Web Hosting by Netfirms | Free Domain Names by Netfirms

~A Night At The Circus~

By

Lariel

Disclaimer: Copyright to the author October 2007
The characters from the TV show are owned by MCA/Universal and Renaissance Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit gained by this piece of fanfic.
Thanks to Steph and the Academy for the invitation to participate in this year's Halloween Challenge. It's always a pleasure! This story continues the amazing adventures of Xena: Warrior Investigator and her assistant, Gabrielle, whom we first met in 'Gumboots For Hire.'

"Are you ready? Shall I do it now, Xena?"

"Yeah, sweetheart." I sat back in my chair, knees apart and legs up, and stuck my chewed old stogie in my mouth. I sighed with pure bliss, savouring the familiar feeling of anticipation building. "I'm ready. In your own time."

"Okay, here I go."

There was a clatter as Gabrielle turned the ‘Open For Bisniss' sign which I had haphazardly hung outside the office door of the Amazon Detective Agency, recently renamed from the ‘Xena Investigation Agency' after a rather unfortunate incident with a debt collector, an onion and a nameless orifice. The resulting publicity really hadn't been too good for business, or at least not the sort of business Gabrielle would let me get paid for anymore. She had advised we needed to ‘rebrand and remarket' in an attempt to ‘relaunch' as apparently we had a teensy little problem with reputation, namely me, and so she'd insisted on a name change to try and present a fresh, new image which seemed to consist basically of less of me. I'd added another couple of signs; ‘Ask about orr Genrous Diskounts' and ‘we're verry nice people, really, im not a murderus warlord no more' but she'd yanked them down when she'd spotted them.

The October air crept down the corridor, pregnant with the promise of frosts to come. It sent tiny little shivers up my bare arms as its chilled fingers caressed my skin. I wondered if it was doing the same to Gabrielle. Lucky old chilly wind, if it was, ‘cos didn't I just wish my cold little paws were doing the same all over Gabrielle's bare bits right about now! It set me to tingling, despite the cold, and it musta done the same to her ‘cos her lovely blonde little head just poked its way right inta my office. "No sign of anyone queuing up for our business." She rolled her lovely green and/or blue eyes towards the corridor.

I could tell she was burning up with unfulfilled sexual tension, just like I was. Any old excuse just to have a look at me and my hot lusty wares, which were pleasingly and amply on show in my usual leather bustier. "No change there then, sweetheart." I cracked an enticing smile her way.

I was a bit surprised, I confess, when she didn't keel over right there and then, screaming ‘take me, oh take me, you proud, strong warrioress.' Her brow remained creased and her eyes anxious. "Xena, I'm a bit worried in case that debt collector comes back."

The debt collector. Talk about a passion killer. I gave her my best reassuring smile, the patented one that always has the dames all reassured and everything. It had reassured many a broad all the way into my bedroll. "Don't worry, sweetheart. The way business is lately, I'm bound to be here if the little creep comes around again."

"That's what worries me," she replied, dryer than a dried up ole river bed in the desert. She did that eyeroll thing again. Honestly, one little slip of the hand – well, okay, maybe two hands - and a girl's condemned forever. Was I really to blame? Was I? Damn debt collector, calling here demanding money with menaces from my best assistant as I happened to be in the kitchen knocking up a quick greek salad for lunch. It was either the knife or the red onion and in my mind, the pile of centaur's dung got off lightly. Even if his eyes had watered for a week.

So much for protecting Gabrielle's honour. It had earned me a week of lecturing. That dame had the healthiest set of lungs I ever did hear, although I kept on my neverending quest to give them a comprehensive all over physical as soon as I could. "Anyway, that's beside the point. We owe money everywhere. Sol's said that Salmoneus won't let us buy stuff on credit anymore, so where are we supposed to buy food now? And your ointment?"

My eyes narrowed, and the unlit stogie dropped from my suddenly nerveless lips. "I've told you before, Gabrielle, it's just precautionary. You wouldn't catch anything…"

Her eyes narrowed right back at me. "It doesn't matter, Xena. We don't have that kind of relationship anyway."

"Yeah, yeah… special friends, I get it. Or I don't," I rejoined meaningfully, and I really meant it.

She ignored me; how, I don't know. Many people had commented on my unignorability. "Money. We need some. Why don't you use your legendary many skills to get us some business, instead of trying to get me into bed? Love won't feed us, you know." I knew she meant business when her hands took up a well worn position on her lovely round hips. My hands itched to do the same, but of course, my hips wouldn't feel as fine as hers.

I jammed my chewed up cigar butt back into my mouth and muttered around the soggy end, "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'm onto it. I'm writing a begging letter to Herc. He owes me."

"No, he doesn't. You owe him. Fifteen dinars, to be precise. He sent Iaolaus round again."

"What?" My head shot up, envy misting my eyes with a greenish haze, all fantasies of her hips and my hands forgotten in a jealous cloud. "Pretty boy curly headed lump of lard has been round here again? When? You never said. Why didn't you say? What did you do? Did he talk to you? Did you talk to him?" Fear and jealousy and lust and anger and more lust clutched at my stomach, making it rumble loudly. "You didn't? You wouldn't? What about our special friendship, Gabrielle? I'm specialler than he is!"

"Oh, calm down! Do we have to go through this every time? He brought a note to you from Hercules – I left it in your in-tray."

"Eh?" My boots dropped from the table top as I looked around my desk in confusion. "Is that a fancy name for this pile of paper?" I picked up a couple of soggy scrolls that I'd been using to mop up spills and blot my ink, amongst other things. "Is Herc sending snotty reminders now? Oh, how times have changed," I began to wail a lament as Gabrielle fished around on my desk in search of the missive. "The Herc I used to know wouldn't do that to an old mate. He wouldn't be where he is if not for me! I made him!"

"I think Zeus did that. You just got in the way every now and then."

"We usedta be buddies, ya know. Served in the same unit. I saved his life, loads of times. Loads! That's worth more than one weeny little soul save. He owes me. I don't know – people today. Where's the love? Where's the love, Gabrielle?"

"Can't pay the bills with love, Xena." It was her favourite saying lately, for some strange reason. She fished some dog-eared piece of tatty old parchment out of my bin and smoothed it out on my desk top. "Here it is."

I continued snivelling. "So much for him being into the greater good and all. Helping the needy, and the poor. And downtrodden. I'm needy and poor! What about me? I'm all trodden down now with need and poorness!"

Amazing the effect one tiny Amazon Princess can have on a ranting former bloodthirsty warlord when she fastens her odd-coloured eyes on you, ‘specially if she's smacking your face at the same time. Very effective. I dragged my attention back to her, since clearly she felt she ought to participate in the conversation too. Broads do tend to do that, I've noticed.

"Hercules says he's got a job for you. You're supposed to let him know by today whether you want it or not. Says he'll pay you fifty dinars to do a bit of investigation for him, and he'll write off your fifteen dinar debt if you do it by the end of this week."

"Oh goodie!" I levered myself to my feet. "Better get over there, pronto. Seeya, sweetheart. Buy some proper meat for dinner – I'll have fifty bucks in my hand when I get back tonight! No, even better! We'll go out for dinner at The Pickled Eel." I forestalled the obligatory cost-related argument quickly, ‘cos once Gabrielle got on about money, or to be precise our extreme lack of it lately, there was no stopping her. "There's two-for-one dinners on a Tuesday night. It would be the most cost-effective thing to do. No associated heating and fire costs, or washing up related anguish." Gods, I was good – I surprised even myself with my sheer brilliance and daring, knowing full well that Gabrielle would never suspect that it was two for the price of one dinners to draw the punters in for the pole dancing and illegal gambling den that was held every Tuesday at Amphipolis' newest and least desirable nightspot.

My brilliance worked its customary magic. "Do you think I'm stupid? I know what goes on at that place. It's a den of iniquity and you're certainly not throwing away our money on that sort of business. I'll take it – it'll pay the rent, and maybe Salmoneus will take some as a down payment on our tab. Go on, get going – we really can't afford to keep Hercules waiting."

I muttered all the way down the corridor – her hands were really sticking into my back - and only stopped when she kicked me outta the goddamn garden gate.

****
It was late when I got through with Herc. The big lug could sure talk, and he seemed to think that I needed the benefit of his advice about the way I was ‘letting things slide'. His words, of course. My ears still ringing from the demi-God's tirade, I stood in his doorway, flipping a dinar and smoking my cigar in contemplative silence.

It was a typical night in the city – cold, dark and damp with what seemed like condensed daytime human misery. Night time was my time; I was a nocturnal creature, made for the night. My bones melted into the time-riddled walls as I flitted silently around the streets and avenues, a spectre silently observing, always observing. This was my city. I knew all its rotten underbellies, all its secret heartaches, all its murderous crimes. I knew a fair few of its taverns as well. They were the best bits.

I finished my cigar and my contemplation, and knew what I had to do. I steeled my shoulders, settled my fedora on my head, shrugged myself into my trusty old raincoat and headed off into the night, in pursuit of my mysterious business.

It was twilight when I sauntered back into our house-come-office. Well, I say sauntered – if memory serves (and it is a little shall we say hazy?) Gabrielle did describe it as staggered. Amongst other words she flung at me. Even she though couldn't argue when I explained my good fortune to her.

"Gab..r..ell, I one. Won."

"You've been to The Pickled Eel, haven't you?" If I hadn't been so preoccupied – yeah, that's a good way of putting it - I might've noticed the steely glare lurking in the depths of her eyes. Soon, it was less of a steely glare and more of a full blown dagger and seemed to be poking me right between my own rather crossed eyes.

"No! Tha's the thing! No! I didun need to, ‘cos the guys got cleared out of the Ickled Peel the ni' bfor las, see? See?" Inanely, I grinned and held my hands out in a ‘ta-da!' motion. I understood perfectly what I meant, and really, that's all that matters, isn't it?

Gabrielle seemed to disagree, as I found out when she dragged me into the garden by my ear and stuck my head under the water pump, declaring – how scandalous – that I was drunk. I figured I might be in a weensy bit of trouble, but that was no problem since I am a battle-hardened warrior, skills honed in the white-hot heat of life-or-death pressure. I came up with a plan, double-quick.

"Gabrielle," I slinked, in my best sexy voice, "If ya wanted to see my award winning ‘wet t-shirt warlord' competition routine, ya only had to ask, sweet… ooops!" I was dunked back under the ice-cold running water. It was topped off with an old bucket's worth of stagnant rainwater she'd been saving for our tomatoes, which frankly I thought was a touch showy. I guess right now, she thought I deserved fertilising more.

"Baby, ya don't understand! Okay… okay, maybe I shouldn'a gone to the Ickled Peel… Eel but I was led astray. You now how susceptible I am to the dark side, sweetheart. And what with the fall off in business and the money worries and – well, it was all just too much! I just had a bit of a succumb, that's all. Once I realised that I'd slipped back into Evil Xena mode, I snapped myself out of it right away!" I shook myself all over like a dog, scattering silvered droplets of mini-mooned water all over us.

"I take it this was after you gambled away our fifty dinars in Fat Fedoras' shed?"

I was hurt. "No, sweetheart. Herc wouldn't pay up front; the tight fisted ham would only cough up ten dinars which let's face it, Gabrielle, is not enough to keep the rent man off our back and pay off Salmoneus' tab. I can't have debt collectors upsetting you, now can I?" I was onto a winner with this alright. Her face softened right up, and she even almost nearly smiled a bit. I knew I had her now.

"I'm sorry, Xena. But when you didn't come home, I just..."

"Yeah, I know, sweetheart." I patted her arm reassuringly. "I was never in the Pickled Eel. I bumped into Fedoras outside; I never even had to go in! And in Fed's shed, there's no entrance fee! Just a minimum two dinar stake." Funny, but the steely glare was back. And I could see her hand reaching towards the water pump again. Honestly, she was so unpredictable and moody tonight. Was she PMS-ing? I tried to head her off with my best winning smile. "Long story short, sweetheart! I won fifty bucks! And I hardly had to crack any heads open at all the whole night!"

Well, she was on me like an ill-fitting jacket with that. Went through all my pockets and everything. I thought of telling her I had secret pockets in my underwear and she should give them a damn fine going over, but something – I dunno what, probably my unerring warrior instincts – just told me I better keep my mouth shut.

She cleaned me out of the fifty dinars quicker'n Autolycus would'a, and stashed the money in her cleavage. Oh, to be them dinars! I'd have given dinars to be them dinars, I would! Alas, she turned those lovely money storage units away from my adoring gaze and headed back into the house.

I dripped after her, despondence and rancid water oozing from every pore.

****
I caught her dropping the coins into an old money purse – it was our household account repository which she seemed to move around the house on a regular basis. About every time I found it, actually. I marvelled at the coincidence. She frowned when she saw I'd followed her in, and tucked the purse into her belt. "So what's the job?"

"Just a bit of research." I sat down, sniffling and still dripping, at the rough table and made a great show of shivering and wiping my nose. "Sweetheart, I think I'm coming down with something. I'd hate for it to get in the way of the work, what with Herc's tight deadline and all." I'd experienced Herc's tight deadline first hand – the impossibly handsome and charismatic demi-God had a tight everything if ya catch my drift, and he puts all his lovely tightness to very good use. Nobody could resist him, least of all someone with very loose morals like what I used to have. I'm different now that I have been Saved. My morals are a bit tighter.

"I'll warm you up some honey and lemon. What are you researching for Hercules? Do you need any help?" She started bustling about the kitchen, putting a pan of water on the fire to warm and starting to juice a lemon. She popped a little bowlful of olives in front of me and I started to chew on them absently as I admired the awesome sight of her bustle as it wiggled delightfully around the small room.

"Might do, sweetheart." I fished a brand new cigar from the brim of my fedora, and waggled the end around in my mouth. It was nice and firm and fresh, filched from Herc's very own stash; this one should last me a good ole while, bein' as how I never actually smoked the things. Awful habit. "He's got a couple of missing persons cases he's looking into. Both women, both have gone missing during this last moon so the trails should be fresh, but he's hit a dead end. He wants me to ask around a bit, see whether I can find any new leads. I'm seeing the husbands tomorrow. Herc reckons a woman's touch might get better results."

"There you go." She placed a tankard of warmed liquid in front of me. I wrapped my hands around it, savouring the warmth of the wood against my chilled skin. "I'll come with you. I should imagine he'll be pretty upset, the poor guy. I remember what I was like when Perdicus disappeared – it was an awful feeling, not knowing. Wondering all the time where he was; if he was hurt, or afraid. Or wondering if it was something that I'd done."

"Yeah." I spat out an olive pit. "I was gutted right along with ya, sweetheart. Practically inconsolable."

Her face got kinda screwed up. "Funny. You didn't even know him."

"I know. I'm that empathetic. Still, it all worked out alright in the end, what with the two faced harpy being an international jewel thief, eh? Can't believe he ran out on you, Gabrielle. I never would. Even if you nagged me till the middle of next year, I wouldn't run out on ya, sweetheart. You're worth way more than jewels, anyone in their right mind knows that." I was definitely coming down with a cold, cos my nose was getting more sniffly and my eyes had even started watering. A cold and hay fever. Even if it was the middle of the night in October. I took a huge slurp of my lemony honey water as a precautionary measure.

Gabrielle started blushing very prettily. "Xena, that is so sweet! But I'm still coming with you tomorrow. I do the sensitive chats, remember."

****
"When Hercules asked for a woman's touch, I don't think he really meant the pinch, Xena."

"He's hiding something. Look at his eyes; all shifty they are." The hapless husband's eyes were actually quite boggly at the moment, what with the gasping for air and all. But I knew he was guilty – he was a man after all, and my instincts, honed in the white-hot heat of battle, were never wrong.

"He's only got one eye, Xena. The other is false. Glass, if I'm not mistaken. Excellent craftsmanship. Take the pinch off him."

Huffing and glowering, I released the pinch. The husband crumpled, dragging air into his collapsing lungs as rapidly as he could. I looked on with a regretful eye. I loved the pinch. I just didn't get to do it as often as I would like to these days, what with being good and all. Apparently cutting off someone's flow of blood to the brain was considered a bit naughty. I sighed in dreamy-eyed remembrance of the days when a woman could whap the pinch on willy-nilly; enemies, debt collectors, little brothers. Yep, I loved the pinch. Back in the Bad Ole Days, I used to do it for fun – mine, obviously, not theirs. I hardly ever forgot to take it off as well.

Gabrielle took over. In ten minutes flat, she had discovered more than me or Herc had been able to. He and his wife Zelia had been married two years, lived two days ride from here. On their anniversary they had gone on a trip to back to his home town of Amphipolis to do some shopping, catch up with relatives and treat themselves to a meal out at one of the finer taverns in the town. They had become separated when the travelling fair had rolled into town and he had lost sight of his wife momentarily. When the circus parade had passed, his wife was nowhere to be seen. He checked around the shops, then returned back to his relative's house and waited for Zelia to come back. She never came. That was a week ago and there had been no sign of her since.

Gabrielle managed to get a full description of her, down to the clothes she was wearing, her voice and accent, even how her hair had been styled. She was so damn good, and I was so hungover, that I let her lead with the second husband when we met him later that afternoon. She hit gold there too. Damn, but she was turning out to be one fine investigator. Obviously working with me had rubbed onto her; not the bits I had wanted to rub onto her, but hey – I'll take anything! I puffed up with pride. Maybe I should think about moving her education on a bit, advanced interrogation techniques, that sort of thing? Mind you, my unerring warrior senses told me that if I taught her the pinch, I'd only regret it since I'd probably be the main person she used it on.

Later that evening, we were reviewing case notes over dinner.

"Clues?" I prompted as I sucked on a chicken drumstick. She shook her head as she reviewed her scribbly notes. She was one smart cookie – sharper'n a fox and a damn sight less hairier, with a proper education and all, but her handwriting stunk worser than a three day old dead fish sewn into the soles of an ex-lover's best leather war boots (not that I've ever done that, although I can heartily recommend mackerel and shrimp for it). I screwed my eyes up and peered over her shoulder but the scraggly mess defeated even my uncanny insight.

I gave up, and grabbed another drumstick. "Similarities, then?"

She chewed on the end of her quill for a little while, contemplating her various scraps of parchment covered with tightly packed squiggles. "Well," she said finally, startling a wing out of my slippery fingers. "Both of the victims are women, married. Not residents here – visitors, so maybe they don't know the area so well. Maybe they just wandered off? Both seem to have disappeared when their husband's attention was elsewhere. But at different times of the day. And in different locations in the city, but both at markets. Uhm… that's all I can see right now. How about you?"

"Huh?" All I could see was a rapidly dwindling plate of barbecue chicken bits. I scrabbled around in the bones, looking for a little intact limb of deliciousness. "Sweetheart, I don't wanna interrupt you in full flow. It wouldn't be good for your training. Keep going, you'll get there."

Her eyes lit up. "Is there an important connection I'm missing? Okay then – think, Gabrielle! Think!" She thought, and I rootled. In vain, the both of us. She stalled, and I'd scoffed all the chicken already. I called it a day, and we went to bed, to sleep on it. I'd rather have slept on her, but a woman can't have everything.

****
I got us both up bright and early, for about half a candlemark - Gabrielle gave up and went back to bed again. I got us both up again a good three hours later, and this time round, she was sweetness and light.

"Don't bother opening up, Gabrielle," I advised around a mouthful of breakfast bread and cheese. "We're not open for business today. We're doing field work."

"Great. I'll pack us a picnic lunch. Where?"

"In a field."

I've noticed during my long career as a former rampaging warlord and latterday Agent For Good that certain blonde Amazon assistants can get a bit shirty in situations like this, particularly when they've only just got up and haven't yet settled into the day's rhythms. Mind you, the rhythm she was beating out on my forehead was quite catchy. It carried on for a quite a while even after she'd stopped.

"The field we are going to," I patiently explained whilst pressing a bag of ice to my thumping forehead, "is the field in which the circus is camped." I fished around in the pocket of my raincoat and dug out a tatty little poster which I'd torn down from the walls of the Pickled Eel. It was a rough drawing of a lop-sided Big Top, with a huge, garishly painted clown's face looming out of it. I shuddered. I'd always hated circuses. "The only thing that these disappearances have in common is the fact that they coincided with a circus parade through the town squares. It's a long shot – probably nothing, in fact but we have no other leads and I have fifty bucks riding on it. So – a day at the circus it is!"

"Goodie!" Gabrielle clapped her hands together in delight. "I've never been to the circus! I won't bother with a picnic lunch – we should get going right away. Time is ticking on and we have a case to solve."

She grabbed my arm and practically dragged me out of the house, grinning the whole way.

****
We paid the extortionate entrance fee, through gritted teeth and much verbal abuse on my part, it has to be said, and tied Argo up at the stables and wagon station that had been specially set up at the edge of the grounds.

"I can't believe they had to call the strongman over to make you pay the stabling fee." Gabrielle was still quite pink from all the shouting. "Could it be any more embarrassing?"

"Goddamn strongman," I cursed, rubbing my elbow. "Still, he won't be bending any more iron bars for a while."

"I suppose not," she agreed reluctantly. "But did you really have to agree to take his place? And that costume does nothing for you."

"Hey, don't knock it. It comes with its own costume, and tent. And it's got us inside the whole set up. If there's anything going on, I'll soon figure it out, what with my uncanny instincts and knack for ferreting out dodgy dealings."

She cast me a look. "Okay, well don't get carried away. I'm off to check out the food stalls. I didn't get any breakfast."

****
We met up again later. I'd done two shows already and was starting to gather quite a following. It reminded me of the old days. Men would admire me, follow me, worship me. They'd do anything for a crumb of attention from me – flowers, gifts, kidnappings, sacking villages. Ah, the good old days. Made me all misty eyed, it did, as I shoved my way through my crowd of admirers and smack into Gabrielle, who was clutching a hot dog in one hand and a toffee apple in the other.

"Any luck?" she slurred around a mouthful of hot dog. I could tell it wasn't her first by the ketchup stains around her mouth. Using all my strongman willpower, I resisted the urge to lick them off.

"Yes. I've managed to recruit enough men to form another army, Gabrielle. But they're all attracted to my amazing strength and just between us, I think some of them may be a little strange. They're all calling me Mistress Xena and asking me to whip them with my leather dress. I'm not sure that I want that kind of person in my army. I think they might enjoy the discipline a bit too much."

She stared back at me with a flat glare. "I meant about the missing women."

"Oh. No, I've been a bit busy bending iron bars. But I've got a dinner date with the ringmaster now. He's one of my posse too. He seems particularly keen on me. I'm picking him up from his tent."

Gabrielle waved her toffee apple under my nose. I loved it when she offered me her fruit. I noticed she'd been doing it a lot less lately. "Well, I've been asking around a bit," she said. "Nobody's noticed anything strange around here, but then I suppose they wouldn't really would they? There's always people coming and going so it'd be a bit hard to figure out if any extra women have been hanging around. I had wondered if they had both run away to the circus – you know, escape their boring lives and such, but really they didn't seem the type."

"I suppose they did seem the average housewife types," I agreed as I steered her in a casual stroll towards a small collection of tents that served as the circus folks' homes. We strolled up to the ringmaster's and I knocked on the canvas flap.

"Coo-ee! Is that you, Xena darling?" The flap wiggled, and we were whooshed inside. I had the vague sensation of silks and feathers, before being air kissed to within an inch of my life. I spluttered – the feathers and scent of ‘eau de strawberry' was really quite overpowering in such close quarters. Ilian had changed out of his ringmaster outfit into something more comfortable and flouncy – a multi-layered little pink number, complete with feather boa and huge fake boobs.
"Ilian?" I queried.

"Call me Iliana, darling. I'm off duty now. Love the little off the shoulder leather number, by the way. So goes with your eyes. Who's your pet poodle? It's so important to accessorize, don't you think?"

Luckily Gabrielle was so astonished that she'd missed what some people may term a slightly derogatory remark. Still, that was roaring queens for you. I flashbacked to Borias. We did some beautiful rampaging, back in the day, up and down those Steppes. Great for toning the calf muscles. His calf muscles unfortunately turned out to be more shapely than mine, specially when decked out in a golden anklet ring and suede booties. Back then, we were so close, we shared everything – an army, spoils, a wardrobe. I drew the line when he started filling out my leather dresses better than I did. Still, sharing a tent with Borias when he was in full Betty mode did prepare a person for the sight of Ilian in full, gorgeous flow. Gabrielle on the other hand seemed to be struggling with the mincing reality of a six foot four man with bulging biceps and six inch stilettos.

"Darling, I've ordered out," simpered the fluffy apparition. "You did say you wanted privacy, but I never dreamt of a threesome. How marvellous! I'm up for anything, me." I barely raised an eyebrow – as a red blooded warlord, I'd seen it all; I'd done it all – practically my whole army, let's face it. But the thought of sharing my lovely little innocent Amazon assistant with a screaming, pink-flounced cross-dresser was a weensy bit too much even for progressive ole me.

"Thanks Iliana. This is Gabrielle. She's my assistant – when I'm strongmanning, it's all I can focus on so I need Gabrielle to cover all my day to day affairs."

"Darling, I'm delighted to be one of your daytime affairs."

Dinner arrived, a hearty, tasty stew that Gabrielle wasted no time in putting away. Iliana and I watched mesmerised as chunks of tender meat disappeared into a rosebud mouth, and rivulets of savoury gravy were licked from chins and lips. Marvellous. "You should put that in the show, Illy," I whispered. "It'd do wonders for your takings."

Eyes glazed, Ilian could only agree. "I think you need a special license for that kind of show," he observed, eyes calculating revenue potential behind the wonder and admiration. "Even so, it'd be worth the fee…"

"Not bloody likely," burped Gabrielle. "I know the kind of show you're talking about and if I wouldn't do it at the Hairy Butcher then I certainly won't be doing it at a circus. What kind of girl do you think I am?"

I lapsed into fantasy for a couple of minutes; wonderful fantasies involving Gabrielle, various foodstuffs and loads of scenarios of just the type of girl I hoped Gabrielle could be from time to time. It was marvellous. It took several thumps to the head to snap me out of it, which was fine ‘cept some of them were from Ilian as well. Bit of a cheek, really, as I hardly knew him. I pulled myself together quickly, plied him with stew and drink and got him talking about life in the circus.

"I started on the trapeze, back in the old days. Real elegant, it was – not like half the bloody acts they got these days. Slash and whack, I call ‘em – no artistry. Where's the beauty in chucking a load of knives at someone?" We all nodded and grunted as we chewed on crusty bread. "'Course, things were different then. Real honour in the gang, there was – you get in with the circus people, you knew you were joining one big family. Everyone looked out for each other back then."

"Guess times change, huh? Circus gets bigger, more people join." Casually, I picked up another hunk of bread and used it to sop up a bit of the stew. "Must be hard to keep track."

"Exactly." Iliana paused as his jug was topped up with more foaming beer. "Seems I barely know who's in my own troupe these days."

"I always thought of circus people as being a little unusual," Gabrielle remarked disingenuously. "I mean, I know that's not necessarily a bad thing…"

"We do consider ourselves to be a little on the unconventional side. That's why you fit right on in, Xena sweetie." I was flattered, although Gabrielle seemed a little stiff round the chin at that comment. I dunno why – there was no getting away from the fact that I was different, my lonely quest for redemption always setting me on a path alone. I wore my difference like a... a shield, yes. Or a cloak. Or a pair of shoes or something.

Gabrielle continued her line. "I suppose you'd be the only person who would know of anyone behaving strangely? Out of the ordinary, I mean?"

Iliana looked a little blank. "Well, we have people who stick pins into their eyes for a living, or who can fold themselves up and fit themselves into a scroll case. That kind of thing?"

"Not really." Gabrielle looked disappointed.

I was getting a mite fed up of Gabrielle's subtle line of questioning. I decided to go for a slightly more direct approach. "Have you had a couple of mousy-lookin' broads join the circus in the last coupl'a weeks at all? Anyone behaving weird, like say acquiring a coupl'a mousy looking broads as glamorous assistants or wives or anything?"

Ilian looked thoughtful for a moment. "No, you're the only new performer we've taken on recently. I'd know, because of the licences and fees, you see. Wives I know less about but I can't say I've noticed anyone new around. Mousy looking women I'd notice, as they tend to stand out around here." Sure, he had that right – they'd be as obvious as a bat in a cage full of parakeets. "Why the interest in mousy women?"

"It's errr… it's a fetish. I have an unhealthy obsession with a certain type of woman." Yeah – short, blonde and gorgeous with rippling abs, but if course Ilian didn't need to know that right now. He did, however, look a bit dubious.

"Yes, that's right." In jumped Gabrielle. "The merest sight of a mousy looking woman distracts her so much that she loses all focus and can't do strongmen things anymore, like bending iron bars and the like. Really, it's just best to point out all the women who fall into that category – just to warn her. Surprise her with one, and there's no telling what she'll end up doing. You should see some of the scrapes I've had to get her out of, because of this fetish." Gabrielle seemed to be warming up to her subject, judging by the burning quality that seemed to be creeping into her eyes, so I thought it best to subtly knock her off course a little. She seemed to take the huff a bit with me though, once she'd picked herself up off her ass and resettled herself back on her stool.

I gave her one of my sweetest smiles. "Remember though, Gabrielle, what abstinence does to me. I don't do it well. Best to do it all under controlled circumstances – point me in the direction of any mousy looking women so I can make sure it's all gotten out of my system in a proper, supervised way. It's all part of my aversion therapy. So – any mousy women ya wanna warn me about, Ilian?"

He considered me – Godsdamnit it was just as well we were in a bloody circus ‘cos he seemed to be taking this preposterous tale as the truth. "Well, I suppose it depends on your definition of mousy. There's the Rat-Woman I suppose, but I'm guessing that's not what you mean. She's in tent twelve, in case you want to check it out. I suppose one of the clowns might be a bit mousy under their make up, but I wouldn't know – they never take it off. Mind you, I think they're all men anyway. You might have to go off campus to get your fix. There's a camp of circus followers set up to the North. I discourage followers and hangers-on, but I can't get rid of them. Some of the acts even like having gangs of fans following them round. Maybe there's some mousy women there?"

"Ooooh! Ya think? I better go check it out – I couldn't half go for a nice, plain Jane tonight. There's something about that prim exterior…" I grabbed hold of Gabrielle and yanked her quickly out of the tent. Ilian's voice floated out after us on the breeze.

"Don't forget you're on in the main tent in two candlemarks for the evening performance. I've had some posters done specially. Wear your leather and bring your own iron bars."

****
We set out quickly, me using my expert navigational skills to follow the North star. I expected to come across the encampment soon, as Illy had indicated it was just outside the main camp – Gods knows people didn't wanna travel far for sex. I know I never had, back in the days when I used to actually get some. Sadly though it seemed we hadn't been following the North star at all, and we ended up wandering all over the place as the light faded from the sky. If I didn't know better, I'd swear we musta been lost but of course, that just wasn't possible, what with my unerring navigational skills and all. I'd tracked my way across the Known World using only a pencil and a length of string. My navigational skills were legendary. There was only one way I could possibly get lost. The North star musta changed its position in the sky, damn thing.

Luckily the moon was full, and at least there was enough light for me to cast about by. Sadly that also meant there was enough light for me to see Gabrielle's increasingly pissed-off expression. She hates it when we get lost. I could tell her patience was wearing thin; I think it was the tutting and huffing that gave me the clue. "I thought the camp would've been closer, don't you think Xena?" she declared meaningfully.

"Don't want it too close, sweetheart," I fabricated inventively. "All those undesirable types. Bit whiffy, camps of that type, if ya catch my drift."

I caught a sound, and held up a finger for silence. The wind brought a rustling, a chattering, a clinking. Years of tracking experience enabled me to target immediately the direction and source of the noises. I was never wrong – I had honed my skills in the hardest of territories, with the trickiest of prey – on the blood-soaked battlefields of my youth. I was a superb tracker and I always got my man, even when it was a woman.

Gabrielle brightened up, and looked all excited. "What is it, Xena? Is it the camp?"

"No, sweetheart. Just the trees."

She looked a mite dubious. "Are you sure, Xena? I'm sure I can hear talking."

"Wind catching the branches in a certain way. It's just nature's symphony, sweetheart." There was a definite sound of giggling on the breeze, followed by the unmistakeable clinking of flagons and cups. Not very musical, even to my ears.

"What's that then?" my small blonde assistant demanded with narrowed eyes. "A family of badgers settling in for the night? You drive me crazy, sometimes." Wow – brilliant news. I could tell she meant crazy with desire. Chicks love moonlight walks, and I was obviously working my magic without even meaning to. "Go and see what it is." She shoved me in the direction of the noises, and I squirmed my way into the bushes and stalked along the ground until I came across my target.

My heart thudded into my chest, then dropped like a stone as the full horror of what I was seeing sank in. My body inadvertently lost all its breath, and I felt myself gasping like a fish out of water.

"What is it?" Gabrielle whispered.

"Don't come here, sweetheart! Stay back!"

"What have you found?"

"Something horrible. Something awful. To awful to contemplate." I shuddered, and tried to keep the horror out of my voice, I didn't wanna be upsetting my best girl, out here in the woods, all alone in the darkness except for the nameless terror which I was at that moment forced to confront. I'd seen sights in my time – sights that would scare the blood right outta the body, send the brain wild with fright and change a person in ways which could only be dreamt of in nightmares. And even I, battle scarred warrior, honed to evil and impervious to pain, could barely bring myself to look at the ghastly sight spread out in the small clearing before me. "Teenagers, Gabrielle! And they're making out!"

I beat a hasty retreat, terror nipping at my heels all the way back to Gabrielle. I desperately needed a moment to recoup, and lay on the floor panting like an overheated dog. Gabrielle appeared strangely unsympathetic; I could tell by the tapping of the foot, ‘specially as it was tapping on my head at the time.

"Teenagers?" The word was pithy, the tone – well, if I didn't know better, I'd swear it was almost annoyed.

"Gods, it was awful. Spots, bad haircuts and witless conversation. I've seen horror, Gabrielle. I'm steeled to it, but a group of teenagers in the woods, at night – well, that beats even me."

Gabrielle regarded me in total silence for a few moments, whilst I hyperventilated and tried to calm myself down. "I had no idea you had a teenager phobia. I suppose it makes sense though – you were a thoroughly obnoxious one, by all accounts. Your mother told me all about it. You were so bad that you've probably even put yourself off teenagers. This probably all makes perfect sense, psychologically speaking. You poor thing, you…" She snaked an arm around my shoulders and patted my back a bit. I sniffled my way around until I was squeezed as tightly as I could be against her wonderful breasts. It was very comforting. In a sexy, turned on kinda way.

"Right." Suddenly, and much to my extreme disappointment, we were back to business. Damn Gabrielle's extraordinary focus. Not as good as my focus, of course, but it still popped up at the most inconvenient times. "A group of teenagers up to whatever it is teenagers get up to in the woods at the dead of night does us no good at all. Let's get on and find this camp."

"I suppose you're right," I sighed, disappointment oozing from my very being. "But first, I might as well go ask those teenagers if they've heard or seen anything about the missing women. Worth a shot."

Gabrielle stood by and admired me loads as I made a great show of pulling myself upright and preparing to brave the terrorising teen hordes that were lurking in the depths of the scary old woods.

"Get on with it, will you? I don't have all night. I have other people to do after you." I swear I heard that whispered from over my right shoulder, which was kinda funny since Gabrielle was standing directly in front of me.

"Gabrielle, did you say something?" She shook her head and still looked like she was admiring me. Funny, but I coulda sworn I'd heard something behind me and to the right, but the only thing there was a load of gnarly ole bushes – the kind of bushes that could hide a body, if a body had a mind to lurk threateningly around unsuspecting people, ready to leap out at them and hold knives to their throats. Odd really, that I'd barely had that thought when damme but didn't it happen right there and then! By the Gods, I was good!

"Excuse me, who in Tartarus are you and what are you doing with that knife against my throat?" Luckily all my old warrior training kicked in – albeit after the knife was already at my throat - and I was able to remain steelily calm and deathly in control, knowing that the slightest wrong move could result in slit gizzards and intense pain. His, of course – not mine. I was a professional, after all.

So, it turned out, was he. "Oh, sorry; how rude of me. I'm a serial killer. I'm gripped with an uncontrollable desire to kill in a variety of gruesome and inventive ways. You're my next victim, but don't take it personally. I won't give you my name, obviously." He reached around and we shook hands awkwardly before he caught a good look at my face and shot back in surprise. Clearly, my stern exterior, controlled aggression and poise had caught him off guard. "Oh my Gods, so sorry – you're completely not my type. I go for the teens myself – so much more satisfying. I make it a policy not to off anyone over the age of twenty three. You're way over my demographic."

"Excuse me?" I was all huffy. "I'm barely a day over twenty four."

"Right, and I'm one of the Sisters of Gaia." The eyes did a massive roll behind their mask. "Sorry, ma'am, you won't do at all." The knife disappeared from my throat. Gods, I was gutted – I'd never been ma'am-ed before. He scratched his head with the knife hilt. "So, ahh… how's it going? Seen any teens around here? I'm behind on my quota for the week and I was hoping to get lucky tonight. Have to get going while the moon's still full. Actually – who's this gorgeous young thing you're with?"

Gabrielle positively simpered. "Hi, I'm Gabrielle. And you are…?"

"Your serial killer. You'll understand if I want to remain incognito, obviously. Well, what's a nice young thing like you doing out in the woods in the dead of night, all alone and defenceless?" He slipped past me and slinked over to Gabrielle's side, giving my assistant a winning smile underneath his mask.

I took exception. "Excuse me, but she isn't all alone, and she certainly isn't defenceless!"

"Good point." He scratched the chin of his mask in a contemplative gesture. "While we're just checking credentials, can I just verify a few details? Don't want to be making any more mistakes. Right – female? Check. Deserted woods: check. Dark and spooky night: check. Full moon: check. Teenager-stroke-youth? You're nodding – I'll take that as a check too. Last one – virgin? Check?"

Gabrielle paused from her simpering. "That's a bit personal, isn't it? Is that really necessary?"

I was still huffy, and getting more so by the minute. Damnit, I couldn't be having perfect strangers turning up in the middle of the night serial killing my Gabrielle, now could I? If there was anything of a thrusting and penetrating nature going on, I wanted to be the one doing it! ‘Cept I didn't mean with no knives, obviously. "That's a damn good question – I've never been able to get to the bottom of it. She's been married, you know, even if he did allegedly run out on the wedding night. I have my suspicions. I'd take her off your list. Plus, she aint as young as she looks, ya know. She rubs asses' milk into her skin. On hot days, she smells like a milk shake."

"Really?" The serial killer paused, uncertainty written all over what we could see of his face. Gabrielle's expressions were slightly easier to read, unfortunately. I knew I'd pay for it later on. Still, I was doing all this to save her life. I knew I'd be able to sweet-talk her round. After all, I did have many skills.

"Yeah, afraid neither of us are any use to you tonight. Still, on the positive side, there's a pile of teenagers just over there." I pointed towards the depths of the undergrowth. "Loads of ‘em; you'll easily get it out of your system tonight if ya head that way."

His eyes lit up. "You think? ‘Cos I don't mind telling you, it's a pain in the arse when this compulsion grips me. I can't do anything until I've sliced and diced. I'm a baker normally but honestly, I can't do a damn thing when it's the full moon. I end up wanting to stuff people into the ovens, which really isn't good for business. I could do with getting it all out of my system in one night."

I gave him my best sympathetic look. "I understand completely. It's a bloodlust thing. I usedta get it myself, although never really felt the urge to turn people into loaves. Only thing you can do is go with it. So why don't you go with it on that group of teens I told you about? It'll practically be a public service."

He brightened noticeably. "I think I will. Maybe I'll see you around? There's another full moon next month."

I gave him a cheery wave. "Say, in your rampages, you haven't killed a couple of women this full moon have you?"

"Might have. Young?"

"Oh, no. My mistake. In that case, you haven't come across any kidnapped women, say in the last fortnight have you? Held in the woods, for example?"

The killer pondered for a moment, absently twirling his long-bladed knife. "Can't say I have. There's a camp of circus followers a couple of leagues away but nobody looks like they don't want to be there. All the women are skanky ho types – well, let's face it, only a certain type of woman gets turned on by circus freaks. I checked them out already but they were no good to me."

"Damn," I cursed. "Another blind alley. Still, glad we were able to help someone tonight." I gave him another cheery wave, and he dashed off in excitement to pursue his calling. It wasn't quite as Greater Good as my calling, but if it involved offing piles of irritating teenagers, it was the next best thing. Besides, who was I to judge? I'd been evil in my time. I had changed. Maybe he could too, after he'd finished slaughtering the teens. I hoped so, ‘cos any sooner'd be a real tragedy.

****
We got back to my tent in the circus encampment, just in time for a massive ear bashing from Ilian, this time fetchingly dressed in his full ringmaster regalia. Sadly, I'd missed my evening performance, which meant I was docked my wages for that night. I hadn't even realised I was getting any, but Gabrielle had negotiated us a real sweet deal involving unlimited hot dogs and a 5% share of the takings plus tips. She reckoned it could add up to as much as fifteen dinars a week, which would complement Herc's fifty dinars nicely. Plus, it was steady-ish work as long as the circus was around.

Herc's dinars were looking further away, though, with the blanks we were drawing on the missing women front. I retired to bed, as all my best thinking time happened there. After all, lately in bed, I had nothin' but thinking time. Granted, my thoughts usually took a particular Gabrielle-shaped turn but tonight, I knew I had to focus my mind on matters of missing women.

****

I awoke to a knocking at my tent flap. It was a miracle I heard it at all over Gabrielle's snores. I pushed the flap back, and was practically bowled over by the body that flung itself into my tent.

"Listen," it squealed, all red in the face with excitement. "I have to tell you, last night was totally amazing. Amazing! Never had a rush like that before! I owe you big time!"

"Excellent news!" I basked in the glow of success, even if I didn't have a clue who this guy was or what I had done. Perhaps we'd had sex? I didn't really remember but it could'a happened – sex was as natural as breathing to me, and I breathed a lot without always remembering the details the next day. "Was I good? Bet I was good." I had probably been outstanding. It was me, after all.

"I gotta tell you, it's just left me wanting more! Normally, with all that last night, I'd be well satisfied but not any more. I need more. More!"

Do you think I'm not used to people throwing themselves at me, wild with insatiable lust? Been there, had that… "Well, I haven't had breakfast yet but I'm sure I could squeeze a quick five minutes in." I started stripping off my dress. Well, it was just sex and I'd had loads of practice at it over the years, what with being irresistible and all. Plus, it had been a while. My prowess as a lover was legendary. I'd used my feminine wiles for evil purposes, of course – the story of how I'd sacked Carthage using just my killer smile, a feather boa and a broomstick was legendary. It wasn't fair to humankind, to have all my wonderful wiles going to waste. And he did seem to really need it, so it would practically be for the Greater Good, right?

The guy must'a known something of my reputation, ‘cos he looked a bit alarmed. "What are you doing? Ah, wait! It's me, from last night. The woods? The teenagers? I was going to serial kill you and your friend?"

I pulled my dress straps back onto my shoulders reluctantly. "Oh, it's you. How did you find me? What do you want, anyway? I thought you'd agreed not to kill us."

"Oh yes, absolutely. I wouldn't dream of it. No, I've been doing a bit of research into you and decided to join you. I've given up baking, and I'm going into serial killing full time. The buzz is addictive. I figure if I hang around with you, I'll find loads of victims and probably learn a thing or two, refine my technique and all. Murder and mayhem do appear to follow you around."

Well, really – you know, a less self confident and secure in their self esteem type person could'a gotten a mite upset at that but I knew better. And let's face it, it was kinda true, if ya counted factual accuracy as true. Still, I couldn't be having some crazed whacko killer trailing me around; that really wouldn't be good for business, especially as I was making such great strides in rebranding myself as the People's Champion and general all round Good Gal. That's what I kept telling Gabrielle, anyway.

"That's very ahhh, nice of you, I'm sure," I explained, one of my best fake smiles plastered onto my face. "But you see, I work alone."

"Who's the blonde then?" He nodded over towards the vision of loveliness who was snuffling in her sleep. It was cute snuffling, of course.

"Ah, her – yes. Well…" My voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper, and I prayed to the Gods that Gabrielle really was asleep. The woman had ears like a bat. "She's kind of like a care in the community case, if ya catch my drift. Not all there…" I made various whirly movements with my finger against my temple. "She follows me around and I kind of have to put up with her, ‘cos if I don't she gets surprisingly aggressive, for such a little woman. Very nippy, just like one of them weeny little yappy dogs. Anyway, I can't get rid of her." He looked a bit suspicious, so I carried on fabricating desperately. "Plus also, she was kind of given to me in lieu of a custodial sentence for some minor aberration in my unfortunate past. Call it my redemption. But apart from her, I work alone. I find it's best – with my past as a murdering, evil harpy, too many innocent people can get hurt."

"Ah, I see." He nodded knowingly. "Good job I'm not innocent. Right – what's on the agenda today then?" He rubbed his palms together in a definite ‘end of discussion' type way.

I sighed in defeat. "I have an eleven am and a two pm show, then another at eight-oh-ten. Gabrielle is going to be my glamorous assistant. In the meantime, if you insist on sticking around, you can see Gabrielle for instructions. There is a bit of work I need doing and with your ability to sniff out women, you might be able to help us out a bit. Don't murder anyone, though. I'll just wake Gabrielle up…"

"Oh, I can do that if you want to get ready for your show."

I shuddered, and I really meant it. "No matter how evil I think you are, nobody deserves trying to get Gabrielle up before she's ready. Trust me, it's safer for everyone if I do this…"

****
The show had gone with a bang – a literal one. Unfortunately I'd bent the wrong iron bar, and had brought the tent down around everyone's ears. Illy, boxing my ears and screaming, swore he was docking me the costs of putting the damn thing up again out of my wages. At this rate, I'd be owing him money by the end of the week.

Of course, the week was ticking on and it was now three days since I'd seen Herc. I wasn't sure if he'd given me a calendar week or a work week, but either way the pressure was on and to be honest, I was coming up with zilch. Even with my superb investigation techniques and my many skills, I was drawing blanks.

So was Gabrielle, which was a bit of a bummer as I usually relied on her to get me out of the manure on those extremely few occasions when I got stumped. Which was, now I think of it, so rare that in fact they never, ever happened – I was, after all, a creature of many skills, wiles and guiles and could think myself out of any situation. Failing that, whacking a few heads helped too, I kinda found.

Sadly, whacking heads wasn't helping at all, even though Sugar Bill (as our friendly neighbourhood serial killer had taken to calling himself as apparently no self respecting serial killer would go without a catchy moniker) had kindly offered his pate to the greater good. It made me feel tons better, but I didn't solve the damn case.

Anyway, I hadn't seen Gabrielle all day, which probably wasn't helping my mood any. Once the tent had come down, I'd kinda lost her amidst all the shouting and general melee. Sugar Bill assured me that he hadn't had her away to be murdered, so I just figured that she'd gone off in search of hot dogs again. Still, that was several hours ago and I was kinda missing my Gabrielle fix – I couldn't stand to go more'n a few hours without blonde hair, sweet smiles and soft green or possibly blue eyes. Damn broad was more addictive than laced nutbread, although at least nutbread wasn't shy about hanging round on the hips! Still, it was serving no purpose to be dreaming about Gabrielle as nutbread, so I stopped whacking Sugar Bill, pulled my raincoat tighter (I'd changed out of my strongman outfit – I just wasn't sure there was a future in bending iron bars for me and I'm really not sure off-the-shoulder leopardskin brought out my best skin tones), clapped my fedora firmly onto my head and set out in search of my missing blonde.

I used all my matchless investigator techniques to visualise Gabrielle's movements and put myself in her shoes. It was kinda easy, to be honest – I just hit all the food stands. Surprisingly enough, only half of ‘em had seen her, and that was around lunchtime. Unusual for Gabrielle, as it was now dinner time. I traced her back to one extremely unsavoury looking vendor who was cooking up some sort of stew in a huge, blackened and encrusted pot. She was busy stirring the mixture, which only brought more dubious looking vegetables and chunks of nameless meat to the surface. And I couldn't even begin to describe the stench. My stomach roiled in time to her stirring.

"Small blonde thing, you say? Dressed in a tiny skirt and top? I might'a seen her. I might not. Who's to say?" She shrugged and waggled her head, sending a cascade of dandruff down into the boiling cauldron.

"Please tell me she didn't eat here." Horrific visions of Gabrielle lying in a ditch somewhere throwing up, her magnificent abs rippling with convulsions, assaulted my imagination – in a horrible way you understand, not a sexual one at all. The food vendor chucked me a gap-toothed grin.

"My stew's the best in the camp, young lady. Try some?"

Jeez. Well, I had been chief cook for the Athenian Army – only for a few weeks, admittedly, as I hatched my nefarious plot to take it over and then sack some village or other, but even so, I had picked up a thing or three about seasoning and basic food hygiene. And I couldn't see any going on here. Of course, I had eaten strange things in my time – food was just fuel to me and I needed tons of it while rampaging my way through most of the Known World, ‘cos that burned up tons of calories. Plus, in Chin, it didn't never pay to look too closely at what was actually on your plate, ‘specially if Betty/Borias had cooked it. But damn me if I couldn't face that pot of festering slurry that she was cooking up right now.

She ladled out a portion of the murky brown stuff; slowly it slithered off the ladle into a small wooden bowl with a thud. My stomach did a thud of its own. I accepted the rough bowl with a grimace, and tried to think of ways that I could get out of eating it. But I kinda needed information about Gabrielle. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and grasped the small spoon. I'd done horrific things in my time, specially in my Evil Past – terrible, dark things; things that scorched the soul; things that would'a turned lesser stomachs and made ‘em lift right outta the body. Eating that stew was something else, though.

"That'll be two dinars." Jeez, I was paying for the pleasure too. I looked on it as a down payment for future suffering, as I knew damn well I'd be throwing up later. My fingers shook as I handed over the coins.

"So," I muttered around a mouthful of rancid brown sludge. "The blonde? When was she here?"

"Early lunchtime. I seen her walking past. Mighty purty looking thing, so she was, and very complimentary about my stew. Nice young thing. She headed off towards old Polonius' fruit stall. Said something about apples. Ain't been past this way since."

"Did she make the fruit stall?"

"Dunno. Maybe ya best ask the clowns. They were right behind her, and looked like they were going that way."

I choked on my stew. "Clowns?"

"Yeah. Couldn't tell ya which ones. They all look the same to me, them big noses and big feet. They never eat here, so I don't pay them no mind anyway."

"Clowns?"

"Yeah, that's right honey. Are you okay? Is it ya stomach? I could give ya something for that. I got lots of medicine. Lotta call for it, I find."

Clowns. Gods. I grabbed the proffered bottle of medicine and downed the lot in one. It was vile, but tasted about a million times better than the damn stew. I thought of the clowns again, and grabbed another bottle just to be on the safe side.

****
I chomped on my unlit stogie – purely for medicinal purposes, of course - and headed off towards the fruit stall. Gabrielle hadn't made it to the apples. How the Hades had she disappeared between the two stalls? They were only a few feet from each other.

There was nothing else for it. I was gonna have to interrogate the clowns.

I felt the need for a bit of moral courage, and called in Sugar Bill to help me out. With clowns involved, a body never knew when some finesse with a carving knife might come in handy. I was pretty good with one myself, of course, but it had been a while since I'd done much slicing and dicing and I felt a bit out of practice. I knew Sugar was a bit more current in his techniques than me, what with me being good and all these days. Apparently it wasn't the done thing, if you were a champion of the light, to go chopping up people left, right and centre, which was a pity ‘cos there was real skill involved in wielding a knife properly. Back in my Evil Xena days, I had really enjoyed a good blade-fest and I had left many battlefields littered with various body parts and carefully carved radishes in ornate flower or bird shapes.

Sugar Bill of course was overjoyed with the assignment. It was getting dark by this stage and apparently the bloodlust was starting to stir again.

The moon was riding full in the cloudless October sky as Sugar Bill and I made our stealthy way towards the clowns' tent. I'd never been there before – I'd given the clowns a bit of a wide berth, truth be told. If we're in a confessional mood, I really don't like clowns. I suppose it stems from the time that Mom took me and Lyceus to the circus in Amphipolis and the clowns kidnapped me from my own mother's arms and drove me around the ring in their little painted wagon, with Mother hardly putting up a fight at all. Then the clowns threw custard pies at me, and upended buckets of water over me. And the whole time, the audience screamed with laughter – well, for a while, until that unfortunate accident involving the wagon's axle and the clown's rear ends. Some things really do scar a little girl – not as much as they scarred the clowns involved, of course. Really horrible to see clowns screaming like that, I suppose – and yet, strangely satisfying at the same time. I guess, if she were here, Gabrielle would come up with some psycho-babble about it explaining my teensy flirt with the dark side. Whatever.

It was easy to find the clown's tent – it was the biggest, and had its own tent extension to hold their little carts and all the other props they used as part of their clown routine. The moon hung high in the sky as we crept around to the shadow side of the tent. I pulled out my breast dagger and carved an unobtrusive slit in the tent material, then stuck my eye against it. I couldn't see a thing. I widened the slit, but still couldn't make anything out. I widened it again and shoved my whole head in.

"What do you see?" hissed Sugar Bill, trying to elbow me out of the way and peer through my slit. We tussled for a few moments until I shoved him out of the way. I stuck my head back through the hole and had a good look round.

It looked like I'd sliced through into a small ante-chamber. It had bedrolls laid out, and clothes haphazardly slung about. There was a small table that held a couple of half empty wine glasses, and a couple of small pots containing lotions and creams. I figured they were clown make up. I shuddered at the thought of being in such close proximity to clown fixings.

"What do you see? Lemme look!" pleaded Sugar Bill, tugging at my sleeve. I pulled my head out, and let him squeeze his own in. "Aw, it looks like a clown's bedroom. They have women clowns?"

"I guess," I mumbled absently. "Must be one of the women's bedrooms."

"Looks like they're getting some action, lucky old clowns." He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a slender, sharp knife. "Right, let's have a closer look." He sliced the tent open, from stem to stern, then stood there with a dazed and satisfied expression on his face. "Oh, that feels good. I've been dying to do something like that all night. Canvas feels quite like skin, did you know?"

"That's because it is skin. It's hide, not canvas." We clambered through the gap. "Strange. This is a single bedroll, but it's got male and female clothes on it. Kinky."

"Just female underclothes, if you'll notice. Rather nice silk this, don't you think?" He picked up a delicate pink item of women's unmentionables. "Rather like the sort of underclothes you'd put on for a special occasion."

"Mmm." I sniffed at the dregs of wine. It smelt kinda familiar and kinda un-winey. "What do you think clowns have to celebrate?" I took a small swig of the wine and swooshed it around my mouth, then spat it back into the glass.

"Look at all these fancy knickers and bras. When would a woman wear this sort of stuff?" He was rootling around in a drawer now, which seemed to be full of various types of lacy bras and knickers, teddies and camisoles. "In my dreams, mostly."

I moved over to join him at the drawer and watched thoughtfully as he explored its contents. "Well, you know, these kinds of things are quite uncomfortable to wear. All that scratchy lace and little strings going up your – well, into places you'd rather they didn't. A girl only wears this stuff when she knows she's on for some special action. Say, an anniversary. Or a wedding." I picked up a couple of the items myself. "Except the thing is – most women wouldn't wear this sort of stuff. Look at the state of it. It's cheap and badly made, and tasteless. I mean to say – red and black lace? Ribbons? No class. And look at the bodice on this thing here – it's not build for support, if ya catch my drift. And have you seen these briefs? They've got no crotch! What's the point of that? Oh. Oh, I geddit. Actually, that's quite ingenious." I quickly thrust the wine-red knickers into my pocket, ‘cos a body never knew when a bit of quick access would be needed.

Bill was inspecting his own collection of frilly, lacy nothings. "There's no accounting for taste," he ruminated. "I suppose any woman who would wear clown clothes wouldn't be too fussy about what she wore. Odd though. I really don't recall seeing any female clowns around. I take particular care to suss out the female situation, at this time of the month."

"It all makes perfect sense. The drugged wine. The sexy, tasteless underwear. There's only one logical explanation." I smiled expansively, enjoying the feeling of satisfaction, the thrill of the hunt that's ended, the intellectual challenge successfully completed. The feel of those fifty dinars in my pocket.

Sugar Bill regarded me with admiration. "Wow. What's that, Xena?"

"Two of the clowns musta just got married. C'mon. let's get outta here before they come back to consummate the union. ‘Cos if I have to watch two clowns going at it, that really will give me issues."

We turned to leave, intending to slip back through the hole in the wall. A noise stopped us in our tracks. Voices, rustling, and rough sounding laughter. And what sounded like cut-off cries. I immediately assessed the situation.

"Oh, bugger. They're heading this way. Honeymooning clowns, how gross." I cast about me, rapidly sizing up our options, confident in my quick thinking and rapid reflexes that had got me out of so many impossible situations in the past. "Quick! I'll hide under the bed. You pretend to be a table over there! Just pull a sheet over you and stay still." I bolted underneath the bedroll, which to be honest did look a bit rubbish as it was on the ground at the time.

Sugar Bill looked a teensy bit sceptical. "Xena, what are you going to do when they start going at it on the bedroll?"

"Uggg. Look away. Why, what are you gonna do?"

"Xena, they'll be lying right on top of you. They'll know. It'll practically be a threesome. Look, I think we should duck out through here." He grabbed me and dragged me through a heavy embroidered curtain that served as a door to another part of the tent. "Get your knife and cut us a way out of here."

I had to admit, that was kinda a better idea than mine. Sugar Bill was turning out to be quite useful, after all. I woulda gotten us out of there myself, of course, but it was nice to know the pressure was off me to always come up with the answers. Even superb investigators need a rest every now and then. I pulled out my breast dagger and was busy hacking a hole in the canvas when I was stopped by a commotion in the room we'd just vacated. I paused, knife in hand.

"Drink it, you bitch!" A few muffled cries of protest were followed by the unmistakeable sound of someone choking on fluid. Almost like they were being force fed wine that they didn't want to drink.

"Jeez, someone's a nervous bride," I whispered to Sugar Bill. Curiosity got the better of me, and I carefully pulled aside the curtain so I could take a peek. The newlywed's were doing what newlyweds do – one was throwing the other down onto the bed and then tying her arms to the wall. Odd, but then nothing really surprised me about clowns. Kinky buggers, the lot of them.

"Not much of a looker," whispered Bill in my ear. "Old too. Not my type at all. I can't see me getting any satisfaction here tonight. Let's go." He was right, though. The bride appeared surprisingly shy – some might even say reluctant. I suppose the gag he was tying around her mouth was some sorta pervy role play. I'd role played before – bloodthirsty warlord-innocent milkmaid was always a crowd pleaser after a battle or three. Centaurion-gladiator was another, and Hestian Virgin-Ares my favourite, although trying to remember what being a virgin was like had proved to be quite a stretch. That's why I usually ended up playing the Ares part.

"No accounting for taste," I replied. The clown – still resplendent in full make up, the weird bastard – had been rummaging around the drawer full of underwear. He'd pulled out a trashy red lace number and proffered it to his wife on the bed.

"This will suit you, whore," he rasped, a lascivious grin spreading over his face. Jeez, that kinda talk wouldn't do anything for me, but everyone is different, after all. "I'll put it on you." He approached the bed, and his wife, obviously dazed and confused by the drugged wine she'd been forced to drink, started to wriggle frantically on the bed, emitting guttural screams as best she could with a gag in her mouth. Clearly the clown was enjoying the power. Odd kind of role play – wasn't my cup of tea, but the wife appeared an extraordinarily good performer. She had me convinced anyway.

So much so, that I bopped him on the head. He dropped like a stone.

"It's okay," I reassured the poor woman on the bedroll. "Bill, tie that bastard up, will you? Make sure he can't get away." I untied the woman and tried to help her to her feet, but the drugs were starting to take effect and she stumbled. I laid her back down on the bed. "Drag him into the cupboard there, and make sure it's well secured. She'll be fine as long as he's safely out of the picture." I tapped on the woman's cheek a few times, to rouse her into some sort of wakefulness. "Where is he keeping you?"

"Back… cage. Back."

"And the others?"

"Back…" Her head dropped onto the pillow, and there was no more to be got from her.

I turned to Bill. "We better get going. I want you to go fetch Illy and bring him to the tent out the back. If I'm right, there's something there he's gonna need to see. Ask him to contact the local authorities."

"What's going on?" asked Bill.

"This is Zelia. She was kidnapped a few weeks ago. But she isn't the only missing woman I'm looking for, and I think they're being kept out back. We better find them, quickly. I'm thinking Gabrielle might be with them, and I don't want to find her tied up on some clown's bedroll."

****
We both glided out of the cut in the tent. It was pitch black by this stage, the full moon eclipsed by an army of clouds that were scudding across the sky, sending flickering shadows across the world like wraiths in the moonlight. The clown's tent was set up at the edge of the circus encampment, and whilst the camp twinkled with campfires and rush torches, the clown's area remained in the shadows. Convenient, I suppose, given what they'd been up to. Perfect cover. I almost had to admire the twisted mind that could hatch and plan these kinds of nefarious goings-on. It kinda reminded me of me, in my Evil heyday, except even I wouldn't of done this sort of thing. Sure, the kidnapping – but not the rape.

Bill dashed off into the night in search of Illy. I tucked my breast dagger carefully back into its snug home and skirted around the tent, heading towards the puddle of blackness at the back.

Gods. Wouldn't you know it? Two burly clowns were on guard, their eerie white faces seeming to glow in the dark like garish lanterns. They'd painted their eyes and mouths black, adding to the scary ambience although to be honest clowns are scary enough without the bloody make-up. I confess to an unheard of moment of hesitation – much to my own disgust, I might add. Bloody clowns. Bloody circuses. I thought they were supposed to be fun? I hadn't had much fun since joining this one. I was well down on the dinars front, since Illy kept docking my wages for damages or no-shows, there were bloody clowns everywhere and Gabrielle had disappeared and was possibly in mortal danger, if not in impending sexual danger. I couldn't be having Gabrielle in sexual danger from anyone else but me! I gave myself a good talking-to and steeled myself to face off with the clowns. After all, I was a battle-scarred warrior who had faced danger, death and horror and had brushed them off like an irritating fly. I could deal with a coupl'a measly ole clowns. For Gabrielle? Of course I could.

No problem. No problem at all.

I'd do it for Gabrielle.

Any minute now. I just…

Jeez. I hate it when I procrastinate. I steeled myself for action. It didn't work. I gave myself another stern talking-to, but that didn't work either. Then, I imagined Gabrielle tied down to a bed – the Gods knew, a common fantasy, but instead of imagining me looming over her, dribbling and being all lascivious as I normally did, I imagined some vile fat painted old clown poised over her, and her all scared and hoping I'd rescue her. Gods, the thought of my Gabrielle being scared about anything hurt – and the thought of me letting her down, well that hurt even more. I closed my eyes, stepped out and let instinct take over.

It kinda took me a minute to dispatch them both, what with the stomach-churning horror and trying not to get paint on my hands and everything. But when I opened my eyes, there they were, an ungainly – and quite dead – heap on the floor. Well, it wasn't my fault they were dead, really. It was kinda an accident. But you see, putting the pinch on with your eyes closed isn't such a smart move, especially when you can't see to take it off again. Ah well, such is life – or, to be more correct, death. I kicked them into the bushes and covered them over with a few dead branches and fallen autumn leaves until they looked like a pair of little compost heaps. Quite fitting, really.

I pushed aside the tent flap, and paused in shock at the threshold.

*****
On first glance, it was a storage shed, filled with a jumbled collection of clown props – little wooden wagons, buckets, broken unicycles and all sorts of flotsam gathered from a lifetime in the performing ring. On second glance, it was a repair shop, with various tools and half-repaired props littered around the place.

It was the third glance that counted, ‘cos that's the one where you could just make out through the darkness the large wooden cage at the back of the tent. I crept towards it, careful to keep hidden in case there were clowns guarding there too. Much to my relief, the place was clown free. Obviously the two painted goons out front were felt to be security enough.

Now, I've said before what a battle-hardened warrior I am. And it's true – there are few sights in the world that can turn my stomach these days, but I have to say that what I saw when I got to that cage almost did me in. There were about five women in there. They were sitting huddled together at the very back of the cage, and were almost unrecognisable as humans – they were caked in dirt, slumped hollow-eyed and desolate on the filthy floor of the cage. Clad in shapeless hessian sacks, I could only tell they were women by their long, unwashed hair which had gone to rats' tails through the lack of brushing.

I recognised Gabrielle by her hair; it shone brightly in the gloom, and her skin was still clean and fresh. And, more importantly, she still had a spark of life left in her – it seemed to cast a glow about her, sending the hopeless figures around her into stark relief. My breath caught in my throat, and four pairs of terrified eyes (and one wary yet hopeful set of green-or-blue ones) turned in my direction.

"Xena! Thank the Gods it's you!" Gabrielle unfurled her arm from the shoulders of one of the young women huddled next to her and rose to her feet, visibly relieved to see me. "It's okay, it's my friend Xena, the one I was telling you about. She's here to rescue us. Aren't you. xena?"

"Keep it down, sweetheart. Is this all of you?"

My assistant clutched at the bars which separated us, and stared at me with large, anxious eyes. "Zelia – you remember; one of the women we were looking for? She was taken away about half a candlemark ago…"

"Yeah, don't worry – she's safe. I've taken out three of the clowns already. How many more?"

Her eyes rolled up as she thought, and she counted off on her fingers. So cute. Even a bit dishevelled and a bit grubby, she was still sexier'n Aphrodite popping out of her shell. "It's difficult to say, they all have their faces painted up the same. Hang on, I'll ask the others…" She turned towards the women, who had started rising to their feet and clustering around her. They chattered amongst themselves for a few moments. "We think there are about six but we can't be sure. Xena, they take the women…"

"I know, sweetheart. They haven't..?" I kinda pointed at her a bit and made emphatic movements with my hands, hoping she'd know what I meant. She shook her head and curse me for a soft headed fool but my heart lifted with relief at that. Dirty bloody clowns. "Don't worry – I'll have you all out of here in no time. Sugar Bill has gone to get help; he should be back here soon with reinforcements."

The door of the cage was padlocked shut. I didn't have time to unpick it so I used my considerable brute strength to lever the door open. All the stress of worrying about Gabrielle musta affected my arms a bit, ‘cos the door never budged. It worked much better after I'd grabbed a spare axle and used that to force the door open. Gabrielle ushered the women out and together we were making for the door when we were stopped in our tracks by a rustling. I motioned the women down and we all squatted, frozen.

It was Bill. I grabbed him round the neck as he crept past and hauled him down to his knees with us. The women looked terrified to see another man around the place. "It's alright – this is our friend, Bill. Did you bring reinforcements?"

He shook his head, panting a little and rubbing his neck. "I looked everywhere but I couldn't find him. I checked the Big Top but the show had finished a while ago. Sorry, Xena. I left messages all over the place for him though."

"Never mind. The most important thing is to get these women away from here. You and Gabrielle take care of them. I'm gonna go get the rest of these clowns." Bill nodded, and he and Gabrielle made to leave.

We were all stopped in our tracks by the sight of four black-and-white faced clowns surrounding us, staves in their hands. "No need to look too hard," said one of them, his smile looking like a black slash across his face.

Aw, bugger. Not that four guys wearing make-up and overly large shoes was a problem for me; after all, I'd fought The Horde and Amazons (not at the same time, you understand) and come out without a scratch on me and with a few excellent tips on how to apply blusher. Fighting strangely clad people was practically meat and drink to me. Run of the mill. Par for the course. Been there, done that. What-evurrrr. No, it was the girls I was worried about. They'd been through so much trauma already and I didn't think they'd be up to the sight of me disembowelling children's entertainers, even if they were a bit scary looking. I stepped into mediation-mode.

"Okay guys, let's everyone stay nice and relaxed and talk about this. Nobody needs to get hurt."

Gabrielle tugged at my sleeve and whispered out of the side of her mouth, "Xena, what are you doing?"

I whispered out of the other side of my mouth right back at her. "I'm gonna talk our way outta this, sweetheart."

Her blonde brows creased with confusion. "Why? Just bust their heads and let's get the Hades out of here!"

My dark brows creased with even more confusion. "Sweetheart? I thought we only turned to violence these days as a last resort? The new corporate image and all?"

"Oh, sod that Xena. These are nasty, evil men who kidnapped and raped these poor women. Kick their damn arses!" Her eyes were glowing with a fervour which I wished was directed at me for other, way more enjoyable things. Although having said that, a good ole fight was pretty much my second favourite thing. "All the women want you to really teach these guys a lesson. Don't kill them, though. They need to feel the full force of justice after you've finished with them."

My heart lifted – how often did a body get permission to duff up a few thugs? – and I cracked my knuckles in wonderful anticipation. "Okay, I'll just knock them about a bit, soften them up kind of thing. That'll give Illy time to get here, hopefully with the authorities."

The clowns had been standing patiently the whole while, casually whacking their staves against their palms as they waited for us to finish our quick chat. "So this is the famous Xena?" said one of them. "I expected you to be taller."

His fellows nodded their agreement. "Yeah. And what's with the talking? I was quite looking forward to going up against Xena, but it's a right disappointment, don't you think guys?" They all nodded again.

Jeez. How upsetting was this? See, this is what happens when you try to change your corporate brand. Gotta stick to your Unique Selling Point and let's face it, mine was my amazing affinity for violence and mayhem. Why deny it? I was an all-action woman and trying to knock that outta the business – well, it just knocked the business for six. As much as I regretted my vicious and evil past, it was hard to deny that my reputation for violence and bloodshed came in right handy in the Warrior Investigator business. Plus, talking wasn't my natural forte. I preferred deeds to words.

I put on my best, smug smile and gave them one of my trademark wisecracks. "I do hate to disappoint my public." Then I all-actionned my butt all over the place – mainly all over their butts, actually, which worked kinda well and soon they were all lying around groaning and clutching limbs and heads. I'd disarmed them easily enough and Gabrielle and the girls had grabbed the staves and were now busy running around giving them a damn good thumping. Those girls had been through a horrific experience and it wasn't as though a few smacks on the bonce would make it all better, but it sure seemed to be helping them get started on working through a few issues. Still, I didn't want them to end up on the dark side like I had done –a bit of retribution here, a smidge of vengeance there and before you knew it, you'd amassed an army and conquered Greece - so I thought I better draw things to a close.

"Right," I said, dusting off my hands and rolling a few kinks out of my neck muscles. "Let's get these guys tied up so we can hand the over to Illy and the authorities. Bill, see if ya can find us some rope or something."

Gabrielle held up a hand. "Don't worry, Xena. We've got it covered." The girls immediately whipped off their stockings (the clowns had insisted they continue to wear them – definitely kinky) and started tying up the clowns, making sure that they tied the knots really, really tightly.

I stood back and took stock. "Gabrielle, I thought you said there were only six of ‘em? I make it seven so far."

"Well, it was difficult to really tell how many, with the make-up." The girls all nodded in agreement too. "And I suppose some of them might not have… you know, taken the girls."

"I suppose so. Right, time for a quick interrogation." I grabbed the nearest clown and dragged him over to me. "Okay, ya evil bastard. Spill. Whose bright idea was all this?" He hoisted his chin in defiance, the damn fool. I have a grim, mirthless smile and he winced at the glint of icy malice in my eyes. "Don't make me ask you again."

"Hit him, Xena." Gabrielle was getting all excited; a little too excited really. I was starting to get a bit worried about how she seemed to be taking to violence. Typical – now that I had turned my back on it (and on her orders), she was starting to get all into it.

I went down on one knee in front of him, and casually rested my elbow on my knee as I stared right into his eyes. I noticed he couldn't quite look me in the face, so I grabbed hold of his chin and forced his head round. "I'll ask one more time, and once only. Who is the ringleader? Is he here?"

"No."

I shot a look at Gabrielle. "Great. That's even more than seven. Whatever that is. How many of you are there?"

"Eight."

I paused thoughtfully for a moment. "That's more than seven, right? Gabrielle – is that more…? I thought so. Right. So who is the ringleader and where do I find him?"

"He's the ringleader."

"Jeez, no shit, Plato." Clearly the guy wasn't blessed with brains, but seemed surprisingly tough and brave, considering he was giving me attitude. I made a quick decision, and my hands were a blur of motion. The trusty ole pinch had never been known to fail, if by failing you mean either resulting in information or death. "I've just cut off the flow of blood to your brain, You'll be dead in five minutes although it could be a bit longer as your brain obviously uses less oxygen that a normal brain. Maybe ten minutes. I dunno really. Anyway – who's the ringleader?"

"The ringleader." He was starting to flush up nicely.

"Amazing. You're more stupid than I thought. Gabrielle, how hard did you hit this guy on the head? Do you know who I am?" He nodded frantically. "Good. Everything you've ever heard about me is true, so don't think I won't let you die for what you've been up to here. So who is the ringleader?"

He was a bit puce by now, which made his defiance quite surprising. He just kept saying, "Ringleader, ringleader!"

Muttering, "Gods, trust us to get the stupidest clown on the block," I took the pinch off the guy and shoved him back to his fellows. "Okay, okay – maybe I'm not quite as evil as I used to be but you just got lucky, pal. The only reason you're still alive is thanks to my assistant here, who tells me that violence isn't always the answer."

Gabrielle's brows had drawn together ominously. "Sometimes it is, Xena!"

I held up a pious finger. "Ya really wouldn't want me to revert back to my dark, dark past wouldya? Not that I could, what with all my legendary self control and focus and all. I'm on a different path nowadays, sweetheart."

"Well, I'm not," Sugar Bill interrupted my righteousness. "I'm as wicked as they come, and I'd be prepared just this once to break from my usual serial killer preferences to off this bunch of clowns. As a favour to all these lovely ladies. Hi, ladies – the name's Sugar Bill, so pleased to make your acquaintance. Just out of interest, is anyone here under the age of…"

Gabrielle cuffed him round the head. "Don't you dare, Bill. You keep your serial killing paws off these women."

Time was running on, and there were clowns on the loose out there who probably knew their game was up by now. I decided we better hustle our butts right outta there while we still could. "Okay girls, let's get out of here and get on the road as soon as we can. We gotta get you all home to your husbands."

"No need." The voice was deep, warm and new. "They're already home. And their husband is here."

****

He was tall, in a rangy kinda way, and painted up like the other clowns except he'd painted his face in reverse – black background with lips and eyes painted up white. The impression was kinda eerie, if not downright scary. Not that I was scared, of course, although I could see how some would be, ‘specially when the moonlight struck him in a certain way. It made his eyes all stare-y and mad looking.

I motioned Gabrielle behind me. "You're the husband of none of these women. ‘Specially not this one." I tucked Gabrielle firmly behind me. "These women already have husbands – husbands who miss them very much and who have been very worried about them."

The stranger threw us all a macabre smile which looked more like a grimace. "Tough. I took them. They're my wives now."

Jeez. This guy was some weirdo – probably all that lead in his paint had affected his brain. Probably had affected other things too, if he could cope with multiple wives. I could barely cope with Gabrielle and she wasn't even my wife. At least, not in the bedroom sense, more's the pity. She was in the washing, cooking and nagging sense. More's the pity. "Whatever you say, guy. We'll be off now. C'mon, girls."

"I don't think so, Xena," he rasped, still smiling weirdly. "These women are mine. I found them and I brought them into my family. They belong to me now. I think what you should do, is untie my men."

This guy was definitely whacko. And how the Hades did he know my name? We'd never been introduced. Mind you, of course my reputation did precede me. Can I help it if I'm infamous in my own lifetime? I resisted the opportunity to bask in my own fame. "Do you think I'm crazy? I'm not going to untie your goons. I love a fight just as much as the next man, but I'm not bloody stupid. Now how about you just step aside and we move along, all nice and quiet." I gave him a trademark cold smile, but he was clearly too deranged to let it affect him. Instead, he waved and damn me if yet more sodding clowns materialised from the night-time darkness.

Great. Yet more clowns to fight. I was bound to get some of their make-up on my hands this time. "Grab your staves, girls," I muttered out of the side of my mouth towards Gabrielle and the women, "Just in case I don't finish anyone off. Don't kill them, though."

I've been in fights before – hard not to really, considering my past. Gods, I love fighting even now, when I only do it for The Greater Good. Smash a few heads, whack a few legs, coupl'a slashes and whirly moves, coupl'a fancy kicks and leaps and such. Nothing like a good fight to get the juices going, apart from sex of course. This fight was harder than most I've been in recently, mainly ‘cos the clowns were quite slippy with make-up. They weren't very good fighters either, but it was quite hard to get the best of them whilst trying not to get make-up onto my hands or clothes, ‘cos I knew it would be a bugger to get off and I knew Gabrielle would give me fifteen kinds of grief if I got it onto my coat.

Anyway, it took a few minutes but I managed to get the best of most of them, and Gabrielle and the girls finished the rest of them off. I hunted through the assembled bodies and pulled out who I thought was the leader – bit hard to tell really since everyone's make-up was all smudged and streaked by sweat by this time. I grabbed his sleeve and rubbed the rest of it off his face and damme if it wasn't one of the knife-throwers. I tried another; he turned out to be one of the cooks.
Gabrielle gave the cook a swift clip round the ear.

"What'd you do that for, sweetheart? He ain't the ringleader – neither of these guys have the smarts to plan something like this."

"I know. I ate his cooking. He deserved it, the prices he was charging for that slop."

I carried on hunting, and found him eventually; he'd tried to squirrel himself away into a bush, the sneaky coward. I hauled him out by his heels. He looked like he'd been dragged through a hedge backwards, which was apt, since he had been. I guess having his wig hanging half off his head didn't help any. Bit of a surprise, that – apparently the huge mop of bright orange hair wasn't his own.

"Right. Let's see who you really are." I yanked his wig off, then scraped away the smeared paint off his face.

We all gasped in shock.

****
"So it was the ringleader?"

I smiled smugly, enjoying the rare opportunity to bask in the Big Guy's admiration. "Yup. Surprised me, I have to say. Not that I hadn't had my suspicions," I added hastily – didn't want the Big Guy to think I'd lost my sharpness, after all. "Takes a better man than him to pull the wool over my eyes. It all turned out just as I expected."

"And you expected it to be him?" Hercules sounded a mite dubious. Gabrielle and I were sitting opposite him in his large and luxurious office, ‘debriefing' him as he put it. I'd insisted that nobody was getting debriefed until Iaolaus was banished from the office. I could hear him pacing anxiously around outside, and I just knew he was pressing his curly little pretty boy blond haired ear against the keyhole in an attempt to hear my sheer brilliance.

"Well, I knew the guy had a penchant for make-up and dressing up. Obviously it's a small step from ringmaster, to drag queen to clown. He knew of my reputation, of course, and once he heard I was sniffing around he figured it wouldn't be long before I cracked the case. That's when he decided to keep me close, and hire me as the strongman act."

Gabrielle gazed up at me adoringly, and I basked a bit more. "Who knew Illy could be so devious?" she commented.

"Never trust clowns, sweetheart. Nasty, evil buggers, the lot of them." I shuddered at the mere memory. Not that I was scared of them – I was scared of no man, and only one woman. Gabrielle, of course. And Velasca – she was pretty bloody scary too. But mainly Gabrielle. "It takes a certain type of sick mind to come up with the sort of scam that they were doing though. Kidnapping women in all the different villages they'd visit, and then selling them on in the next village. And using the women themselves in the meantime. Disgusting. Funny thing is, Illy seemed to really believe that he had married those women. Beggars belief really. What kind of man would pass his wife around all his mates, and then sell her on when they all got bored?"

Gabrielle patted me on the arm. "They won't be doing it any more, thanks to you, Xena."

Hercules grinned. "Well, I have to say, I wasn't expecting you to solve the case. The fifty dinars was just to do some background investigation."

My smile slipped. "Say, Herc – you better not be thinking of holding out on me. I earned those dinars fair and square!"

"Now don't get upset, Xena. I'm only saying that the price we agreed was for some investigation only, not for solving the case."

"But you'll still pay me the fifty dinars, right?" Both Gabrielle and I were sitting stiffly by this stage, our visions of financial solvency slipping away like steam from a bath.

"No, I won't. The fee I agreed with the clients for solving the case and bringing home their wives safely was two hundred and fifty dinars altogether. Minus my cut, that leaves you with one hundred and eighty five dinars."

Gabrielle gaped at me, a silly grin spreading over her features. I of course played it cool – it took more than an unexpected windfall to phase me. "Bloody brilliant, Herc!" Okay, so maybe throwing my arms round his neck and snogging him was a bit much – or at least, that's what Gabrielle's filthy glare seemed to say. It was always pretty hard to resist the impossibly attractive demi-God and although my sheer force of will and focus was legendary, the guy was a damn God, after all! He probably had Godly powers and such.

Mind you, Gabrielle recovered herself enough to intercept the dinars as Herc was handing them over. We both watched, entranced, as she tucked them into her deliciously creamy and ample-ish cleavage.

"I should be able to put a bit more work your way too, Xena." Hercules stood up to shake hands as we all made to leave. "Things've been picking up a bit lately; I'm sure they have for you too."

Can't say I'd bloody noticed. "Oh yes, absolutely."

"To be truthful, Xena, we've had so much work lately I've been struggling a bit with it. I've had to start turning people away." The bugger! He coulda turned a few my way – business has been deader than Celesta lately. "I've been thinking of taking on a new assistant, but Iaolaus is a bit ante the idea. You know how possessive he can get." Didn't I just? "Sub-contracting to the Xena Investigation Agency might be just the arrangement I'm looking for. Ten percent finders fee? Deal?"

"Deal!" We shook on it.

****
"Shall I open up, Xena?"

"Sure thing, sweetheart."

I propped my booted feet up on my desk and chewed happily on a new stogie as I admired the newly painted sign which hung above the door. The Amazon Decective Agency had been consigned to the dustbin, as Gabrielle had declared that our name change and ‘rebranding exercise' had ‘alienated our core customer group'. Apparently the upturn in custom that Herc had experienced was basically our former customers who had been put off by our new warm and fuzzy image. Our core customer group, it transpired, were the kind of people who liked their investigators to be a bit on the unpredictable – some would say infamous and violent – side. Hence, the ‘Xena Investigation Agency' was back in business. Our bank balance – Gabrielle's cleavage – was well endowed and life was good. I treated myself, and lit my cigar.

Bliss. Pure, utter bliss. Could life get any better?

Gabrielle poked her head round the door, a huge smile on her face. "Bill's sent a note. He'll be round at eight, and he's asked whether he can bring a date?"

I paused from rolling my cigar around my mouth. "A date? Is she legal?"

"She's one of the cleaners from the camp. A mature woman, according to him which I suppose means over the age of twenty four. She's moved in with him, and is keeping the bakery spick and span. And keeping him on the straight and narrow."

"Glad to hear he's given the serial killing a miss."

"Yes. He seemed really happy with that role play scenario you wrote for them. Seemed to think it'd do the trick when he gets twitchy at each full moon. That, and the special cowhide dummy he'll be slicing into."

"Excellent. So we have a few hours spare before I have to put the beef in the oven. What shall we do, sweetheart?"

She gave me a cheeky, gorgeous grin, and life got considerably better.

The end.

Return to Dreamcatching | What's New?