Colin was wrapped in the trunk of a circus elephant. Monty and Constable Ramsey were close behind, chasing the wild beast as it circled Leicester Square. Under happier circumstances it could have made a comedy show, two upright guardians of moral order chasing after an unruly animal, trying to free its innocent victim. Families would have watched and guffawed at the impossible task of two ordinary men defeating a rampaging giant from the Indian jungle. Children would laugh and scream, and parents would nudge their children and point.

“Look, that’s what happens to naughty children. Next time Aunt Ethel comes round and you tell her she smells like moth balls, we'll feed you to the elephant.”

But there were no happy families watching this show. The elephant trumpeted, and the vibrations shook Colin’s whole body. It charged headfirst into the Alhambra Theatre, and impossibly forced itself through the entranceway with a pleasing pop.

The Alhambra Theatre. It looked like the pleasure palace of a Spanish monarch, with its Moorish inspired arches, and minarets. But it was in fact one of the one of the rowdiest variety theatres in London. Now it was one of the rowdiest theatres in London, plus angry elephants, an equation that could only mean trouble.

“You know, I always wondered how they managed to keep those animals behaving,” said the Constable. “And now I see that they don’t.” He breathed heavily.

Monty was likewise exhausted from the chase. “Onwards we must go. To abandon our young change would be ungentlemanly.”

The ticket booth was empty. Across the entry there were floating green words.

Welcome to the Alhambra. Level 5 Dungeon

Monty marched through them, pointedly ignoring them. If his poems couldn’t get published in the Times then he didn’t see why these words should be allowed to float around getting read by everybody.

“It shouldn't be too difficult to find an elephant in a music hall, as the old saying goes.”

They should be in the large foyer, but instead they found themselves on the edge of a vast desert.

“I see they've done a bit of redecorating.”

“You’ve been here before, sir?”

“Well, yes. You know, sometimes one's friend buys one tickets to see a light opera here. Uh, I may have seen a performance or two.”

“Usually a very rowdy crowd here, sir.”

“Theatre certainly brings out the emotions.”

“That and alcohol, sir.”

They took a few steps onto the sand. The sky above was blue, with a painfully bright sun shining down. Their lips felt parched, and their eyes dry.

“This does look a bit like the production of the Queen of Sheba. There was a bit too much sand on stage then. Quite a lot of it in the beer.” Monty remembered.

“Look sir, elephant tracks.”

There was a huge furrow in the sand, as if a huge beast had ploughed through it.

Cactuses dotted the dunes, dark red in colour. Monty took a closer look. It was a cactus, spikes and all, but instead of green flesh it had red velvet skin. Like the theatre chairs that had once been here.

“Where could an elephant be going in this desert?” Monty mused.

“Possible looking for water, sir.” Ramsey’s helmet was tucked under his arm, his brow was plastered with sweat.

“Hopefully it will be drinking from an oasis, and we can surprise it and rescue Colin.”

A gentle wind blew, grains of sand flowed like a thin blanket over the surface of the dunes. After the chaos of the battle outside, there was a reassuring feel about the desert despite the heat. Monty could well imagine walking for hours across the dunes, discovering a lost temple or city.

“Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!” Monty murmured to himself.

They struggled up a dune, as sand fell down around their feet. At the top, they spied the elephant in the distance. It was a small grey shape ploughing through the sand.

“We’ll never catch up.” Monty slapped his thigh in frustration.

“It does look somewhat hopeless sir. I don’t believe my ability is of much use. I can force back opponents with fierce blows, did you get something useful?

Monty peered at his new ability.

Rousing Refrain: boost companions stat of choice. 10 MP.

“I can boost a stat, whatever that is.”

“We have stats, sir. Things like speed and spirit. Perhaps you could boost our walking speed?”

“Rushing sand, foe almost in hand.

Susurrations of the wind, give us Hermes’ shins!”

Magic sparked around them. The flowing mist of sand at their feet rushed even faster. Monty took a step and the sand rushed beneath his foot, propelling him forwards. He took another and the sand met him again.

“Yahoo!” he strode down the steep dune face, magic buoying his every step. Soon he was scooting across the desert faster than a female bicyclist outrunning a police-officer. “This is how high-speed ice-skaters must feel.”

The two men rushed down the dune and up the next one with ease. Every time they reached the top of a dune their vantage point gave them a view of the desert. There were cactus-chairs dotted around, some with vultures sitting atop them. A sand-storm was brewing in the distance. Each time they crested a dune they saw they were getting closer and closer. Soon they were within shouting distance of the elephant.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“Help, help!” Colin cried out.

“That’s our very plan!” Monty cried.

The elephant, hearing their approach, diverted its course into the sandstorm. It disappeared into the howling storm, but Monty and Constable Ramsey dived straight into the storm.

It was horrendous. Sand whipped at their faces, forcing them to close their eyes. They stumbled. Monty tried to shout out, but his mouth filled with sand.

When the storm subsided they found themselves half-buried in the desert. As they extricated themselves they felt Monty’s magic fading.

“How will we catch that beast now?” Monty shook sand from his hair.

“Look sir.” Ramsey pointed to a newspaper lying in the sand. There was a trail of newspapers leading the way.

“Colin, you magnificent little genius.”

Following the newspaper trail led them to a place where the desert started to fade. There was greenery, bushes and strips of grass, and the desert petered out into a swamp land.

“A patchwork quilt of terrain, eh Constable? This looks like the witch's scene from MacBeth Goes to Morecambe.”

“Looks a bit like Morecambe.”

The elephant tracks continued into the swamp, where it had left a huge swampy furrow that was slowly filling with water and mud.

“We should be quick, before this trail disappears!”

They leapt into the swamp, but the muddy ground sucked them in up to their waists.

“Oh dash it, I've already got quite muddy this morning, and now am I going to be swimming through swamp water? You know, I don't think we can follow it directly.” He pointed to a solid area of land where a red velvet theatre chair stood,

Monty pushed himself up out of the mud, and lent his hand to Ramsey to pull him up. Looking around, Monty could see that there were more islands of solid ground, each of them peppered with chairs as if the chairs were bushes or trees.

“I don't suppose you have any rope on you.”

“No, sir, I’m afraid rope is not part of the standard issue gear.”

“I'm thinking we could throw the rope between these chairs, make some sort of tight rope as if we were tightrope walkers.”

They heard a hint of music, in the air, it was a distant fanfare announcing the start of a show.

“By Jove! Look, there's a small stage over there.” There was indeed a smallish wooden stage sitting in the swamp, raised up out of the murky waters.

Monte jumped from island to island, towards a stage where a gathering of performers were preparing to put on a show. One last leap took him clean onto the stage.

The constable’s jump fell short, and he splotched into the soggy ground. Monty helped him up onto the stage.

Both men felt the muggy, humid air clinging to them, and the mud clinging to their shoes and legs. It was most uncomfortable.

“Look here. I don't know what's been going on, but perhaps you could help us.”

The performers on the stage turned around as one and stared quite disturbingly. What they had taken to be human performers were actually gigantic dolls, painted faces with rosy red cheeks and white curve smiles. Perfectly coiffed hair covered in waxy oil topped their wooden heads.

They were a family of five, all dressed in red and white performing leotards. Mother, father, two twin girls and a young boy.

The father doll held a sturdy-looking leather whip in his hands, which he flicked threateningly on the stage. Next to him the mother was juggling a set of flaming torches, the red flames illuminating her face.

The twins stood back, each held the end of a length of rope. And the young boy was juggling a set of balls. All of them with that never-changing grin painted on.

“I must warn you, I know how to use this sword.”

Thump! A juggling ball bounced off of Monty's head. It hurt him a lot more than he expected.

“Ready yourself, Constable. I think we'll make better work of this than the omnibus.”

“I was hoping we could solve things without resorting to violence.”

“They’re only dolls. Leave it to me.”

Monty leapt forward, trying to take a blow at the father, hoping to decapitate the head of the family. He was met with a cracking blow from the whip across his stomach, stopping him dead in his tracks. The twins rushed forward and circled him, trapping his arms against his body with their rope. Another juggling ball ricocheted off his head.

Monty summoned his ability again.

"Spattered in muck,

And out of luck.

Gainst foes of dollish pallor,

We must fight with valour."

He felt stronger, more secure, and Constable Ramsey stood taller and braver.

Ramsey bonked the juggling doll on its head. Juggling balls went everywhere and the doll staggered backwards. With another blow he knocked it off the stage and into the swamp waters, where it started to sink

“Take out the father, Constable”

“Let me free you first, sir. Get back!”

He smashed his truncheon wildly in the air, driving back the two daughters. They dropped their rope and Monty was freed.

He waved his sword in the air with panache.” Now then, let's see how wood fares against metal.”

Flaming torches flew through the air from the mother doll. Monty ducked, his hair was singed but otherwise unharmed. He landed a stout blow across her arm, knocking the one of the juggling torches out. It flew through the air and landed in the marsh, sputtering out. Before he could attack again, the father’s whip struck his forehead, drawing blood.

“To my back, Constable!” Monty backed away from the fire juggler until the constable and he were back to back. The two daughters gathered their rope and menaced the constable, whilst the mother and father circled Monte.

“Though we're between Scylla and Charybdis, we won't let them crush us.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

The whip cracked through the air. Another lash across Monte's chest. The mother was lazily juggling her last remaining torch, waiting for her moment to strike.

“Listen. Do you think you can use your ability again? I have a plan.”

Monty lunged forward a little, but the whip could easily keep him at bay.

“Of course, sir.”

“On my count, exchange places with me and use your ability. Three. Two. One. Go!

They span on the spot. The constable cried out once again, get back! Flashes of magical energy sparked from his truncheon aton as he waved it in the air and rushed forward. The whip cracked harmlessly against the constable’s driving barrier, and the two parents were forced backwards. They tumbled from the stage, into the swamp.

Meanwhile the twins rushed Monty, but this time he was ready. He sliced their rope in two with his sword, and the last two dolls went rushing into the waters.

“We should take a bow!” Monty took a deep bow.

“Not really my thing, sir.” Ramsey watched the dolls sink into the mud.

Alone on the stage, with humid swamp air pressing in on them, they looked around for any sign of their quarry. There was no sign of newspapers or elephant trails.

Constable Ramsey noticed something in the distance, a bobbing light. There seemed to be something of the elephant about it. He pointed it out to Monty and the two men leapt off the stage onto a nearby hillock. Once again they hopped from solid ground to ground, chasing after the distant light.

The light settled on an island. Monty thought that he spied Colin’s face in the blue glow.

“I think we’ve got him!” he cried. He leapt onto the island and reached out for Colin. The light sputtered out suddenly, and the ground beneath him gave way. There was a cruel chuckle and Monty fell through a trap door into the dark below.