Rosalind took cover from yet another acid flower squirt, she had to admit it was impressive the range this guy got from a novelty prank item, but this time the jig was up. As they took cover behind a mirror Rosalind rammed through it choppy first, then started a quick game of floor, choppy, oversized clown show, (It’s like rock paper scissors except choppy is an I win button, and the game is usually a tad more amputatey, and by that we mean ancient mariner style, not modern hospital conditions with a healer on standby style.)

Bojo appears to be prepared for that though, it must have cost him a fortune from a blacksmith and cobbler to get 3 foot long steel toe caps fitted, but he had clearly paid. As a result instead of chopping clean through the cap just curled up in an uncomfortable crunch right in the middle of his foot arch. Which luckily for Mibbet was a perfect match to the footwear. A fact that unless he had cold feet must have made him quite the popular man about town. (Or would have if it wasn’t for him being a bloody clown, most folks consider that to be something of a deal breaker.)

The smack across the chops with a right hook fueled by pure spite and hate that followed definitely did not make things pleasant for Bojo. As he reached for his neck and drew his greatest weapon, launching the spinning bladed bow tie at his target he sought some distance, and from the surprised yelp behind him it appeared it had worked, but judging by her still being alive to yelp not as well as he would have liked.

He limped into the maze as fast as his somewhat dented lfeet would carry him, releasing a string of red kaboom balloons behind him as he fled. Rosalind dove back a way fro the blast radius, and utilised the oldest weapon known to man. She threw rocks at them. The blast sending Bojo careening off into the distance in a way that would have probably been amusing from anybody not in big shoes, baggy pants, and a red nose with white face paint. But more than two of those things added to the scene was an instant humour killer.

Bojo crawled clear of the scene as fast as he could manage, somewhat slowed down by the by now somewhat soggy baggy pants, and desperately searched for somewhere he could use as shelter to pull himself together. Behind him he could hear the sound of shattering mirrors, and for the first time in his entire life he truly felt what it was like to be hunted.

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Sir Leeroy was enjoying his first day off since this mission started, usually there was no chance of such a break happening mid mission. But Gidea had insisted, saying that with The Princess being nice and secure in a crowded place, there was no way to get her out of town, and frankly any assassin who went after Rosalind would quickly learn the folly of their ways.

So Sir Leeroy and Errol reluctantly accepted their first day off, after all what was the worst that could happen?

The answer came in the form of a series of large explosions, some deafening screams that were a mix of terror, hate, and sheer outrage. The sounds of shattering glass, and a noise that sounded like something punching a slab of meat, mixed with for some reason a sound that could only be a dog toy or a squeaky red nose. Sir Leeroy pulled off the novelty foam helmet revealing the real deal beneath, and with a sigh started to track down the source of the chaos, knowing wherever there was havoc his employer would not be far behind. “So much for a day off” he grumbled as he drew closer to the source of the mysterious noise.

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Bojo was done, he’d quit the assassin life, he’d become a monk, he’d do anything just to get the hell out of here. Why couldn’t The Princess simply run away from stuff the terrified her like a normal human being. He had been picked up, had the squeaker punched out of him. Had nearly been bifurcated by a bloody blade, had barely escaped having his tootsies truncated. Had his own air horn shoved in his ear and set off, and had barely got a shot in. He had to get out of here. So he desperately clambered through the wreckage towards the exit.

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Errol and Sir Leeroy were getting close when something barrelled into them, wearing baggy (and rather smelly now pants) and what had probably once before being pancaked across his face a red nose.

“Oh BLOODY HELL” Sighed Sir Leeroy “it’s like the Princesses tenth birthday party all over again.

“Did you say princess?” The clown gibbered. “I surrender, I freely admit I’m an assassin, I’ll flip, just please get me out of here and keep her away from me.” They then tried to scuttle backwards as far away from the remains of the mirror maze as humanly possible, holding their arms out in front of them as if pleading for the manacles.

“egt him cuffed and away from here as fast as you can, trust me we don’t want him here when The Princess comes up.”

From the tunnel ahead came an aura of sheer fury so dense it was palpable. As from the void shambled a temporarily red eyed horror, towing an axe behind her in a way that left a furrow deep into the stone behind her. She seemed to be looking for something, and the go to bet was blood. As she shambled closer and closer, and closer to Sir Leeroy. Who in the absence of any other potential response to the bipedal doom heading in his direction saluted.

“Your Majesty you are safe” he tried with his best coaxing tone. “The assassin has been captured.”

“Oh another assassin? But I have something more pressing to deal with. Now where the hell is that bloody clown?”