Another quick grab garnered the same results. The orb hovered unperturbed, tauntingly near but far enough away to execute an easy escape. The soldier swatted at it with increased aggression, his frustration mounting. The orb zipped around him, forcing Everson to spin in a near comical pirouette. Now more angry than anxious, the prince lunged wantonly at the elusive orb, but it dipped, danced and dodged like one of the little buzzers that pollinated his grandfather’s orchard.

Everson stopped, panting, his forehead glistening with a sheen of sweat. The orb stopped as well, considerably less taxed by the game of chase. The thought of his idyllic childhood spent collecting insects on his grandfather’s farm gave the soldier sudden inspiration.

The orb seemed to watch curiously as the soldier bent slowly over and picked up the apron. He gripped two corners in both hands and held the apron out in front of him as if preparing to set a table. The orb remained immobile. With a leap and a swoop of cloth, Everson brought the apron down upon the orb and quickly gathered the edges in both hands.

He yelped loudly in surprise when he was jerked off his feet. Everson was suddenly airborne and being dragged around the room by the trapped and inconceivably powerful little ball. He clung to the cloth tenaciously, unwilling to let the orb go now that he had caught it. It didn’t occur to him that it might be he who was actually caught.

The orb zipped around the room with Everson in tow, making sure that he slammed against every wall and even the ceiling. He bounced off the hard surfaces, grunting and gritting his teeth, but he refused to be shaken. Finally, the orb executed an elegant little flip and dumped him decisively onto the hard floor, freeing itself from the apron and Everson’s stubborn hands.

The now incensed prince sprang to his feet and vengefully drew his sword. He chased the orb around the small chamber, slashing indiscriminately and stumbling over dead bodies. His anger and frustration were only exacerbated by the insistent thought that a fully magnetized broadsword would have been the perfect weapon with which to snare a cheeky little metal ball right about now.

The orb remained maddeningly elusive, sometimes appearing as nothing more than a silver streak in the amber light. It circled the room as if in a centrifuge and came up fast behind Everson. It did not slow in the least as it rammed itself into the back of his head.

The sword flew from Everson’s grip and he collapsed onto his hands and knees. Pulsating spots danced before his eyes, like myriad little orbs. His mouth hung slack, breath neither coming nor going. He thought he was going to pass out. He was completely unaware of the orb as it returned to hover over the small of his back.

Everson shook his head, his breath coming back and the blackness receding from the edges of his vision. He was just about to reach for the painful lump on the back of his head when the orb jabbed a long, sharp needle hard into his back.