Free How To Avoid Death On A Daily Basis: Book Two by V. Moody Page B

walked off.
     
    “Wait,” I looked at Maurice, “was that a Python reference?”
     
    Maurice looked as unsure as me. “It couldn’t have been... could it?”
     
    Claire just shook her head at both of us, mumbling, “Nerds,” before setting off after Flossie.

13. The Emporium Of Needs And Desires
     
    We had asked a few people about the best place to buy stuff and they’d all suggested the same place: Madame Robidoo’s Emporium. Apparently it was the place to get kitted out.
     
    With map in one hand and terrible sense of direction in the other, we navigated the spaghetti-like streets of Fengarad like 18th century explorers fumbling their way through the jungles of Africa.
     
    Other than my debilitating stiffness—fortunately it eased off after a bit of walking—I felt pretty relaxed and was more than happy to be doing something as mundane as going shopping. We had enough money to buy what we needed, and maybe enough to get some cool stuff on top. What we would do after that was still undecided, but to be honest, none of us wanted to think about it until absolutely necessary. A new pair of underpants was far more important.
     
    We got lost a number of times, and certain members of our party got distracted by a shoe shop where we were forced to wait while they inspected a vast range of inappropriate footwear, but eventually we found our way to the Emporium. It was a massive department store on two levels, with every sort of garment, from armour to ballgowns. A section at the back had weapons. Upstairs, there were tools, utensils, and household goods like cups and plates. And spoons, lots of spoons. Never again would I have to eat stew with a twig.
     
    “Okay,” I said, “we should get some clothes first. Make sure it’s functional. Pockets are more important the sequins.”
     
    “That’s incredibly sexist,” said Claire. “We aren’t idiots.”
     
    I grabbed Flossie’s wrist and pulled her hand out from behind her. In her fist was a red spangly skirt. I prised it from her grip—which took some effort—and threw it back into a basket of equally brightly coloured fashion items.
     
    “And nothing too colourful. We don’t want to stand out.”
     
    We split up and began to rummage our way through the Emporium’s inventory. It took several hours for us to find everything we needed, but we were in no hurry. We probably should have haggled over the prices, but it was all well within our budget so we just piled everything up and paid what they asked.
     
    There was no point carrying it all back to the inn, so we changed into our new gear and threw away our rags. Maurice held on to his Batman onesie, though. One day the Dark Knight would return, no doubt. No, that isn’t racist.
     
    After some further convincing, the girls had settled on basic trousers and jackets, and sensible boots. The guys had obviously needed no coercing, and we had all gone for combat trousers with multiple pockets, and leather jackets with even more pockets.
     
    I had considered the heavier armoured garments but they were so stiff and bulky, I didn’t think their extra protection would be worth the lack of mobility. It would probably be better to buy second-hand gear that had been broken in already.
     
    We still looked quite scruffy—none of the guys could grow a beard that didn’t look like patchy underarm hair, and we hadn’t shaved in over a week—but the upgrade in outfits had elevated us from murder-hobo chic to rugged homeless bums. We all bought shaving kits, including the girls. I assumed for their legs, but I didn’t ask.
     
    We bought decent bags, basic eating utensils, some hats—more arguing with the girls about what a hat was for and why pink flowers didn’t count as camouflage—and three tents.
     
    Next up were weapons. First thing we did was get everyone a decent knife. They weren’t really for fighting—although that would probably be required at some point—more for everyday use. We also bought