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Napoleon sat up and brushed off his clothes, then made a face at the grass stains in the knees of his trousers. “This is a brand new suit. I hate it when that happens.”
“What?” Illya was busy shaking twigs and leaves from his hair. He paused, looking confusedly, at Napoleon.
He tried again, only louder, “I hate it when that happens.”
“Yes, it is lovely out tonight, isn’t it?” At the look of anxiety in his partner’s eyes, Illya laughed. “I heard you the first time, Napoleon. What do you hate?”
“Short fuses. I blame you for that.”
“I didn’t fare much better than you. It burned faster than I anticipated.” He pulled a stick from his collar.
Napoleon looked back at the gaping hole in the rock face. “How much attention do you think that drew?”
“Hopefully enough to get us past the front gate without a challenge.” Illya brought a forefinger to his lips and flattened. Napoleon did the same as a group of men ran up to the new entrance to their hideout
“Over here!” one man shouted to the others as he waved his arm wildly. “Someone let them know we’ve been breached.” He led the way inside.
“I wouldn’t want to be the poor schmo who has to make that call,” Illya whispered. At Napoleon’s silence, he glanced over. His partner was staring as a centipede crawled slowly across his hand, a look of abject terror in his eyes.
A second bunch of men arrived and ran into the cave. Illya reached over and flicked the bug off Napoleon’s hand. Napoleon still didn’t move or even blink.
“It’s okay, Napoleon, we’re in the clear.”
He let out a tremulous breath and smiled sheepishly. “I really hate those things.”
“Centipedes? I don’t blame you.” Illya nodded in agreement. “They are a little creepy and they have a nasty bite.”
“It’s all those legs.” He shuddered and sat back up.
“In Chinese mythology, it was thought they were one of the few things that could scare off a dragon. Yet, in Japanese mythology, it was thought to be the messenger of the god of war.”
“They don’t fare much better in Christian symbolism either. They are thought to be associated with everything dark and evil.” Napoleon hurriedly brushed himself off again, lest the bug have relatives. “Makes sense that they would be here with THRUSH.”
Illya climbed to his feet and recited to the sky,
I objurgate the centipede,
A bug we do not really need.
At sleepy-time he beats a path
Straight to the bedroom or the bath.
You always wallop where he’s not,
Or, if he is, he makes a spot.
“I never pegged you as an Ogden Nash fan.” Napoleon brushed off Illya’s back.
“I love the way he plays with words. He says so much with so little.”
“Speaking of so much with so little, are you ready for this?”
“We have our wit, our will and two clips between us. We’ve taken on greater challenges with far less. I am ready to take on the day.”
“Night,” Napoleon corrected.
“That as well. Shall we?”
And they were off, leaving the centipede to its fate and them to theirs.