28 March 2010
The Bloody Baffling Buckingham Bluff, Part Three
Groggily, I tried to focus on my surroundings to try and ascertain my precise location. It seemed to be a dark and rather dank cellar of some sort, which did not help me to pinpoint my whereabouts at all. London was full of such cellars – indeed, I was fairly certain that any new building had to have a dark and rather dank cellar installed, just on the off-chance that the inhabitants required a suitably atmospheric setting for any kidnappings, sacrifices, or for any sinister serial killers to lurk in whilst waiting for scantily-clad maidens to venture down to investigate a noise in the night.
By Britannica’s bustubles, my head hurt, I thought.
I tried to raise a hand to my injured noggin, but quickly discovered that my hands were in fact tied behind me. Fan-bloody-tastic, I thought. I sank back in the chair to which I was strapped, and surmised my situation: I was injured, tied to a chair, in a dark and rather dank cellar. How might this day get any worse, I pondered.
“I see you’re awake at last,” came the all-too familiar tones of that smug conjurer, Cornelius Quaint. Instantly my heart sank into my boots, and tried to hang itself with my boot-laces.
“It would appear so,” I replied, twisting my neck slightly to see the bounder bound to a chair behind me. “Either that, or the after-life is failing to live up to my expectations in quite a spectacular fashion.”
“I’m here too,” cried Botter, from somewhere else in the darkness.
“Me too, bosses!” echoed Butter.
“Well, what a delightful party we shall all have, I am sure,” I groaned.
“Now come on, Ouranos…let us not despair yet!” Quaint said brightly, but not brightly enough to penetrate the gloom of the cellar, or indeed the dark mood I now found myself in.
“Oh, you can be quiet,” I snapped. “‘Tis all your fault that we find ourselves in this particular pickle!”
“My fault? How do you work that out, Likely?” Quaint snapped. “You were doing your thing – whatever that may be – whilst I was doing mine. How could I possibly be at fault for your incompetence?”
“My incompetence? Ha! It was no doubt your bumbling about which alerted the guards to our presence, and which resulted in my capture. Had I been working alone, I dare say I’d have wrapped this whole sorry affair up by now!”
“No doubt you’re used to ‘working alone’, Likely! I mean, self-congratulation doesn’t seem to be one of your failing points!” Quaint reflexed. “Why don’t you shelve your obvious distemper to one side and focus on how we’re going to get out of this fix? After all, is this Silas Surprise chap not one of your foes? I don’t know about you, but when one of my rogues gallery is trying to off me, I usually respond with extreme prejudice!”
“All I can say is that your rogue’s gallery must be terribly inept to have not yet succeeded in offing an oafish buffoon like yourself!” I responded. “Naturally, I find myself facing a far superior breed of villain, sir! Mr. Silas Surprise is a ruthless, cunning and merciless devil – not at all like the namby-pamby nit-wits who you find yourself up against, sir!”
As if being cued by an unseen, giant-sized celestial director, the adversary in question entered through a door at the end of the room, grinning that devilish grin of his as he strode up to us.
“Ah, gentlemen!” Silas Surprise beamed, sweeping his cape aside for added theatricality. “So glad you could be here to witness my grandest illusion yet! Naturally, I have secured you the very best seats in the house, ha-ha!”
“Namby-pamby?” roared Quaint. “How OLD are you, Ouranos? Who says ‘namby-pamby’ anymore? And whilst we’re on the subject of my rogues gallery, do you know the kind of foes that I usually face? They’re mass-murderers! Monsters, all! The type of folk that would make your skin crawl, let me tell you! Not show-boating petty criminals who stoke pedestrian plots to off the Queen, let me assure you! You wouldn’t last two seconds against the likes of the Hades Consortium.”
“I hope you are sitting comfortably, gentlemen,” Silas continued, unperturbed by Quaint’s barbed critique of his plan. “For soon, you shall be rather more UNcomfortable, I’m afraid to say! Hahahaha!”
“I shall grant you, Mr. Quaint, that this particular scheme is really rather obvious, and terribly uninspired. But this rather poor effort is not demonstrative of the more terrifying and downright horrific ploys I usually encounter! You know not of real danger until you have found yourself locked in battle with a small army of murderous prostitutes, let me tell you!”
“T-terribly uninspired?” spluttered Silas. “Now listen here…”
“Murderous prostitutes?” laughed Quaint. “Is that before or after you’ve sampled their wares, Likely?”
“I mean, this took the best part of a year and a half to plan, you know…” Silas continued.
“Oh, laugh away, sir! But I can only imagine that you have enough trouble dealing with women in the day-to-day, let alone when they are firing pistols in your direction! You would doubtlessly soil yourself, and seek comfort in the arms of your little Eskimo chum, there.”
“Inuit,” piped Butter, reminding the room that he was still there.
“You seek to question my success with women, Likley?” asked Quaint. “Need I remind you that we’re sitting on death’s doorstep here?” Quaint gestured to Silas Surprise. “I’m right, aren’t I? You seek to do us harm?”
“Absolutely,” chimed Surprise.
“That’s what I thought,” Quaint said. “And you’re content to question my triumphs with the opposite sex, Likely? What are you thinking? There’s more at stake here, you know!”
“Ha! Your pathetic attempt to change the subject is as good as an admission of your abject failure with women, Quaint! Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Surprise?” I said, craning my neck round to see the evil trickster.
“Well, it is hard to gauge, having only just met the fellow, but it does seem like it has proven rather a thorny issue for….wait a moment! What on EARTH am I doing?” Silas snapped. “I am not here to get embroiled in your infernal squabbling! I am here to bid you all goodbye, for soon you shall be BLOWN to pieces, along with this very palace, and everyone in it! Ha!”
There was a momentary pause.
“But I’m right though, aren’t I?” I asked.
“Gah!”
Quaint frowned. “Sorry, but did you just say ‘blown to pieces’? So that stage I investigated earlier WAS rigged to explode after all! And did you also just say ‘this very palace’? So we’re underneath Buckingham Palace, I take it?”
Silas Surprise grinned. “Well, this makes a nice change. Someone who likes to keep up with current events.”
“I try to keep abreast of things,” Quaint said. “Don’t bother, Likely!”
“Don’t bother what?” I asked the conjurer, appalled.
“You were about to make a smutty comment about my keeping abreast.”
“I was?”
“You deny it?”
I clamped my lips shut, forming them into a tight grin.
Quaint scowled. “I thought so.” He looked around our situation, assaying the predicament that we found ourselves in. I was way ahead of the grey-haired clod, of course, but I wasn’t about to let on to Cornelius cocking Quaint. “So…I take it that considering our confinement, you seek to destroy the palace and us with it, Surprise?”
“Impressive, sir,” said Silas Surprise. “Whomever you are.”
“Cornelius Quaint, circus leader and conjurer extraordinaire.”
“A conjurer eh? Much like myself.”
“I’m nothing like you…which is why I take such umbrage with a fraudster, sir!”
“You’re both equally fraudulent, if you ask me,” I muttered, less than impressed with the fact that I now found myself in the company of two wretched tricksters.
“No-one did ask you, you pompous, puffed-up poppinjay!” Quaint rejoined.
“Con Artist!”
“Fop!”
“Charlatan!”
“Scoundrel!”
“SILENCE!” bellowed Silas. “I think I have had quite enough of this childlike bickering! Beside which, I am due on stage about now, ready for my spectaular show! Stick around, gentleman – I do believe that the grand finale will quite literally raise the roof! Hahahaha!” the conjurer chuckled, sweeping off back through the door.
“Well, this is just dandy, is it not?” I sighed. “I never thought I’d go out like this, tied up next to an old man.”
“Oh, do be quiet,” said Quaint. “I’m trying to think…”
“Um, my lord, if I might just suggest something…” Botter interjected.
“No, no you may not, Botter. I’d rather not have your inane drivel being the last words I e’er hear ‘pon this earth,” I retorted.
“Uh, boss? We can help!” Buttter added.
“Really, Butter?” asked Quaint. “And how do you propose to do that, I wonder?”
“Well…we could untie you, first of all!” Butter said. Quaint and I looked up, to see both Botter and Butter standing beside us, completely free of their ropes.
“How in the name of Beelzebub’s ball-sack did you do that?” I exclaimed.
“We…we sort of just worked together and untied each other’s ropes,” Botter explained.
“We make for good team, yes?” Butter added, triumphantly.
“Well, don’t stand around grinning at us like a couple of disfigured bookends – untie us!” I ordered. “We have a conjurer to catch!”
*****
MEANWHILE, outside the palace, Silas Surprise had commenced his show, entertaining the assembled crowd with a variety of simple tricks and illusions. The audience clapped and gasped as Silas worked through his act, quite unaware that they were mere moments away from seeing the magician blow up Buckingham Palace and all inside.
“And now,” Silas beamed, striding up to a large, tall cabinet. “I shall attempt to conjure up a woman from THIN AIR, right before your very eyes!” The crowd mumbled and muttered in disbelief. “Behold this ordinary, wooden cabinet,” Silas continued, patting the side of the box. “You shall notice that it is completely normal, completely solid and – most importantly, completely empty!” Silas exclaimed, throwing open the cabinet’s door. “But now, using all the powers at my disposal, I shall make a woman appear inside it!” He closed the door again, and moved to the front of the stage. He stood silently, looking out onto the crowd, and then thrust his arms up into the air, and then slowly pulled his arms down in front of his chest, fists tightly clenched, as if dragging an invisible force down from the sky.
“Oh, dark forces, hear me now!” Silas cried, closing his eyes tightly. “Bring forth a woman from the ether, and place her inside this box, pass her through wood and touch not the locks!” His eyes sprang open and he spun around, thrusting his arms out at the cabinet. “KAZZAM!” he yelled, for added effect.
The crowd fell silent as Silas walked up to the cabinet. He paced up and down outside of it, milking every drop of suspense from the spectacle, before stopping in front of the door. He placed a hand on the handle and faced the audience once more.
“Ladies and gentle-men, I present to you….A MIRACLE!” he cried, flinging open the door. The crowd gasped, paused, and then fell into uproarious laughter. Silas’ expression changed to one of sheer bemusement, and he turned around to look inside the box himself.
“What on earth?” shrieked Silas. His female assistant was in the cabinet, as doubtlessly planned, but she was locked in a passionate embrace with yours truly, which Silas clearly had not planned at all. “LIKELY? What are you doing inside my assistant’s box?”
“I haven’t got that far yet, sir,” I grinned, causing the delightful assistant to chuckle excitedly.
“Get out! Get out of there!” screamed Silas, stepping backwards in horror. “You’re ruining the show!”
“I rather think the show was ruined by your parade of petty parlour tricks,” said a stern voice behind Silas. Silas spun round, to find himself face-to-face with Cornelius Quaint.
“You!” Silas observed, quite correctly. “How did you both get free?”
“Magic,” Quaint winked.
“Pah! Magic? I doubt a mere circus conjurer knows the true meaning of the word!” spat Silas.
“Really?” Quiant said, raising an eyebrow. “Then pray tell, how is it that I have your wallet here?” he grinned, waving the magician’s money-purse in front of his bemused face. The audience guffawed and applauded.
“Gah! How did you?…” Silas spluttered, snatching back his wallet. “All that demonstrates is your pick-pocketing skills, I’m afraid. There is no magic there….but what is this…here?” Silas continued, reaching behind Quaint’s ear and drawing out a shiny shilling to more applause. “Oh-ho!”
“That might impress children at a birthday party, but that sort of trickery does not impress me, Mr. Surprise,” Quaint sniffed. “But I appreciate your effort nonetheless. Here, let me reward your attempt!” smiled Quaint, producing a small bouquet of flowers from seemingly nowhere and presenting them to the cad.
“Pathetic!” growled Silas, taking the flowers and then with a snap of his fingers, he set them alight. Quaint responded by throwing a silk handkerchief over the blazing bouquet, and whipping it away to reveal an unharmed dove sitting in Silas’ hands. Silas gritted his teeth, and then with a final flick of the wrist, seemingly transformed the bird into a pistol, which he pointed in Quaint’s direction, to further wild applause from the crowd, quite unaware that they were paying witness to what could have been a possible murder.
“Right! Enough of these shenanigans!” barked Silas, waving the gun about menacingly. “I think it’s time I moved my grand finale up the bill, wouldn’t you agree, gentlemen?” he smirked, as he strode over to a small table on the stage, draped with a black cloth. Silas whipped the cloth away to reveal a detonator, which he caressed lovingly. “Ladies and gentlemen, I now give you my greatest, most elaborate illusion yet! Prepare to watch in AWE as I make Buckingham Palace DISAPPEAR!”
“Don’t do it, Silas,” warned Quaint.
“The show must go on,” grinned Silas, and with that, he pushed down on the plunger.
And then, there was a huge explosion.
But it was not Buckingham Palace that found itself going up in flames. Instead, we all watched as Silas’ very own caravan blew to smithereens nearby, flaming wreckage tumbling out of the sky like fiery confetti.
“What…what the-?” stammered Silas as he watched his trailer’s charred remains settle on the ground.
“Surprise, Surprise!” I beamed, having managed to tear myself away from the ravishing assistant to come and taunt my old foe.
“What…what have you done, you bastard?” growled Silas.
“Now now, you know as well as anyone that a showman never reveals his secrets,” I winked.
“You…you shall pay for this, Likely!” snarled Silas, raising his pistol up at me. But, before he could pull the trigger, Quaint appeared behind him and swiftly pinned the cove’s arms to his side using a string of multi-coloured handkerchiefs, much to the delight of a nearby police-officer.
“I may not be much of a magician, Mr. Surprise,” I said slowly, as the villain struggled to break free of Quaint’s strong grip. “But I have one trick you may like!” And with that, I lashed out with a strong uppercut to the fiend’s jaw, knocking him out cold. “Ta-daaa!” I sang. “I magically transformed you from a conscious man, to an unconscious man. Remarkable, I know…..no? Not going to say anything? How terribly rude.”
Cornelius Quaint released his hold on the comatose conjurer, leaving Silas Surprise to duly slump to the ground, to a rousing round of applause form the assembled spectators. Quaint and I exchanged a quick smile, and then moved to the centre of the stage where we bowed gracefully to our appreciative audience.
*****
“YOU HAVEN’T seen the last of me!” bellowed a reawakened Silas Surprise, as he was roughly bundled into the back of an awaiting police wagon. “Do you really think metal bars can hold the greatest conjurer the world has ever seen? I’ll be back, Likely….I’ll be baaaaack!” he screamed, as the wagon’s doors were shut behind him.
“Well, that will be something to look forward to,” remarked Quaint, as we watched the carriage rattle off down the road. “You had better be careful, I may not be around to save you next time, Ouranos.”
I smiled. “As loath as I am to admit it, I have to say we did work rather well, there.” I mused.
“I suppose we did make for quite a good pairing…in the end,” Quaint nodded.
“Mmmm,” I paused. “But let us try and never meet again, eh?”
“My thoughts exactly,” grinned Quaint. “Come, Butter – it is time we got back to the circus!”
“Okay, boss,” said Quaint’s Eskimo associate. “Though we do good, yes?”
“We did indeed, yes. I was worried for a moment that you wouldn’t get the explosives into position in time…but you came through, my Inuit friend, as you always do!” he grinned, slapping his friend heartily on the back.
“I trust my work was to your satisfaction, milord?” asked Botter hopefully.
“I’d have preferred you to have been in the explosion, but you can’t win them all, you wretched arse-pipe,” I replied.
“Very good milord,” Botter nodded.
“Well, good-day to you, gentlemen,” Quaint said, proffering his hand for me to shake. I regarded the hand with caution, and then decided to shake it.
“And toodle-pip to you two, as well. I wish you and your fellow circus freaks the very best!”
“And I hope you do not suffer too badly from the terrible syphilis you shall no doubt contract at some point,” Quaint chuckled, before withdrawing his hand. As he did so, I noticed that the crafty conjurer had left a playing card in my own hand.
“What’s this?” I asked, turning the card over.
“It’s for you. I have a fortune-teller at the circus – Madame Destine. She told to me a rather puzzling prediction a few days ago, before any of this business began…I was utterly confounded by it, but now I think it makes sense…and I do believe it was meant for you, Ouranos. Perhaps you can make sense of it, eh?”
I read the words scrawled on the card. “‘The probable lord is more than likely‘.” I lowered the card. “What in the name of sodomy does that mean?”
“No idea,” said Quaint. “But Destine’s predictions always end up making perfect sense at some point. At any rate, we must be going. Good day, Likely, Good day, Mr Botter.”
I grunted farewell in response, still distracted by the mysterious words on the playing card, as the duo disappeared off into the busy London streets.
“What do you think all that means then, milord?” asked Botter.
“I swear I have not got the effing foggiest,” I shrugged. “But ne’er mind all that mumbo-jumbo, anyway!” I brightened, shoving the card into a pocket. “Now, where’s that assistant gone? I wished to show her a vanishing trick of my very own…”
- Lord Likely.
His lordship and Mr. Fanton would like to thank Mr. Craske for joining them in chronicling this most astonishing of adventures. It has truly been a most thrilling and delightful experience! Huzzah for Mr. Craske, we say!
Darren Craske is the author of the Cornelius Quaint Chronicles amongst other things, and lives in Hampshire with his wife and two children. His first published work was ‘The Equivoque Principle’ now followed by its sequel, ‘The Eleventh Plague’. His website can be found at www.darrencraske.com and he is on twitter as@DarrenCraske.
‘The Eleventh Plague’ (book 2 of the Cornelius Quaint Chronicles) – is released in paperback by The Friday Project, an imprint of HarperCollins on March 4th 2010 and can be bought (amongst other fine retailers) here, and ‘The Equivoque Principle’ (book 1 of the Cornelius Quaint Chronicles) can be bought here.
As well as a little sneaky peeky at ‘The Eleventh Plague’ – ‘The Equivoque Principle’ is being offered as a FREE downloadfor a limited time via this link and also on Kindle via this link.
