I held my pistols as I ventured through the dim, empty columns. I didn’t want to upset any ornaments or offerings. A little guidance was offered as the light on my suit reflected off the coins which decorated the walls, illustrating the direction which I should travel. I was already aware that the sword would not be in an obvious place, but the idol of Brahma situated at the end of the corridor could offer some clues to the resting place of the sword. The idol was sat proudly in an alcove adorned with silver, his four arms outstretched. Even in the dim light, I noticed the arm holding the rosary was a slightly different colour to the other arms. Feeling along the arm, I realised there was a join that hadn’t been welded.
“Bingo.” I whispered, and pulled the arm down. Just as I had suspected, a section of the wall cracked and the temple shook. A chink of light emerged from the behind the doorway, and a flight of stairs became visible. These stairs wound in a spiral, and seemed to go on forever. Finally I reached the bottom. Sure enough, at the end of a long corridor, I saw a plinth. I sprinted down the corridor. As my feet thumped the floor, I felt the foundations start to crack beneath me. Pace quickening, I bolted to retrieve the sword. I reached the plinth. Brahmastra sat, blade curved and glinting. Its sheath lay beneath it. Quickly placing the sword inside, I was aware that the temple was beginning to crumble. The grapple clanged against the ceiling. After many swings, I sprinted up the stairs with precision. I emerged from the doorway, just as the building prepared to give way.
The priests would not be pleased.
Smiling a little, I met once again the Indian night, and ran down an alleyway. I caught my breath, admiring my prize. After a little hydration, I prepared myself to head back to the hotel. Suddenly I felt a pistol pressed into my neck.
“Hand it over.” A gruff voice spoke. I chose to stay calm.
“What do I have that you could possibly want?”
“Don’t play dumb, sister. The sword. Hand it over or I pull the trigger.”
“Oh right, that. Hang on, I’ll just make sure it’s in the sheath properly...”
I took it, preparing to strike, but the man was no fool.
“Unlikely story.” He pounced on me, straddling me backwards. He took the sword, and left me with a punch in the face as a souvenir. Although my vision was a little blurred, I was light-headed and it was dark, I could make out a man in a balaclava wearing navy blue. There was only one person I knew who dressed mercenaries like that.
“Damn you, Amanda Evert.”