The Middle Child of the Secret of the Lost Gavel

Their opponents were next up, but they moved far slower, as if they were marionettes being operated by drunks.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Donnie peering into the ring.

Rambozo moved toward The Cobbler and she toward him. They struggled against the fast-drying material and stretched out with their hands toward each other.

They ground to a halt, facing each other, mere millimeters apart.

Freddy glanced over the edge of the ring, a menacing expression on his face. The crowd had fallen silent and there were murmurs of dissent amongst them.

Donnie vaulted into the ring, stepping over the now solid material. He peered at his teammates with confusion turning to shock.

They were all stuck fast. It was like some bizarre cartoon.

‘That’s quick-dry, Penfolde, plasticized adhesive,’ said Freddy, now in the ring and well and truly back in menacing-mode. ‘They won’t be able to get out of that for hours.’

He stepped forward, just on the other side of the statues of Donnie’s team-mates.

‘It’s just you and me now.’

‘They’ll die,’ said Donnie.

‘Of course they won’t bloody die,’ said Freddy. ‘I’m a complete bastard, but that would be too easy.’

‘Then why?’

‘I wanted to get them out of the picture,’ said Freddy. ‘So I could have you all to myself.’

‘Now wait a minute,’ said Donnie, backing away.

‘You and that fucking German wrecked studio A with that bloody petrol bomb,’ said Freddy, slowly stalking

Donnie, like a big cat with a banquet for fifteen to prepare. ‘Once I dealt with Raznou the Pitiful–’

‘Hey!’

‘That left you,’ continued Freddy. ‘You made it personal so I thought it only fair to return the favour.’
Donnie stopped, his back to the red corner.

‘And that meant disposing of your other team-mates.’

Freddy took the first move but Donnie leapt aside, and Freddy whacked headfirst against the pillar.

‘Take that you bastard,’ said Donnie, turning and flipping the man a two-fingered salute.

The crowd took a great intake of breath and cheered.