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Thursday, January 12, 2012

The Tower of Trials Chapter 4 Page 3

Mabel spun on a heel towards the cloaked Vixen. "What?"

Iona glanced back at the way they came from. "Curtains"- she pointed at the other set of stairs -"curtains at the exit. To keep air in."

"Poison gas!?" Mabel gasped.

George immediately checked that the breathing gear in his mask was working.

Iona smiled and pointed a furry finger at the Vixen. "You got it!" she approved. She looked to George who was still adjusting his mask. "That won't help. It gets in through your skin. You need full protection." She jerked a thumb at Tricia.

Tricia gave them the thumb up. But that was not the time to wonder how she made such a gesture with an armored claw.

"Oh no! I'm dead!" George wailed hysterically in a high-pitch voice.

"Squirt!" Iona shook his hand hard. "It's okay. It's just itching gas. Won't kill you!"

"You seem very cheerful about it," George noted.

"That's because she's immune," Mabel mumbled.

"Immune?"

"Io's immune to many types of drugs and poison, certainly something as mild as this." Mabel started rubbing an armor plate on her arm. She looked into Iona's green eyes. "I hate you."

Iona grinned happily.

"Maybe there's an antidote in this room!" George suggested hopefully as he scratched his neck. He pulled open the nearest drawer, combed through the oily rags within with his itching fingers, then tried the next drawer.

"Just be sure to watch for traps," Tricia cautioned him as she went to the nearest cabinet.

George gave her a withering now-you-tell-me look. He was already at his fourth drawer.

The boy dropped his toolbag so he could concentrate on searching. He could retrieve the bag later. The itching was starting to become unbearable. All over his body, his skin itched. Most of it was unreachable under his coat and all the armor that Mabel had slapped onto him. It was burning agony not to be able to scratch effectively while searching for the antidote.

Mabel was also having as much trouble as he was, having to endure the itch while searching. She was rubbing armor plates furiously with one hand. With her other hand, she opened drawers and cabinets and tossed out the junk within. Drawers and junk, along with the occasional unhinged door, flew over her shoulder as she went from furniture to furniture.

The Vixen must have left her backpack and one of her rifles somewhere, though she kept her other weapon slung over a shoulder.

"Hey, Mab," Tricia called, "You may break the antidote if you keep throwing stuff out!"

"Shut up!" Mabel snapped back. However, there was a reduction in the rate of things flying over her shoulder.

Tricia had a lot of trouble searching with her big armored claws. So her progress was understandably slow. However, since she was protected against the gas, she was in no hurry.

George had thought that Iona would have the same problem with her furry paws. However, as she worked nearby, George saw that her furry gloves had slipped up her arm, revealing a pair of delicate hands with which she opened drawers.

Wait. He should not be surprised about that. Iona had revealed those hands earlier when she had tied on the bracelet to his wrist.

His itching skin reminded him to continue looking.

After what seemed like an eternity, just as his mind, mad from the itching, was about to slip into a happier place, George found what he was looking for in the bottom of a cabinet. Placed on a worn red pillow was a small bottle, clearly labeled 'Antidote'. "Found it!" he announced as he took the bottle.

Iona pounced on him and snatched the bottle from his hand. She held George to the ground with her weight. She was not very heavy, but the boy was not very strong either.

"Hey, I need that," George protested from beneath the girl.

"Let me check first," Iona said as she sat on him. She looked at the liquid within the green glass. Then she opened the bottle and looked for vapors before she sniffed it. Finally, she poured a little onto her little finger and tasted the liquid.

"Well?" George was seriously irritated. The itch was way beyond unbearable and he could not scratch himself freely with Iona sitting on him.

"Thought so," Iona said, "This is the real danger." She dangled the bottle in front of George's face. "Squirt, this isn't antidote. It's poison. It'll put you to sleep for two days."

George's heart sank. "So there's no cure for this blasted itchiness!?"

"Oh, all you need to do is leave the room," Iona informed him.

"What!?" Mabel cried from the other side of the room.

"Leave the room, out of the poison and the itching should stop," Iona clarified, "eventually."

"Argh!" Mabel snarled her frustration as she ran to the exit and slipped through the plastic curtains. "Trish, grab my pack and rifle for me!" she called over the comm.

"This is a real treasure," Iona said as she slipped the bottle into a pouch on her belt.

George wanted to cry. He had just been told how to stop the itchiness. But he could not do anything about it, not while Iona was still sitting happily on him.

Argh, the agony!

***

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