Striding towards the door, Lord Patrick Day cocked his head, conveying the question with his eyes.

Are you ready?

Nodding, Amy rose to her feet and drew her pistol.

Yes.

Lord Patrick smiled. Drawing his own weapon, he strode past her, squeezing her shoulder in passing. "I'll take point. You cover me."

"Oh, with pleasure. But I think I'll wait till da two of us are at 'ome and in yer warm, comfy bed."

His Lordship's steps faltered for just an instant, then sped up. And his ears were definitely not heating up. No, absolutely not!

Only a few steps down the tower, however, his steps slowed down again. The sound of snoring issued from not far ahead down the stairs.

"Seems like they do not particularly consider you a flight risk, do they?"

"Aye. Either dat, or 'e's not guarding anything, just waiting for 'is turn to 'ave fun." Lord Patrick Day heard a click from behind him, followed by a dark chuckle. "Let's give dem a wake-up call, shall we?"

"Agreed." Raising his blade, Lord Patrick pressed himself against the wall and started inching down the steps. It didn't take long before, from around the bend, a man slouched on a chair came into view, snoring loudly. Lord Patrick raised his sword—and hesitated.

"What da 'ell are ye waitin' for?" Amy hissed.

"Well...I...I mean he's sleeping. I can't just stab a man who's sleeping!"

"Why not? It's much easier dan when 'e's awake, trust me."

Lord Patrick Day wondered if it would help if he tried to explain the meaning of the word "gentleman" to her. Probably not.

"But...but we can't! It...it's simply not done!"

"By stupid people, ye mean?" Amy offered sweetly.

"No, that is most certainly not what I mean! I—"

"Nnng...what the—oy!" At the sound of the voice from behind him, Lord Patrick whirled around, just in time to witness the guard awakening from sweet dreams to a considerably less sweetened reality. "Who da 'ell are ye? What—?!"

That was the last sound he managed to squeeze out before Lord Patrick Day's sword stabbed between his ribs. The man jerked and, legs buckling under him, keeled over onto the floor. Turning back around, Lord Patrick was met with Miss Amy Weston's inquisitive gaze and raised eyebrow.

"What?" he demanded. "He had woken up!"

"So...it's not all right ta skewer a snoring fella, but it's all right ta empty a bucket of water over one and den run 'im through?"

"Essentially, yes," Lord Patrick confirmed, definitely not trying to avoid Miss Amy Weston's eyes. No, definitely not. "That is the honourable thing to do."

"Ah." She nodded. "Remind me ta never ever get honourable."

"I think there is little chance of that," Lord Patrick mumbled under his breath.

"Sorry, what was dat?"

"Nothing. Nothing whatsoever."

Quickly turning back towards the stairs, he quickly withdrew the sword from between the villain's ribs and started down the stairs again. About halfway down, to His Lordship's sincere relief, they encountered three murderous, and blissfully awake, guards. Blades flashed, a muffled gunshot echoed through the tower, and moments later, three bodies lay spread out across the stairs.

"'onourable." Amy nodded approvingly as she watched him pull his sword from a man's gullet. "Very 'onourable indeed."

"Amy?"

"Aye?"

"Let's concentrate on the secret mission against the most depraved villain of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, shall we?"

"Sounds spiffin'."

It only took them a few minutes to reach the bottom of the tower. They didn't meet any more guards on the way. What they did encounter, however, cut off all attempts at levity.

"So..." Amy's voice sounded distant in Lord Patrick's ears, as if from coming within a distant bank of fog. "Now we know why dere were three of dose guards down 'ere in dis isolated tower."

"She...she..." Numbly, Lord Patrick kneeled next to the crumpled figure on the floor, feeling her pulse. Or at least the place where her pulse should have been. "She's dead. After doing what they did to her...why did they have to kill her? She was no threat to them whatsoever! Why did they have to kill her?"

Only when he felt Amy's hand on his shoulder did he realize he was trembling.

"Dere's some dat get off on it. Dere's some dat just don't care." Part of him wondered why she sounded so calm and composed. He was a man! He was supposed to be unfazed by violence and death! "Why would dey? Ye only use a disposable once before throwin' it in da trash."

Lord Patrick felt his fists clench.

"Amy?"

"Aye?"

"Let's go."

"Aye."

Taking the last few steps to the very bottom of the tower, he threw open the door and raised his sword—only to be met with the welcome sight of eighteen black-clad, heavily armed men.

"So, Mr Karim sent you this way? Good. Very good." Twirling his sword, Lord Patrick strode out into the courtyard, his gaze zeroing in on one particular building at the very opposite end. A building from which certain...enthusiastic male noises were rising into the night. "Follow me. We are going to pay a little visit to the gentlemen amusing themselves over there."

***

By the time Amy and the others reached the castle's former infirmary, the noises of fervent fornicating from inside had subsided—and it wasn't particularly hard to guess why. The broken-down door and sabre marks along the entryway provided Amy with a pretty good hint. So did the curses in Punjabi that split the night a moment later.

"Khaṛhō atē laṛō, phiṭā-kaṭē kukaṛa dē putarō! Khaṛē hōvō atē laṛō!"

"Wha—! Who da 'ell are ye? What are ye doing 'e—"

Wham!

A man came sailing through the open door and slammed into the ground, unconscious. His fly was partly undone, and his nose sat at a jaunty, yet not entirely healthy, angle. Amy and Patrick gazed down at the man for a long moment—then Lord Patrick moved past him towards the door, taking care to step on the unconscious man's face on the way.

Hm...seems like 'is Lordship has revised 'is definition of 'onour.

A grim smile spread across Amy's face. Things were about to get interesting.

"Ye three stay be'ind me," she ordered the trio of girls and, with a flick of her hand she hoped Flo didn't notice, gestured for one of the men to keep an eye on them. "Da rest of ye, spread out. Take down anything with bollocks, and be quiet about it."

All she got in response was a series of silent nods. Something told her they wouldn't have any problems with the being-quiet part.

Without wasting another second, Amy strode off in the direction of the faint choking noises she could hear from up ahead. The very same direction that Patrick had gone in. To judge by the trail of dismembered bodies, it was the way Karim had gone in, too. Two of the silent men fell in step on either side of her, while the others dispersed throughout the building, moving like wraiths in the night. Following the noises, Amy strode down the main corridor, soon reaching a big hall.

Ah. Seems like I've reached Orgy Central.

Delivering a description of the hall was not really something Amy wanted to do. Sufficient to say that it was...normal for her.

And doesn't dat just say fabulous stuff about yer life, Amy?

Men. Women. Bare flesh everywhere. Despair, thick in the air.

Like she said...normal.

Or at least it would have been, if not for the trail of destruction left by a certain turbaned tornado and livid lord. Blood was splattered throughout the room. Iron shackles lay rent and broken. In the center of the room, the two men stood back to back, overlooking the scene with pride for a good day's work done. It seemed to occur to neither of them that, while decapitating villains was a spiffing thing to do, doing it while they were still atop their victims might be less of a genius idea.

A moment later, ear-splitting female screams exploded throughout the room.

Amy sighed.

Let's 'ope dis place 'as walls as thick as dat tower.

She was very tempted to cover her eyes. But she didn't, because she had an idea it might be a smart idea to keep an eye on those two male meatheads.

"Don't be afraid," the blood-spattered Mohammedan said, striding towards one of the scantily dressed women, whose tormentor was still marginally alive. Grabbing him by the back of the neck, Karim tore him off her, stabbed him in the back, spattering gore all over her in the process, and threw him halfway across the room, making him collide with the closest wall with a rather fatal crack. "We have come to rescue you."

The girl fainted.

"Fool! That is not how you speak to a lady." Striding over to the nearest still conscious woman, Lord Patrick Day bowed and sent her a charming smile meant to reassure and calm. "Don't be afraid, Miss. None of us would ever harm you."

And he held out his hand to her.

The one which just happened to still be holding the sword.

"Yaaaaagh!" Scrambling back, the young woman pressed herself against the wall, trying to hide behind a painted vase with the picture of a fawning faun on it.

"Honestly! Ye two!" Marching forward, Amy grabbed Lord Patrick Day by the back of the neck, pulling him back, and only didn't touch Karim because his neck was too thick to reach around. Kneeling in front of the woman trying to pretend she didn't exist behind the vase, Amy grabbed a nearby, moderately clean blanket, and draped it over her.

"Shh...dere ain't no reason ta be afraid."

"A-are ye sure?" The woman's eyes flickered back and forth between Karim and Patrick. "What about dem?"

"Oh, ehem...dey've actually got a real good 'eart, deep down and—" Before she could find another reassuring thing to say, one of the faceless men in black strode into the room with a bloody corpse over his shoulder. He dumped it on the floor, and the corpse groaned. The woman screamed and hid behind the vase again.

By this time, Amy was really, really glad that every single building in this bloody castle had darn thick walls. If they didn't, this "secret infiltration" might have gone just a tiny little bit awry.

Beside her, the black-clad man gave the groaning body a kick. "The scum won't talk. We still have no idea where the mission targets are. Should we...persuade him a little to make him talk?"

From somewhere among the folds of his clothes, the man withdrew a serrated knife with nice, decorative blood spatters on the blade.

Amy met the gaze of the woman hiding behind the vase.

"Good 'eart?"

"Deep down. Really, really deep down."

"Ye...ye're all crazy!" One of the other women stumbled to her feet, pointing at them, her arm trembling. "Crazy! Are ye 'ere ta kill us?"

"No, of course not!" Karim growled, raising his bloody sabre to point accusingly at her. "What would give you that idea, woman?"

The woman didn't keel over backwards, but to judge by the look on her face, she wanted to. Stumbling back towards the wall, her trembling legs collapsed beneath her and she sank onto a dirty thing that barely passed for a bed. The other women retreated until there were at least six paces of distance between them and the bloodspattered invaders.

All right. Seems like da comedy scene 'as bin goin' on long enough. Back to business.

"'ello dere?" Moving forward, Amy gently reached out to tentatively touch the woman. Not because she thought it was a smart idea. No, Amy did it because she had to know. She had to find out if the things that had happened here were as bad as she suspected. The way the woman flinched at the slightest of touches told her everything she needed to know.

Dammit! I should be kind! I should be gentle! But we ain't got no bloody time!

"Miss..." Amy tried to give the woman a reassuring smile. Tried. "I realize ye ain't got much reason ta believe us, but...we really don't mean ye no 'arm. And I'd like ta take me time ta convince ye, but...I can't. We ain't exactly on a pleasure cruise right now. Any moment now, someone from da main castle is gonna realize somethin' is off in dis place, and people are gonna come running. We gotta take care of business before dat 'appens."

"Business?" The woman's figure tensed, her eyes narrowing at Amy. "What business do ye 'ave 'ere?"

"Da children."

In spite of already being as stiff as a board, the woman somehow managed to turn even stiffer. Her teeth clenched, and her eyes hardened.

"Ye ain't gettin' yer filthy 'ands on dem! Dat bastard Arrendyle is bad enough, but at least 'e ain't a mass-murderer!"

Amy's mind flashed back to the image of the motionless woman lying sprawled at the bottom of the stairs.

"Neither am I," she told the young woman, gently."We ain't gonna do anything to dem. We came ta get 'em out. Dem and you."

"Ha! And why am I supposed ta believe dat?"

"Because," Amy told her, gazing straight into her eyes, "I would never do to anyone what 'as bin done ta all of ye."

"Ye...ye...don't ye dare talk as if ye know what it's like!" The young woman wasn't stiff now. She was trembling in rage. "Ye weren't dere! Ye didn't see what dey've seen, didn't feel what dey've felt, didn't suffer what dey...what we...!"

A shudder racked her body.

Silently, Amy gazed at her, waiting until she caught and held her eye. Then she spoke. Two words, as simple as they were bleak.

"Didn't I?"

Maybe it was the way she said it. Maybe it was the look in her eyes. Or maybe it was simply a feeling conveyed between the two young women, intangible to anyone who hadn't peeked through the half-open doors of hell. Amy's stare intensified. A silent understanding seemed to move between the two. A flash of bleakness that was a perfect mirror image of the past they saw in each other's eyes.

"Y-ye too?"

"Aye." Gently, Amy nodded.

"When did..."

"Years ago. When I was far too young." Reaching out, Amy took the woman's hand, and this time, she did not flinch back. "Da same age as dose girls."

"And..." The woman's eyes flicked to Karim and Patrick behind Amy's back. "And dose men?"

"Friends of mine. Good..." She swallowed, working hard to squeeze out the two words that some part of her still believed to be an impossible combination. "Good men." Raising a hand, she pointed a thumb over her shoulder at the three girls behind her, one clutching her adorable doll by the butthandle. "Men who 'elped dose three dere ta avoid a fate like da girls in dis place."

The woman's hand trembled. "R-really?"

"Aye, really. So...please tell us. Where are da children?"

A long moment passed—then the woman rose, and protectively crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"I won't tell ye!"

Amy's heart sank. "But—"

"I'll show ye!" Grabbing a long, wooden stick—the past uses of which Amy didn't want to think about too closely—as both weapon and support, the female captive took an unsteady step forward. No, not captive, Amy corrected herself. Former captive. "I'll show ye da way. Follow me!"

The woman took a step towards the door—then hesitated, half turning back. Emotions were rapidly shifting on her face.

"By da way...me name is Fae."

"Amy." Amy gave the other woman a smile, and then, pulling out her pistol, let it turn grim. "Me name is Amy. Ye know da way?"

The look Fae returned was no smile. Just grim. Grim as the reaper himself. "To dat place? I won't ever forget."

Then, pulling the blanket hanging around her shoulders more tightly around herself, she strode towards the door. Behind her, the women, the men, Amy, Patrick, Karim—everyone gathered and fell into step, a silent army, ready for the charge on the castle.

"Come. It's dis way."