The alleyway besides the National Gallery was empty, save for a mangled bicycle laying in the middle of the pavement. Its frame was bent almost in two. There was no sign of what might have done such a thing.
“What could have done that?” Constable Ramsey pondered.
“A circus strongman, an ellifant, a boulder. I once saw a fat-man sit on a bike and he squashed it like it was liquorice,” Colin ventured.
“Yes, thank you Colin. I hope we don’t meet any of those.” Monty said.
“I quite like liquorice.”
“As do I, but now it not the time for liquorice, it’s the time for stealth and attentiveness.”
Monty’s sword was in his hand, ready in a fencing position. Anything trying to bend him in two would have to go through his sword first. Then it would probably have to break his wrist, and then it could fold him in two like a cheap church hymn sheet. He shook the gruesome thoughts from his mind.
The end of the alleyway was obscured in mist. It would be safer to travel when the weather was clearer, but they had no time to waste. They edged past the bicycle, Monty eyed it suspiciously, but if it had been some kind of monster, it was definitely finished now.
They stayed close against the building as they left the alleyway, but there was no sign of monsters or innocents.
Leicester Square was unusually quiet. The fountain in the centre gushed, empty benches around it were empty. On a normal day it would be half-filled by now with gentlemen idling and waiting for shows to start. The hawkers would be out with their leaflets, advertising the ‘Bingo Barnham and Friends’ show or the comic operas. Monty had been dragged here by his friends often, searching for inspiration amongst the low and medium art of the time.
Despite the broad comedy and reliance on spectacle he had to admit there was a virility about the amount of energy the performers of the Hippodrome or Alhambra put into their songs and pratfalls. Monty could respect that.
The lack of energy was the most disturbing thing about the square now. The theatre fronts were dimly visible in the mist, but now they had the appearance of lost monuments, judging pilgrims who had failed to turn up. He fancied that the mist would part, and he would glimpse ghosts or ghouls staring down from the upper balcony of the Alhambra.
“I can’t see anything in this mist. It gives me a chill. Who knows what may be lurking out there?” Monty strained to see the north side of the square.
“A circus strong man, on an ellifant, with a boulder,” Colin said.
“Colin, we’ve had that conversation- “
A trumpeting sound filled the air. There are two kinds of trumpet sounds, one is from a real brass trumpet the other comes from the trunk of an enraged elephant. They are so similar that they only way to tell them apart is to check if an elephant is charging towards you. And an elephant was most certainly charging towards the three heroes.
An enormous elephant, decked in bright circus fabrics, to be more specific. On its back was a strong man, Bertolt the Brawn of Bavaria, a regular at the Alhambra Theatre. Famous for his ability to bend steel bars and lift an enormous globe above his head like the Greek Atlas. His shaven head and firm waxed moustache could be seen on posters plastered all over the West End. He was clad in his customary strong man outfit, i.e. a modified cheetah-skin rug, and held high above his head was an enormous globe.
Monty and chums scattered out of the way as the elephant thundered past them. It was only the powerful brawn of Bertolt’s thighs that kept him in place as his steed thundered beneath him. He could crack nuts with his thighs and often did.
“I am the strongest of them all.” Bertolt cried. Keen observers would note that although Bertolt was carrying an entire globe, his elephant mount was carrying both him and the globe, so technically the elephant was the strongest of those present. But there were no posters of the elephant plastered around the West End. Bertolt clearly had the better publicist.
“Come down from the elephant and fight like a gentleman!” Monty shouted.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Bertolt somersaulted through the air and landed perfectly on the grass, globe still firmly in hand. He flexed one bicep, then the other. “Observe, as Bertolt holds the whole world in the palm of his hand.” he cried. He span the globe on a fingertip, like it was little more than a basketball. If he had been a basketball player, he would have been a quarterback.
His biceps bulged as the globe span. Those biceps which had made the Princess of Denmark swoon, now made Monty and the Constable feel quite inadequate. They made Colin wonder how a man could stuff coconuts into his arms.
“It’s a very nice physique but do you have to accost us like this? We are on a rescue mission.”
“Bertolt is the boss here, now. Bertolt is the strongest! Brawny Bowl!” Bertolt threw his globe along the square like a ten-pin bowler.
“Listen old chap-“ Monty’s attempt at reason was interrupted as he got a bowling-pin’s-eye view of a globe rolling across the square towards him. He ducked sideways under a bench.
“Ha ha!” Bertolt flexed his pecs. The globe rolled away into the mist, and made a large cracking sound as it hit the front of a theatre. “Observe the feats of strength.”
Constable Ramsey took the opportunity to creep up behind Bertolt and strike him on the head with his truncheon. “Stunning strike!” he cried.
His ability activated and Bertolt’s head span. He stumbled back and forth like a boxer about to be KO’d.
“What ho!” Monty came out from his hiding place and readied his sword. “I don’t want to hurt you, but you’ve exceeded all expectations of proper behaviour.”
There was a rumbling from behind him. “Look out sir!” Ramsey cried.
Monty turned just in time to see the globe being trundled towards him by the elephant. He rolled back under the bench as the immense globe and elephant combo rumbled past them.
Bertolt used the distraction to shake off the stun. “Brawny Blow!” His fist slammed into Ramsey’s stomach and dropped him to the floor, completely winded. "Bertolt has many abilities! Two!"
Then he grabbed hold of the bench that Monty was under and strained. His immense legs tensed, their ropey muscles like ancient oaks, and veins bulged on his neck as he stuck out his jaw. Soil and stone flew into the air as he wrenched the metal free from the ground. Monty was frozen with fear. Bertolt grimaced and prepared to bisect Monty with the bench.
“Oi baldy!” A newspaper careened off Bertolt’s head. “Come and pick on some-one your own size!”
Monty rolled away, and Bertolt dropped the bench. “Stop hurting Bertolt’s Kopf!” He rubbed his sore head.
“That’s what I was aiming for!” Colin cried out
Bertolt pointed his immense meaty finger at Colin. He could play three piano keys at once with one finger, but he preferred lifting pianos to playing them. Colin’s eyes went wide as Bertolt glared at him with bulging rage.
“Bertolt does not fight children.”
Colin breathed a sigh of relief. He had no real follow-up plan to his newspaper-to-the-Kopf gambit.
“But his elephant does.” Bertolt stuck two fingers to his mouth and let out an ear-piercing whistle. His mount turned, abandoned its ball, and charged towards Colin.
Colin panicked and ran, not knowing where he could hide.
“You have firmly placed yourself in the role of villain.” Monty slashed his sword across Bertolt’s back. The strongman cursed in German and raised his arms in a rage that also highlighted the firm definition of his upper back muscles.
Bertolt span round, but his roundhouse fist missed as Monty ducked. With his fencing training, Monty was quite sure that he could defeat this slow-moving performing ham one on one.
They danced the delicate dance of battle. Bertolt had muscles and momentum at his side. His charges and flailing arms could take down any normal man with one hit. But Monty had training and the reach of his sword. He slipped back and forth, laying blows on Bertolt’s arms and shoulders, slowly wearing him down.
But Bertolt had performed in all the great musical halls in Europe, and more importantly, all the not-so-great music halls. He had been pelted with fruits, popcorn and worse, he had stamina for any sort of battle.
A chance blow from Bertolt connected with Monty’s shoulder, spinning him around. Bertolt laughed, but before he could grab Monty and lift him like a sick housecat, Constable Ramsey was up and back in the fray.
The two men manoeuvered around Bertolt, and even with his Bavarian brawn he couldn’t fend off two enemies. One last heavy blow to Bertolt’s head from Ramsey’s truncheon and the strongman was down. He crumpled to the floor and exploded into a puff of green mist. Monty felt the same surge of pride and energy after defeating the mud golems, but this was even stronger.
Level Up. Choose Level 2 ability.
Monty waved his hands over the annoying words. He needed to rescue Colin, not read the bylaws of some inane game that was presenting itself. Three options floated before his face.
Valour Level 2: Arrow Flight
Mind Level 1: Cutting Remark
Spirit Level 1: Rousing Refrain
“Rousing Refrain, yes, yes that will do. Stop bothering me.” The words faded. He felt stronger
“I’ve levelled up, sir! I thought I was much too old for that sort of thing. Hmm Get Back, Valour Level 2, sounds useful…” Ramsey was cross-eyed again, peering at his stats no doubt.
“Yes Constable, but we have our young companion to save. He could be anywhere.”
At that moment Bertolt’s elephant helpfully emerged from the mist, Colin tight in its trunk. It waved him around like a rag-doll, not so helpfully, then disappeared back into the mist.
“Follow that elephant!”