“This way Constable!” Monty cried.

The shrill whistling came closer. The bus circled away from Monty and towards the sound, disappearing into the mist.

Monty dropped down onto the ground, and picked up his sword. Now he could make his way to Trafalgar Square, unfortunately that was the same direction as the whistling and growling bus. So he would have to creep past the beast. Why couldn't his rescuer come from a more opportune angle? Well, these are things heroes must deal with.

Even worse, the whistling was coming back towards him! Out of the mist came a police constable running at full speed, followed by the hideous bus-beast. Monty made a swift turnabout, dropped his sword again and clambered back up the spire. He was followed shortly by a police constable, who levered his way up next to Monty.

His puffy cheeks were bright red under his police helmet, making his bristling salt-and-pepper moustache stick out like chalk on a baboon’s bottom.

“Good morning sir. Unfortunate circumstance we find ourselves in,” the police officer said. His voice was low but scratchy, like an old recording of a tenor.

“We are in a real scrape, the both of us,” Monty agreed.

Below them the bus howled hungrily as it circled.

“Uh, yes, uh, it was my intention to rescue you, but it seems this new type of bus is much faster than I realised. A lot nippier than the other beasts hanging around here.” The constable adjusted his perch on the Eleanor Cross. The beautiful detailed stonework was poking painfully into his side.

“Good gosh, do you say there are even more beasties lurking around? You know I managed to take out three muddy monsters by the bank of the Thames, just now.”

“Yes, monsters seems to be the name of the game this morning. There's been all sorts of ghoulies and goblins bothering people, so I was collecting them up into Trafalgar Square.”

“The ghoulies and goblins? Will they all fit in that police-box prison?”

“No collecting the people, sir. Trafalgar Square appears to be a safe area, no monsters can make it inside. Oh!” The constable cried as the bus reared up on its back legs/wheels, slamming the front two on the stone, dangerously close to the constable's ankles. He shuffled a bit higher up.

“Oh dear, I don't suppose you've got any ability to get us out of here, sir?”

“Well, Constable, I have many abilities. I'm quite a competent after dinner speaker. And I’ve released a couple of poetry books through the press. So I would consider myself a contemporary composer of poetry in the Romantic style. But none of those, I fear, can help us deal with this creature below.”

“Uh, yes, very good, sir. Not exactly what I meant. I meant any System ability, sir.”

“A system? What is this dashed system? I saw words to that effect hanging about. Is this some sort of new advertising gimmick or a new sport? I haven't heard about anything in the papers.” Monty slammed his fist against the stone cross in anger.

“I am almost as clueless as you, sir, but, you did get a message earlier today, yes? Floating in front of your face, telling you that you'd, uh, attained some sort of class and abilities that came with it?”

“Well, yes, I was dubbed with the title of Warrior Poet earlier, but I don't believe I was given any abilities.”

Uh, no, sir, but you, you could, uh, if you just sort of, you know, focus.” The constable crossed his eyes in a manner that would have been amusing had they not been half way up a stone spike avoiding death by hungry bus.

“What are you talking about? Are you concussed?”

The officer pursed his lips, which made his moustache bristle like an attack caterpillar. “No sir, just try to have a little look. You should see your skills and abilities and what not...”

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Monty raised his eyebrow in disbelief, and then crossed his eyes in curiosity. There were those annoying words again, floating about like a pair of stockings thrown into the Thames. Stats: Valour, Mind, Spirit. Sounded awfully like some sort of algebra lesson. But there was the ability the Constable had asked him to find.

Valour Ability Level 1: Debilitating Attack - user launches a cutting sword-blow that reduces one of target's stats. MP 10.

“Debilitating attack,” Monty read out.

“There you go sir, that would be your ability. I was made a Peacekeeper. Uh, one of my abilities is the Locating Whistle, which allows people to locate me and organise. Apparently it gives them some sort of benefit to their alertness. My valour level one ability is to subdue a humanoid with my truncheon.” He patted his handy truncheon on his side. “But that beast down there is most certainly not humanoid.”

“I see, so we have been enrolled in some sort of adventure. This is the sort of game that the fey of the dark woods would play on us. Perhaps the old spirits of Britain are rearing their heads and have decided that the city has grown too big and full of itself, too full of numbers and rationality.

“Yes, I can well see that these vapours crawling around us have come from the deepest, darkest parts of our hallowed land. We should welcome them under different circumstances. They could reignite that heroic soul that dwells in all of us-”

“Uh, sorry to interrupt your poetic monologuing, sir, but, uh, we are about to be eaten.”

“That would be a most unfortunate end to this adventure, and we've only just met. Perhaps, under the circumstances, we should introduce ourselves. I am Monty Adamson, pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, sir. Constable Ramsey. Henry Ramsey, if you will.”

Their ability to shake hands rendered ineffective by their current predicament they instead nodded politely.

“The only thing about my ability is that it rather depends on me using my sword, which is down there on the floor.”

The revving of the horse bus was so loud now that they felt it through the stone. Their teeth chattered and their arms shook.

It was one thing to read stories where heroes heroically fought monsters, and dispatched them with mighty shouts and chops of their swords. But the reality of meeting a mutated bus on a cold London morning was petrifying.

“Well, Constable, I do have something of a plan. Unfortunately, it does involve quite a bit of danger on both our parts.”

“I see, sir. Yes, sir. Now, I don't suppose this plan would involve me dropping down as bait, making a dash for it, and then allowing you to pick up your sword and make a surprise attack on the beast?”

“Well, Constable, you should be promoted to Inspector with that perspicacity. Unless you can come up with an alternate plan, I think that's all we can do.”

“Well, sir... I joined the force to do my duty, and if my duty is to distract a rampaging bus so you can strike it down, so be it!” The constable let go of the cross, sliding down to the ground. He landed with a humph, and almost fell flat on his face. But his stern commitment to duty kept him upright, and he sprinted off into the mist.

“Good show, good show!” Monty cried out. He took his hat off and waved it in the air. “A gambit worthy of Hannibal!”

The bus lurched away after Ramsey.

Monty remembered his part of the plan suddenly. He slid down, grazing himself quite badly on the way. He had to make sure he didn't let the brave constable down. He picked up his sword and dashed after them.

“Hold up, hold up there, so I can give you a good lashing,” Monty cried out.

He hadn’t made it a few yards after them when he heard a cry of panic and pain. Good gosh, if the constable had been eaten, how could Monty live with himself?

He almost ran into the back of the bus head first. It was crouched over Ramsey, who was lying in the middle of the road. He held his truncheon up pitifully, no match for the enormous threat above him. The beast looked ready to slam down and devour him whole.

Monty slashed his sword across the back of the bus. Chips of wood flew out. It seemed to have no effect. Dash it. How can I harm an enormous beast like this?

“Your ability, sir, your ability,” Ramsey cried out in a shaky voice.

You know, I thought being a hero would be more about posing romantically and felling demons with one blow.

“My ability? Valour attack, what is a valour attack?” At those words he felt power flow through his arm. Guided by another force, his sword sliced cleanly through the back wheel of the bus. The arc left a trail of light, and triumphant words hovered briefly over it.

Speed Damage

The bus wheeled on him, snarling with its throaty engine voice. It lurched forward, but its broken back wheel thudded on the road surface, slowing it down.

“Aha! Come on then, chase me if you can!”

Monty skipped backwards and taunted with his sword. The beast lurched forward again, but still it was too slow to catch up with him.

“Come on, constable, we've got to make it to Trafalgar Square!” Monty backed away, taunting the bus so it left Ramsey. The constable stood up slowly, favouring one leg.

Monty and the bus made off down the Strand. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll catch up once I’ve lost this thing.”

Ramsey limped towards Trafalgar Square. He had taken a nasty fall and the teeth of the bus’ grill-mouth had wounded him quite badly. His duty now was to make himself safe.