The source was a chubby man with long black hair and stubble on his chin. He was wearing hiking boots and a hooded sweatshirt that had The Emperor and the Necklace written on the front and “The journey goes on and on and on . . .” on the back.
“Dang and blast!” he cursed more tamely. “What are we going to do, then? We were supposed to start an hour ago!”
He was standing in a clearing surrounded by technical-looking equipment, so that the trees and shrubbery of the forest gave way to tall metal stands with giant lights rising overhead and, instead of vines, cables snaked across the floor of the forest. Large, silver-metal boxes with large metal clasps stood in place of rocks and boulders, and instead of cute little squirrels and chipmunks and things, there were men and women of various heights and ages in baggy t-shirts and jeans and white running shoes, as well as baseball caps that all read The Emperor and the Necklace.
Alex stood quietly at the edge of the clearing, her jaw open wide. Now she understood. She had happened upon a film shooting on location. Giggles shook his head disapprovingly, and his tail turned into a fir tree again. It seemed it wasn’t just mad scientists on trains that Giggles didn’t like. Except for Alex, it appeared Giggles didn’t like anybody. She thought it might be wise to put him back in the bag, and did so, much to his resentment.
Alex then wandered into the clearing, trying to stay out of the way, and especially trying to avoid the expensive-looking film equipment that was strewn everywhere.
“Wait! Wait, wait, wait!” erupted the man with long hair loudly. “What’s that?” And he pointed right at Alex.
A sudden silence fell over the clearing as everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at her.
“No, no, no, no. This is the last straw! Could someone remove the kid? Please?” he shouted, his voice cracking.
Instantly Alex was whisked off her feet. She flew through the clearing to a group of chairs and a table with bagels and a coffee urn sitting on it. She was placed roughly in a seat by a woman with a ponytail, who kneeled down and asked, “Who are you and where are your parents?”
Alex was reminded of the paperwork at the police station. “Um, I’m Alexandra Morningside, but most people call me Alex, and my parents are gone, but that’s okay, it happened a long time ago,” she said obligingly. She didn’t add anything about her uncle and Mr. Underwood because she hadn’t been asked, and it wasn’t anyone else’s business anyway.
“So why are you here?”
“Oh,” said Alex slowly, “well, that is a very long story that involves Pirate Captain Steele and his men, and you seem very busy, and it would take a while to explain it to you.”
The woman with the ponytail nodded in agreement.
“Well, what do you want, then?” she asked.
“Well . . . ,” thought Alex. She knew it wasn’t a literal question. There was no point in telling the woman she wanted to find Mr. Underwood, or the Infamous Wigpowder’s treasure. And that deep, deep down she would give up either to have her uncle back. But there was one thing that right now she wanted more than anything and that was . . . “To get to Port Cullis.”
The woman looked at Alex for a second and then smiled. “I think we can manage that. I’m sure once we’re done here, we could give you a lift.”
And without realizing she had been carrying it around with her, Alex felt a large weight lift off her shoulders.
“Oh, thank you so much!” she said.
The woman smiled. “Right, then. My name is Holly, and for the time being it is really important you stay out from underfoot. You can have some food if you want.” She gestured toward the table. “And please try to stay away from Steve, he’s . . . he’s in a mood.”
Steve, she explained, was the pudgy man with long hair and stubble, and was also the director for The Emperor and the Necklace. She added that he was really stressed out, because a certain star performer was proving difficult.
“Which explains the state of his appearance,” she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. Alex nodded. Though, judging by the length of his greasy hair, she thought, that would have meant he had been stressed for a decade or so.
“Who’s the star?” asked Alex.
“Oh, it’s not who, it’s what.”
“I’m sorry.” Alex rephrased the question. “What is the star?”
“The Extremely Ginormous Octopus,” replied Holly, shaking her head sadly and taking a gulp of coffee. “And he’s gone missing.”
THE TWENTIETH CHAPTER
In which we learn about motion capture and visit The Duke’s Elbow.
Alex blinked twice. “I’m sorry . . . pardon?” “The Extremely Ginormous Octopus.”
“Would that be an octopus, then?”
“One that is very, very big, yes.” Holly sighed heavily and turned to Alex to explain. “We had arranged to work with the Extremely Ginormous Octopus in preproduction, but now he has vanished and we have no clue where he is.”
“But why do you need him? I mean, don’t you use, you know, special effects for that sort of thing?”
“Oh gosh, it’s more complicated than that,” sighed the woman, refilling her cup of coffee and adding three sugars.
“It is?”
“Okay. Well, have you heard of motion capture?” she asked Alex.
“Sort of.”
“Okay. Imagine you take a piece of paper and you draw a picture on it of a flower, in glue. Then you throw sand on the glue and when it dries the glue disappears, but the sand stays, shaped like a flower. You following me?”
“Yes, of course,” said Alex, trying to give the impression of an intelligent child who picked things up more quickly than most, which was, in fact, what she was.
“Well, that’s the same with motion capture. Imagine that you have a person in a bodysuit—the shape of the person is like the shape of the flower and the bodysuit is like the glue. Then you cover the person with these things that look like ping-pong balls. That’s like the sand.”
“Right, right.”
“And those ping-pong balls send information back to a computer. So that what you see on the computer is the form of the person because of the ping-pong balls, but not the person himself. And the form moves when the person does and so on. So then you can ‘capture’ movement on the computer and use it later. For example, if the person hopped, then the image would hop. If the person sat down, the image would sit down. Hmm . . . what else?” and she pondered what else could be captured by motion. “Tap dancing?”
Alex, who was keen to get back to the topic at hand, asked, “What does that have to do with the octopus?”
“Sorry? Oh, yes, so we took pictures of him and now have his stills in the animation software. And he agreed that for one day only we could capture his movement and then we would leave him be. Well, today is the day, and now he has vanished! And that’s what Steve is stressed about,” finished Holly, as she drained her coffee cup for the second time.
“Okay, people, listen up!” Steve called out, holding up his cell phone. Everyone stopped running about once more. “Right! We have a tip. We have word that the Extremely Ginormous Octopus has been terrorizing a small village pub just half a mile down the road. So let’s get our things together and get a move on.”
Everyone got very busy packing up lights and cables. Alex began to feel a little antsy.
“Holly,” she asked, “when will we be heading for Port Cullis?”
“Oh, don’t worry! Once we’ve finished with the Extremely Ginormous Octopus, we can give you a ride. Port Cullis is about an hour from the pub. Just stick with me.”
So that’s just what Alex did. She helped the crew haul some equipment over to several parked trucks just beyond the edge of the clearing. And before you could say, “Don’t forget the gaffer tape,” they were all trundling down the bumpy road. In around twenty minutes, they turned a corner and came upon a tiny pub standing in a semicircular clearing just off to the side. It was white, with windows trimmed in dark brown
, and had a slanty roof that looked like it might slip off at any moment. In front hung a sign that read “The Duke’s Elbow.” Standing huddled together in the street was a small group of people looking worried. A sturdy-looking woman in coveralls and an apron approached them right away.
“Thank goodness! We just don’t know what to do! He’s already insulted my cooking, drunk three bottles of Jeff’s best whiskey, and told young Martha she looks fat in her new dress. He then started to trash the place, and what with them eight arms of his, it looks like a war zone in there. We all just had to get out before he did some serious damage and injured someone. Can’t you control him?” she asked pleadingly.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Windsor, we’ll take care of him,” said Steve, and he made a signal.
Two big men in black, wearing sunglasses, stepped forward with large rifles.
“You aren’t going to shoot him, are you?” said Mrs. Windsor nervously.
“They’re just tranquilizer guns, ma’am, don’t worry,” replied Steve, and he had a quiet word with the two men, who then turned and marched into the pub.
Holly went up to join Steve, and Alex followed closely at her heels. The three of them waited.
. . .
. . .
. . .
It was very quiet.
. . .
. . .
. . .
A bird turned to its friend and started to say something, but then changed its mind.
. . .
. . .
. . .
And then . . .
There was the unmistakable sound of smashing glass, which went along with the unmistakable sight of two men in black flying backward through the ground floor windows of The Duke’s Elbow and landing on the road in front of them.
“That worked then,” said Holly to Steve.
Steve rushed up to the two men in black, gave them some new instructions, and pushed them back into the pub.
And the same thing happened again.
And he sent them in again.
And the same thing happened again.
“Those guys are pretty tough,” said Alex.
“He’ll kill them if he keeps sending them in like that,” said Holly, shaking her head.
She and Alex watched in dismay as Steve signaled yet again to the men in black, who looked at him in disbelief. And then slowly, with their heads hanging down, they dragged their feet into the pub.
And were once more flat on their backs in front of Steve, Holly, and Alex.
“That does it!” said Steve. “I’m calling backup!” And he took out his cell.
Alex looked at him. “Holly?”
“Yes?”
“How long will we have to wait for backup?”
“At least an hour. Probably more.”
For Alex it was the last straw. Without a word, because she knew they would try to stop her, Alex headed toward the entrance of The Duke’s Elbow.
THE TWENTY-FIRST CHAPTER
In which Alex reasons with the Extremely Ginormous Octopus.
Alex approached the door to the pub and went to open it. Then she had a thought. She bent down and opened her knapsack. “Giggles,” she said. He gave her a look that it is best not to describe as it was so vile. “Do you think you could maybe just keep an eye out for me? I mean, don’t do anything rash or anything . . . just, well, you know . . .”
Giggles looked at her resentfully. He did know. But he didn’t much like being kept confined in a knapsack like that.
“Please?”
And with a look that said, “Let’s get on with it,” Giggles and Alex entered The Duke’s Elbow quietly.
You know how sometimes a place can look really small on the outside, but can turn out to be much larger on the inside? Well, this was not one of those times. The inside of the pub was tiny, made all the more so by all the broken tables and chairs strewn about the place. It was made even tinier because there was an Extremely Ginormous Octopus at the bar. But it probably would have looked equally tiny on a regular day as well.
The Extremely Ginormous Octopus was indeed extremely ginormous. There was no question about that. He stood (or rather would have stood had he not been sitting) nine feet tall, and each of his eight arms stretched to around twenty feet. In three of his tentacles he held snifters of whiskey and in the fourth, a handkerchief that he waved back and forth wildly. Two others were occupied randomly picking up and throwing pieces of furniture across the room. And the last two hung loosely by his side.
“ ‘For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings,’ ” he was saying to himself in a large, booming, throaty voice. He then began to weep. “‘How some have been deposed, some slain in war, some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed, some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed—all murdered.’” And with that he put his head on the bar and sobbed wildly.
Alex took another step forward. Unfortunately, her step happened to land on a broken bottle of Jeff’s best whiskey, and a small, but distinctive, cracking sound pierced the room.
For a drunken Extremely Ginormous Octopus he had incredible reflexes. The two arms lying limp at his side suddenly swept toward Alex and Giggles, picked them up, and held them in the air.
“That’s strange,” said the Octopus, not turning around, “you are much lighter than you were the last time.” He squeezed tighter. “And you seem to have forgotten your guns. How unfortunate for you.”
“Please, sir, we don’t have any guns,” wheezed Alex.
Hearing her voice, the Extremely Ginormous Octopus turned his head slowly. His eyes were red from crying and he blinked heavily.
“Who are you?” he asked, the words slurring slightly.
“Alex.”
“I see. And this?” he asked, holding up Giggles, who was trying fiercely to bite the octopus.
“Giggles.”
“I see. So they decided a little boy and a cat would be better at bringing me down than two large, armed gunmen. How strange.” He brought Alex and Giggles up next to him at the bar. “Ah, if only they knew! They can’t bring me down. They can’t bring me any lower than I already am!” And a large tear ran down his cheek.
“Please, Mr. Extremely Ginormous Octopus, sir, we aren’t here to ‘bring you down,’” said Alex as calmly as she could.
“No?” roared the octopus suddenly. “No!? Tell that to the two oafs who attacked me just a moment ago!”
“I’m serious, Mr. Extremely Ginormous Octopus. I don’t have anything to do with those other men. I was just interested . . . that is, I just . . . wanted to know why you were hiding from the film crew, that’s all. I mean everyone wants to act in a movie, don’t they?” continued Alex.
“Don’t talk to me about acting, my son,” said the octopus coldly.
“I’m a girl.”
“Are you? Well, don’t you talk to me about acting either,” he said, squinting at her.
“Why not?”
“You all laugh at me! All you see is a brute of a monster. Some sort of stupid animal. But in my glory days . . . no, that is the past.” He dabbed his eyes with his handkerchief. For a moment it looked as if he was finished, and Alex was about to speak when the Extremely Ginormous Octopus erupted again. “The past! Let us not talk about the late hours in the pub regaling each other with stories—ah, the stories! Such wonderful stories. But who is left to tell them now? The giant squid is dead, yes, he is dead. And Nessie has become a recluse. You talk of acting, my child. You think these animated screen creations can act? These computer-generated-image monstrosities? They have no passion, they have no motivations! Where is the art? I have been in twenty-one films. I have played the Old Vic! I have worked with all the great ones, Sir Larry, Sir Alec, Sir Massive Kimono Lizard!”
“I don’t understand what this has to do with this movie,” said Alex quietly.
“No, how could you? How could you know what it feels like to have been someone who spent his days and nights wi
th the most creative of beasts, only to watch as their roles were usurped by animated drawings. Oh, the shame! I shall never forget the day Godzilla announced that, after years of heartache and struggle, they were going to bring him back to the silver screen. How we celebrated—we drank so much that night! It was not until a week later that he discovered all they wanted was to watch him storm about so that they could recreate his movement and construct their own monster on a computer!”
“That must have been sad.” Alex was beginning to feel sorry for the creature.
“Sad doesn’t begin to describe it! Sad, she says! Sad!! Imagine your heart being ripped out of your chest, cut into tiny pieces, burned till black, then glued back together again, shoved back into your chest, and ripped out all over again!”
Alex tried to imagine it.
“And now it is happening to me. Just as it happened to him. Oh, the pain, the anguish!” And he started to sob again.
Alex looked at the poor creature. It did seem really unfair that he was being replaced by a computer, and she could quite understand why he would feel so upset about it.
“That is really awful,” she said. “To have been a star and now to be reduced to this. It isn’t fair! Have you told anyone this? Steve or anyone?”
The Extremely Ginormous Octopus looked at her hard again. Then he gently sat her down on top of the bar and released her. “If I let go of the cat, will he bite me?” he asked, looking at Giggles.
“He might,” admitted Alex.
“Then I won’t let go of the cat,” he said, and kept a firm hold of Giggles, who by now was mad with rage. With the arm he had just freed, he grabbed a glass and poured some whiskey. “Drink?” he offered.
“No, thank you,” replied Alex. The octopus nodded and swallowed the whiskey in one gulp.
“You asked me if I had spoken to Steve. Would it matter if I had? Would he listen?” he sighed. “Would he care?”
“How could he not care? You are one of the greatest monsters of your generation!” insisted Alex. “In fact,” she reached into her bag for her camera, “I would love to have my picture taken with such a famous celebrity!”
Alex and the Ironic Gentleman Page 11
