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with the possibilities.
    ‘Honey, I'm home!’
    The shrill voice echoed down through the cave and into the chamber.
    Tark's eyes widened. Another dragon? It had never even occurred to him that the dragon might have a mate. He had to get out of the cave without this second dragon seeing him. Without the sword o’ light, Tark didn't stand a chance against a dragon.
    His eyes scanned the chamber. There didn't seem to be any other way out. Given he had entered through a fake wall, it was conceivable that there were others, but he didn't have time to go searching for them. The cul-de-sac was his only hope, if he could get to it in time.
    Tark slipped through the fake wall and quietly inched his way along the rock wall, trying hard not to jangle the bag of gold coins. No sooner was he concealed in the cul-de-sac, than he heard heavy footsteps shuffling along the cave. He risked a quick peek around the corner. In the dim light he saw a large shape disappearing through the wall, sniffing noisily as it went. Tark hefted the bag o’ gold onto his shoulder and crept out of the cave.

7: Safecracking
    With seemingly little effort, Zyra scaled the brick wall, back-flipped over the razor wire that topped it, and landed cat-like on the lawn – poised and ready for anything. Within seconds she sprinted to the first of the topiary gargoyles that dotted the expansive grounds. It was huge, at least three times her size, and quite grotesque. She checked it carefully for tech. These Hill people loved their tech (everything from robotic sentries to lethal vegetation), and she didn't want to be caught unawares. But the plant was clean. No embedded technology that she could see. The Fat Man simply had a weird taste in landscape design.
    Zyra slowly made her way to the mansion, gargoyle by gargoyle, making sure to avoid the ground-level trip-lasers that criss-crossed the lawn. One false step and she could lose a foot.
    Reaching the mansion, she found three human guards armed with machine guns (crude, noisy weapons that lacked style, thought Zyra) patrolling the exterior. Zyra smiled and reached for her pouch.
    Three shuriken throwing stars whizzed through the air with barely a whisper. Three guards fell to the ground, their guns dropping to the manicured lawn beside them.
    Zyra desperately wanted to retrieve her stars before proceeding, but she couldn't risk the extra time it would take out in the open. With two pieces of wire she swiftly picked the lock on the servants’ entrance and slipped inside the mansion. A heavy saucepan made short work of the cook and butler, and her beloved knives took care of the two interior guards.
    She tiptoed up the stairs and crept into the museum room. Zyra gazed around the opulent, wood-panelled room – at the portraits on the walls, at the red velvet drapes through which she caught a glimpse of metal, at the artefacts behind glass cases, each with its own specially designed security system. The challenge of stealing each and every piece in the room held a great deal of appeal for Zyra. Lots of very valuable stuff – custom-made weapons, one-of-a-kind gems, bespoke jewellery – but much too difficult to fence. And the challenge in itself was not enough of a drawcard.
    Where would he keep the key? wondered Zyra, as her gaze roamed the room. And then she saw it. The portrait. Not just any portrait, but a portrait of the Fat Man himself. Everything she knew about the Fat Man, which was not much in the larger scheme of things, suggested to Zyra that he would be vain enough to choose his own likeness to conceal the key.
    Zyra cautiously approached the painting and ran her gloved fingers along the gilt-edged frame. As she touched the concealed switch, the painting slid aside. She removed her gloves and put her hands on the revealed safe – the fingers of one hand gently holding the tumbler, the fingertips of the other resting a couple of centimetres above. She took a deep breath, concentrating on the feel of the