Hold on then. Let''s see if he''s around. Don''t go anywhere."

    With that, the ghost faded from view, leaving Urt alone with his own thoughts and some muffled screaming from the other side of the door. Either he was just getting some practice in, or the torture of Reginald had started. It was a shame really; he was just starting to warm to the lad. Plus he hadn''t been paid his rabbit.

    Some of the filthy straw on the cell floor stirred. Urt looked on with interest, not having many other options.

    A wind sprung up, blowing the filth around some more, and the unoccupied chains rattled against the walls as an insubstantial puff of smoke appeared to Urt''s necromantic vision.

    The being expanded, until it resembled the figure of a large, angry man whose long hair seemed to have a life of its own, continually writhing about on the head.

    Patrick, for that was no doubt who the spirit was, was definitely more ''here'' than his previous visitor had been. He was so here that Urt could practically reach out and touch him, if the shackles would have allowed.

    "You! You''re a necromancer?" roared Patrick. He seemed to be in a bad mood.

    Urt nodded.

    "You want my help?"

    Another nod.

    "Will you pay my price?"

    Hesitating only slightly, there wasn''t really any alternative he could see, Urt nodded again.

    "Very well. Hold still." Patrick the Poltergeist roared forward.