The week passed in the blink of an eye. It's really amazing how quickly time can fly when you spend said time in the company of a stunningly handsome man who suddenly seems to have an inexhaustible supply of your favourite treats. The fact that, from one day to another, these "favourite treats" switched from mustard and ice cream toast to boiled broccoli or roasted acorns marinaded in goose fat, should probably have been a bit concerning. But...

I just couldn't bring myself to! After all, it wasn't that strange to crave shoelace spaghetti, right? And I was sure that roasted grasshoppers dipped in maple syrup were a delicacy in some part of the world.

Probably.

Under the marshal's instructions, the Spaniards' carriages were stripped of all superfluous bits and pieces such as upholstery or window glass and instead were furnished with luxuries such as iron bars, metal reinforcements and handy rings on the walls to which chains could be attached. At the same time, under the instruction of Mr Rikkard Ambrose, the Spaniards' mansion was stripped of anything and everything valuable. The fact that he neglected to mention this to the marshal was surely purely coincidental.

Finally, the day of departure came. All the townspeople (who, by the way, had all started working at Mr Rikkard Ambrose's mine for half the wages in gratitude for their rescue) had assembled to send us off. Together with the freed slaves, they had assembled under a banner that read "Godspeed to our Honoured Savior and Benefactor" and were waving and cheering for their heroes.

God bless their innocent little hearts.

"Thank you!" Nelly grabbed me by the hand and shook it. "Thank you, thank you! I don't know what Jack and I would have done without you and your husband!"

Maybe gotten the chance to work for a full wage one day?

"Ehem, you're welcome. It was no trouble."

"And he's even willing to sell us houses so we can get out of those infernal tents!" Jack enthused, beaming.

You mean the houses that were stolen from you by the Spaniards, the deeds to which then disappeared from their manor, only to mysteriously reappear in the possession of Mr Rikkard Ambrose?

"Yes, he's really incredibly generous, isn't he?" I felt my eyebrows twitch. I decided then and there that I was going to have a little chat with Mr Rikkard Ambrose. And it wasn't going to be about roasted grasshoppers dipped in maple syrup!

"You're such a lucky woman!" Nelly beamed at me, her eyes travelling up and down my body. "Especially considering...you know."

I blinked. "What?"

"Exactly, that." Nelly nodded, as if that explained everything. "And since we're on such a subject...I thought you might appreciate a little gift from a more experienced married woman. Here." And, with a beaming smile, she handed me a pile of brand-new, hand-crafted linens. I stared. She was giving me...handkerchiefs?

A lot of handkerchiefs. I reached up to the protrusion in the middle of my face. Did my nose have that much resemblance to a faucet?

Well, handkerchiefs. Why not?

Only, I suddenly realized, as I unfolded the cloth on the top of the pile...handkerchiefs weren't usually triangular. And they most certainly didn't have two straps that looked like they would be used to—

Heat flooded my face. Noticing, Nelly gave me a wink, and meaningfully patted her bum.

I thought you might appreciate a little gift from a more experienced married woman....

What the heck! She was giving me women's underwear? And skimpy ones, at that! And that was coming from someone who regularly spent time with Miss Amy Weston, the terror of all overprotective mothers and suspicious wives! I had seen lingerie that would make French nude models faint, and had heard jokes that could burn the ears off Venus herself. Yet still, these things...!

What I held was hardly more than a scrap of cloth with a few strings! How small exactly did she think my butt was? I didn't need a magnifying glass to find it, for heaven's sake!

"How, um, nice," I managed. "And so generous. You gave me...oh my. One, two, three...three...four...five...six dozen?"

Nelly winked. "You'll run through them in no time, you'll see. And it's always good to have a few spares while the others are being washed."

My eyes nearly bugged out. A few spares while the others...

What kind of massive marathon of dirty sex did this woman think we were having?!

"Don't worry too much." The sex-fiend of a woman patted my shoulder. "These should last you a while. You shouldn't need more than ten to twelve per day."

My mouth dropped open.

What the bloody hell?

"I know it can be a bit overwhelming in the beginning." The sweet, innocent-looking sex-fiend...no, sex-demon called Nelly patted my shoulder again. "But you'll get used to it soon enough."

No. No, I really don't think I will.

"Um, thanks." Grabbing the...linens, I stashed them away in the coach behind me. "Thank you very much." Then, stepping over to Nelly's husband, Jack, I patted his back and lowered my voice. "You're a very brave man."

"Um...thanks?"

"And here," Nelly picked that moment to pipe up. "I've got a present for you, too."

Then she stepped towards Mr Rikkard Ambrose.

I nearly bit my tongue off. Terror-stricken, I watched as Nelly the succubus in disguise reached into a bag and pulled out—

Quickly, I closed my eyes.

"Hm. Well..." I heard Mr Ambrose say.

Oh my God oh my God oh my God what does that mean? Did she really give him—

An image of Mr Rikkard Ambrose in tiny tighty-whities popped up in front of my inner eye. Instantly, I banished it!

Or at least tried to.

The image flexed its muscles and took up an imposing posture. Well-defined abs glinted in my mental sunlight—

Go! Go away!

The image arrogantly cocked its head in a "You think you can order me around?" kind of way. Then it pulled out a bottle from nowhere and started rubbing oil all over its ripped body.

Gah! Not now! I'm in front of people!

Taking a deep, calming breath, I banished the half-naked Mr Rikkard Ambrose from my mind. He gave a last provocative wiggle of his juicy derriere, and then was gone. I opened my eyes.

Just in time to see the real Mr Rikkard Ambrose open Nelly's present.

Maybe you should have kept your eyes closed after all.

But what came out of the paper wrapping was certainly not what I had expected. It was...

What was it exactly?

I peered at the strange, furry object. It looked a bit like a glove. Except without fingers. And for a hand the size of a yeti's paw. There were buttons down one side and...a cute bear stitched on the front?

This woman needed help. Urgently.

Making a mental note to send over a doctor with an in-depth knowledge of a...certain area of therapy, I took a cautious step towards Nelly and Mr Ambrose, who was looking down at the cute embroidered bear as if its existence personally offended him.

"Um...very nice." I cleared my throat. "I'm sure my husband appreciates it very much. Thank you."

Now...can you tell me what the heck it is?

I didn't ask that question out loud, though. Taking into account my own present, I was somewhat afraid of the answer. Grabbing my poor, innocent husband by the arm, I dragged him towards the coach, before his pure mind got corrupted by this wolf in sheep's clothing.

"But now we really have to go. I wish you all the best! And, um...have fun, Nelly. Do take care of yourself, Jack. And if things get too much, I'm sure we could always find a place for you should you decide to flee to England. Toodeloo!"

And before Nelly could take out her collection of sex toys, I leapt into the coach, dragging Mr Ambrose after me. Karim, who, bless his bushy beard, seemed to sense my urgency, leapt up onto the box and cracked his whip. Moments later, our carriage started rolling down the dirt road, the long line of prisoner transports starting forward right behind us.

"Goodbye!" The crowd chorused, waving their handkerchiefs. At least I hoped they were handkerchiefs. "Safe journey! Come back to visit soon!"

Yep, of course I will! Right after I go pay a visit to Mr Incubus in Pandemonium City.

Who would have thought that such a tiny town could hide such a perverted little vixen? I gave a sigh of relief. Well, at least now we were on the journey back, and from now on, everything should be orderly and peaceful.

***

A lone rider raced across the barren land, his dry and burning eyes fastened firmly on the horizon. He hadn't changed his horse in hours, and sweat was pouring down the poor mount's flanks. But he didn't stop, not even when a pack of coyotes started chasing after him, snapping at his heels. There were much scarier things in this world than coyotes.

One had sent him here.

And he was riding straight towards another.

Finally, the coyotes got tired of chasing him. A flickering speck appeared in the distance. At first, the rider thought it was just a Fata Morgana, his exhausted mind playing tricks with him—but then the flickering speck solidified into the shape of several dilapidated houses.

¡Maldición! Why couldn't it have been a Fata Morgana?

He would have much preferred that to him actually reaching his goal.

With a growl, he spurred on his horse one last time and shoved his terror to the back of his mind. If he rode on, he would only be risking his own life. If he returned empty-handed, however, his family...

"Yee-ha! Faster! Faster!"

It seemed like hours, no, days, but finally, his horse approached the ragged, haphazard collection of houses. Underneath the rider, his mount suddenly started to tremble. On instinct, he leapt to the ground, just a moment before the horse toppled over with a crash. Panting, the man staggered away. Some steps away he came to a stop, supporting himself against a creaking wooden post riddled with termite holes.

He allowed himself just one minute to catch his breath. Then, dragging himself upright, and not bothering to glance back at the body of his horse, he trudged into what had once been a town. Now, though? It couldn't even be called a ghost town. No self-respecting ghost would haunt a place like this, when there were so many nice castle ruins available in Europe. With every gust of wind, the houses shuddered, ready to collapse. Piles of sand and dirt had already blocked most doors as well as many of the windows, and most houses that had more than one floor had already completely collapsed.

Cautiously, the rider without a horse moved down what had once been a main road. There was not a single soul in sight. Was this really the right place? Maybe there wasn't anybody in those ruins, and the individuals he was looking for had long since moved o—

Click!

Suddenly, he felt something cold against his neck. Something cold and metallic.

"Easy, boy," a low, gruff voice came from behind him. "One wrong twitch, and I'll blow your head off."

The man swallowed. "P-please, don't shoot. I came unarmed!"

"Then you're a friggin' idiot. Eyes front. Move."

"Si, Señor!"

"I ain't no bloody senior, buddy! Now shut up and move!"

With the barrel of the gun pressed into his neck, the horseless rider was manoeuvred through the streets of the desolate town. First they went left, then right, then twice left again...all too soon, the poor man's head was whirling, and he lost his sense of direction. When they finally stopped, he glanced around to find out where they'd ended up, only for his eyes to land on a...

"A...bank?"

A dark chuckle came from the entrance.

"Ya know, I dunno why people always are so surprised. Everyone's always expecting outlaws to rob banks. Why would we, if there's a much simpler way of doing things?"

"Very true," another voice came from the shadows. An insidious one, hissing like a snake. "It's a brilliant plan, really. Why do people keep robbing banks? It's so much easier to just take one over and let people bring all their money to you."

"Yeah," a third voice came. Sharp, mocking and acerbic. "The only problem is that sooner or later, those stupid bastards don't have any money left and start starving and dying on you. Damn annoying!"

"Oh, but if that happens, one can always move to a new town," came the snake hiss once again. "After all, there are so many around to choose from..."

Laughter issued from the ruined buildings all around. It made the horseless rider's skin crawl.

"Now then," the same insidious voice that had described the starvation of people as a brilliant plan came again. "Sarge, why don't you share with us what kind of toy you've brought for us to play with?"

Everything went quiet. All eyes, and most likely more than a few gun barrels, focused on the exhausted Spaniard.

"I...I have a message."

"Do you, now?"

The Spaniard nearly jumped out of his skin. This time, the hissing voice had come not from across the road, from the entrance of the old bank, but from right behind him. The horseless rider whirled around—and there he was! Right beside the grubby man who was still pointing a gun at him stood a tall figure in black with slitted eyes and a twisted face that he'd seen many, many times before.

On wanted posters all over the country.

"C-Cobra."

"Oh?" The man cocked an eyebrow, something which snakes do not usually possess. Yet, contradictorily, it made him look only more like an insidious reptile. As did the smirk flickering over his face. "Heard of me, have you?"

"Y-yes."

"My, my. I'm flattered." He smiled—then struck! In the blink of an eye, he was in front of the Spaniard. Something flashed, and there was a prick at the frozen man's throat. "Now...do you have a reason why I shouldn't kill you?"

"I-I have a m-message."

"I'm still waiting for the reason."

"Th-there's a reward!"

The knife dropped.

"There, now. That wasn't so difficult, was it?" Cobra stepped back. The Spaniard almost wished he hadn't. Now, he could once more see something much scarier than the knife: the desperado's face. "How much."

"However much you want."

That one sentence instantly threw a blanket of silence across the gang.

"How much did ya say?" The growl that came from the interior of the bank sent a shiver down the Spaniard's spine. It wasn't a sound a human would make. It was the growl of a beast.

"However much you want," the Spaniard repeated, more firmly this time.

"Are you sure about that?" another voice came from the shadows.

"Yes."

"Really sure?" He jumped at the hiss in his ear. Suddenly, Cobra's knife was at his neck again. He took a deep calming breath.

"Yes."

There was a momentary pause.

Then, the man who had stayed silent ever since he'd brought the visitor at gunpoint stepped forward, poking the Spaniard in the back with the muzzle of his gun.

"Let's take him to the boss."

-------------------------------------------------------------

My dear Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen,

In case you're wondering what the mysterious object gifted to Mr Ambrose is, it's a nice, warm sleeping bag for Ambrose Junior. I am sure he appreciated it very much.

Yours Truly

Sir Rob