Reincarnated in a Fantasy World with Murderous Intent.

It took another two whole nights before we were finally targeted.

I was becoming a bit worried. If we were seen wandering about aimlessly too much, people may get suspicious.

It seems my concerns were unfounded though. Late on the third night, as we were walking along a narrow alleyway, a figure stepped out in front of us.

We stopped, looking panicked, not really a hard thing to do.

“You two, hold it.” The man stepped into view. He was tall and wiry, dressed in a long black suit that had seen better days, with a matching, battered, top hat. A sabre hung at his side. The face, peering out from under the hat, was an almost perfect stereotype for a villain. It was thin, with dark eyes, a long nose and cruel, narrow lips. A black handlebar moustache was perched above it, a prop for twiddling whilst making evil plans no doubt. His chin was almost cartoon long, with a dimple in the centre.

We backed away, as if preparing to run.

“I don’t think so.” Another voice from behind us. This one reeked of fat and stupid.

I turned.

“Bingo,” I muttered, under my breath.

The thin man’s accomplice was, indeed, fat. Broad maybe, would be a better description. If the first fellow was the brains of the operation, this one was the brawn. He was dressed in a brown coat and trousers, and had a flat cap perched on his head at a comical angle. Tiny piggy eyes were sunken deep within a round, chubby face.

“Please,” Ella squealed, acting the part, “we’re just innocent orphans. Don’t hurt us!”

“Young children should not be roaming around alone at night,” the tall chap said, in an oily voice.

“Please, we have nothing of value. Spare us, kind sirs,” I chipped in.

“You are of value,” Top Hat said. “Never fear, you shall be put to good use, I’m sure, and you will be helping Mr. Filch buy dinner tonight in the process, right, Mr. Filch?”

“Yes Mr. Strand,” the fat man, Filch, replied.

“Get back,” snarled Ella, pulling out her dagger, and facing Mr. Filch.

I did the same, facing Mr. Strand.

“Oh ho, we have some live ones, Mr. Filch,” Strand said, in a jovial voice. “Be careful not to damage them please, you know how that lowers the price.”

“Yes Mr. Strand.”

“I’m warning you, don’t come close,” Ella said, waving her dagger around.

The fat man simply laughed, and lunged forward. Ella screamed, and thrust her blade forward, totally failing to hit the enormous target.

Mr. Filch chuckled and batted the weapon out of her hand, causing Ella to yelp, and fall backwards against me. Her dagger clattered to the ground, coming to rest some distance away.

I turned around, and Ella grabbed hold of me, burying her face into my chest.

“Please!” I said, holding my dagger up with one hand, and Ella with the other. “Don’t hurt us! We surrender.”

Ella was shaking now, appearing to sob as she held me tightly. In reality I knew she was actually laughing. It was all I could do not to break out into giggles myself. I mean, at this point, if we weren’t play acting, Mr. Filch would be staggering around suffocating under a void face wrap, whilst Ella was stabbing him in the groin.

“That’s a sensible lad,” Mr. Strand said. “Drop the knife now, we’re not going to hurt you, or your little lady friend.”

I did as I was told, throwing my dagger after Ella’s.

Immediately a smelly cloth was pushed over my face. I was taken totally by surprise, which, I guess, was silly of me. I should have expected something like this. Fighting against my instinct to launch into the air, I just breathed in the fumes from the rag.

Slowly, everything faded to black…