The Middle Child of the Secret of the Lost Gavel

The crowd roared impressively as the MC stepped through the ropes and into the ring.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen!’ yelled the MC, ‘Tonight, the challenge of the Cen-tur-y!’

The crowd went wild, though not in the sense that they turned on their neighbours and ripped them limb-from-limb.

‘Back from the dead, fighting tonight for Honour and for Honesty, For Good, not for Evil,’ continued the MC, striding around the ring like a, well, an MC. ‘In the memory of Raznou the Mag-Nificent and representing The association of Au-Stralian Astrologers… In The Red Corner…’

Donnie peered over at the MC and continued to sweat.

‘The Great Rambozo!’

Rambozo stepped through the ropes, resplendent in fiery red, a black mask over his face and golden belt around his middle, past which excess fat bulged. He held his hands up for the adulation of the crowd.

The crowd roared.

‘…and his partner and wife, The Cobbler!’

The Cobbler, a wiry woman stepped into the ring, dressed in white with red piping down the seams of her uniform; makeup obscuring her true age and defining her features under the spotlights.

‘And the courageous replacement for Raznou, is The indomitable Donnie!’

The crowd paused mid-roar and there was a brief silence as Donnie stepped in and threw his hands up.

‘Right then,’ said Donnie and turned to leave. He was caught by the hand by The Great Rambozo and The Cobbler and they raised their collective hands to the sky. The crowd paid homage with a roar worthy of any great sporting event.

The trio stepped back outside the ropes.

‘I don’t fucking believe this,’ Donnie murmured. ‘I’m not meant to be here. I’m supposed to be out there, yelling tips and abusing the bloody referee!’

‘First night nerves are a good thing, lad,’ said Rambozo. ‘Gives you something to focus your excess energies on. Just breathe and go with it.’

Donnie considered this advice, but realised after only a moment’s thought that if he went with it, he’d have beaten a trail the hell out of the arena a good hour ago. His suit was chafing his nethers, he felt like a complete idiot and he just knew he was going to be eating canvas within the next few minutes.

‘In the blue Corner,’ continued the MC. ‘Scourge of the ring: McWarickson’s Trio of Terrifying Terrorists!’

Three men in lycra stepped into the ring and snarled at the crowd, who roared and boo’d appreciatively.

‘McWarickson the Monster, The Macintosh and, straight from the Ghettos of Paris and with four international warrants for arrest, Le Goon!’

‘Didn’t you put a box on?’ asked Rambozo, peering down at Donnie. ‘Here have one of mine.’

He delved into the depths of his costume and retrieved a protective device, handing it to Donnie.

Donnie stared at it.

‘Well go on, take it boy!’ Rambozo said loudly, in a voice worthy of Brian Blessed. ‘I’ve got plenty more where that came from.’

He knocked his remaining box for good measure. ‘I always wear a spare.’

‘Thanks,’ said Donnie without much enthusiasm. ‘Really.’