by J Battle
I’m laughing just because it’s Neville.
‘So, the team’s back together?’ I say, at last.
‘You might say that, Philip.’
I turn to face an imaginary camera.
‘I can climb tall buildings like Spiderman; I can fly like Superman.’ I flash my charming smile; it’s a little like my pleading smile, but with more teeth. ‘I have a utility belt, just like Batman.’
I lean closer, and give one of my sage nods (did I tell you I’ve won awards for the sageness of my nods?).
‘So, if you’ve got a problem, and you can find us, then give us a bell.’
I turn to Julie and Sam. ‘How was that?’
‘Needs some work,’ say Sam, Julie and Neville in unison.
Chapter 33 - Then Millie smiled
Millie smiled.
She'd been smiling almost continuously for three hours now and her smile was looking a little strained.
She was at the counter of the small shop she'd hired, and the queue didn't seem to be getting any shorter. She had three humans working in the back of the shop, and two more beside her, and still they were struggling to keep up.
'Free Cuddly Animals.' The sign was splashed across the front of the shop, and across all local media.
She was giving away puppies, kittens, bunnies, guinea-pigs and tiger cubs. She'd had a bit of a run on the puppies, and the kittens, but no-one was taking the tiger cubs. She couldn't understand why not; they were by far the cuddliest of all the animals she was offering.
'How are we doing?' she whispered to her teddy, resting on a shelf behind the counter, out of the view of her eager customers.
He checked his watch. 'We are definitely moving in the right direction. For every ten animals you give away, we move one point towards the black. It's quite interesting how much joy each human receives from the receipt of an animal. What do they do with them?'
'They cuddle them, I believe. There's always a lot of cuddling. How many points before we can stop?'
'I think we need another 10 points to reach a good balance point; 17 if you want to continue your programme against Chandler.'
'17? I'll make it another 20 points to give me something to play with. Have we heard anything from Argu?'
'It seems that he is planning an emergency show later this week to claim back his position as the most successful joker of all time.'
'And if he succeeds?'
'Well, I think you know the answer.'
'Free reign to escalate the attacks on Chandler?'
'Completely free reign; the only proviso being that he, himself should not actually die. That would be considered bad form.'
'Unless it was an accident, of course.'
'Well, one can never plan for unexpected accidents, can you?'
Mille smiled and deposited a little white bunny into the grateful hands of a little boy.
Unexpected accidents? Well, maybe.
**********
Argu stood in the wings for a moment, watching the crowd. Was it his imagination, or did they look especially vicious tonight? Were they here to see him fail, or succeed? Did they care either way?
He hadn’t intended to return so soon, but after his last debacle, something was needed very quickly to restore his reputation. So here he was, about to make a last desperate attempt with a joke that he was not entirely sure was ready.
He waddled on to stage, using his tried and tested funny walk; they always loved that.
There was hooting and piping from the crowd as he appeared; perhaps they were prepared to give him a chance.
There was an oven set up in the centre of the stage, but he ignored it and walked to the edge of the stage. He spent a long moment staring at the crowd.
‘I knew your father,’ he said, to one squirming individual.
‘I am your father,’ he said, to the next.
‘Your life-mate sends her love,’ to the next.
These were old jokes of course, but the reaction seemed positive. Were they warming to him now?
‘Now, ladies and others, I must ask a favour from you all. Tonight’s performance requires the assistance of a volunteer from the audience. Is it petty of me that I want her to be beautiful? Forgive me; I am but a beast.’
A divine creature stepped up onto the stage. With her perfectly proportioned figure, outstanding flotation sacks and exquisitely sturdy middle leg, he could have spent an hour in wordless devotion.
But this was work.
‘What may I call you, my dear?’
‘Anything you like, the Great Argu.’ She rippled her frills seductively.
‘The ‘the’ is silent, my dear, and the ‘Great’ is only for formal occasions.’
‘Yes, Argu. You can call me Mayze, and you can call me anytime.’
‘At least I still have one fan,’ sighed Argu.
The crowd hooted; whether in agreement or disapproval, it was difficult to say.
‘Come with me, Mayze.’
He trundled over to the oven, exposing for the first time to the audience the message printed across his back. ‘HELP!!’
There was no apparent response; which was worrying.
He bent and opened the oven door. A cloud of black smoke belched out.
Argu turned his blackened face to the audience and mouthed ’Oh Dear!’
Then he produced a perfectly baked golden flan and held it up for the crowd to see. There was some good-natured hooting, and even some floor stamping.
Argu placed the flan on the oven top and directed Mayze to inspect it.
‘Very nice,‘ she said, and then she nodded to the crowd.
‘We’re going to fill it with some of this yellow sauce, flavoured with rodaxa pods and sprinkled with neepeepdibs that I had an assistant make earlier.’ He produced a large silvery pan from behind the stove and began to spoon its yellow contents into the base of the flan.
When the pan was empty, he stared down at it for a moment, and then he looked around the stage as if he was looking for a suitable place to put it.
Finding no satisfactory solution to the problem, he spun and tossed it into the crowd. As it flew over the cringing heads of the nearest members of the audience, it flashed and became a falling tinkle of glitter.
Argu studied his creation for a moment, and then he glanced at Mayze.
'I think it needs something more. What do you think, my dear?'
'Maybe some frothy white stuff?' she suggested, giving a knowing nod to the crowd.
'I've got just the thing,' replied Argu.
From behind the oven he pulled what everyone in the audience immediately recognised as a food processor. It is a rarely commented on fact that, whether it comes from Sirius B or Epsilon 5, food processors always look the same.
There was a moment's whirring, and then the contents of the bowl were turned onto the flan.
'There you are, my dear,' said Argu, holding the wonderful creation towards Mayze.
'It looks very nice,' said Mayze.
'And it smells even better,' replied Argu. 'Why don't you take a sniff at it?' He made big eyes at his audience.
Mayze stepped closer and bent slightly. 'It smells glorious,' she said, as she knocked the whole concoction into Argu's face.
Argu stood still for a moment, with half of the pastry shell hanging from one auditory extrusion, and the yellow and white mixture dripping down his face onto his round belly.
Then he roared and began to chase Mayze from one end of the stage to another, to the sound of appropriately manic pursuit music.
The music stopped as he caught her and they both fell to the stage together.
Argu lay panting for a moment, waiting for the applause to begin. For the hooting and the braying and the foot stamping and the cheers and the whistles.
But there was only silence.
Someone moved in the front row, causing his seat to creak. Someone else coughed. A third person let out a little groan.
Argu climbed to his feet, with t
he help of Mayze.
He stared at the crowd, but no-one met his gaze.
Mazye took him by one hand and began to lead him from the stage, before the weight of the silence could crush him.
********** The End **********
Phil and co. will return all too soon in their next adventure:
No-one Puts a Fool in a Corner.
And that’s not a promise; it’s a threat.
(I can’t wait….yawn. N.F.)
Appendix - The end of season party
'Hi there, good folks. This is Goliath Wordsmith at your service, reporting from the End of Season Party for the second These Foolish Things season; What Kind of Fool? And have we got a show for you?'
In his casual but smart suit, Goliath strolled towards the nearest partygoers.
'Hi big guy,' He addressed the tallest guest, the legendary Guy Gust. 'What are you doing here? You weren't even in the second book!'
'Hey, you know me; I love these guys. I wouldn’t miss a chance to spend some quality time with them, before I have to leave for the shoot. And you know? They wanted me to be in the book; a cameo appearance as Strange, but what with the movie, and the stadium tour, and the movie; did I mention the movie? I just didn't have the time.'
'And how are you Miss Jacobs? You weren't in the second book either, were you?'
Miss Jacobs slurped at her glass; surely not the first of the night. 'I wasn't kept on,' she said, her voice a little slurred. 'I'm never kept on. I was in the first season of Mixed Blessings, the season that won all the awards, but they didn't keep me on. They never keep me on.'
She grabbed a glass from a passing waiter.
‘And the same with He’ll Never Know; the first season was about me, for heck’s sake, and still they didn’t keep me on. So why’d I be surprised this time?’
'Perhaps there was no place for the ex Mrs. Masters in the new season; with him being dead.'
'They could have kept me on; if they'd wanted to.' She waved her already empty glass at Goliath. 'Freshen me up, why don't you. You're cute, you know. Anyone ever tell you that?'
Goliath made his escape and joined a group standing by the bar.
'They're making a film, you know,' said the tall skinny guy. 'I can't wait.'
'What for? You won't be in it. They'll make you American, and ruggedly handsome, and you'll have witty one-liners, and a girlfriend; but it will be an American actor. They'll maybe keep Sam English, for his cute accent. And they'll probably let you play a cameo part, as a cleaner or something.' Her voice was decidedly upper-class, but she’d taken lessons to get Julie’s Manchester accent just right
‘Hey, I can do American,’ he said, in a voice that sounded vaguely mid-Atlantic.
‘But you can’t do handsome, lovey.’ Melanie laughed, and gave him a gentle punch on the arm. ‘Just joshing, darling.’
Emmerson Plane looked down on her and rubbed his arm. He wasn’t enjoying the joshing, as he knew she spoke the truth. There was already one short big star without any experience of comedy lined up to take the part.
‘Phil is six foot three and what’s he? Five eight on a slope? And he’s too good looking, and he can’t do fragile. You know Phil’s fragile, don’t you? The way I play him of course. I wanted to give him a limp, but they wouldn’t let me. They said he’s already got enough problems, and he has to run. It would have been great, with a limp, and maybe a hunchback, and some good lines, I could have made something of the character.’
Goliath looked around for an escape from Emmerson’s tedious concerns.
‘What is this?’ he asked, indicating a cardboard cut-out of a young man in tights and a jerkin, with long hair and a soft round face.
‘Oh, that,’ laughed Melanie, ’that represents the Narrative Facilitator; he never comes to these parties. He thinks they are beneath him.’
(That’s just not true! Tuesday, they told me. The party is next Tuesday, they said. I would have come, if I‘d known, if I didn’t have a meeting with an actual print publisher who wants to look at my epic Pixie novel; The Eventual Glistening. So have a drink on me, and so long suckers! (I’ve always wanted to say that but it’s so hard to find a situation where it would be appropriate.) N.F.)
Goliath decided that he had reached the end of his patience with these people(as have we all, I think. N.F.) and signaled to his remote cameraperson that it was a wrap and time to fade to black.
Appendix II - Joke? What Joke?
Argu settled into the custom-built chair and nodded towards his host for the night. The Eruvian was tall and gaunt of course, but his seat was so close to the ground that he didn’t tower over his guest.
‘Thank you so much for agreeing to this little chat, and taking the time out from what must be a hectic schedule,’ began the leading chat show host of his generation.
Argu merely rippled his frills to show that it was nothing, really.
‘You’ve had quite a year, it has to be said, from the depths of your experimental plank and custard pie jokes, to the spectacular reception of your goodbye tour entitled, Joke? What joke?’
‘Yes, it has been very gratifying to get the response from my public, and you know, that’s why I’m here. I could have slunk off into the shadows, but I knew my fans wanted a chance to say goodbye. And they will have that chance, as we are already sold out for the next three years.’
‘Why do you think this tour has been so successful?’
Argu chuckled. ‘Well, I think that is obvious. There are no new jokes.’
Appendix III - Audience Participation
Contest!
On the first planet Phil visits, he comes across giants on the massive steps. The giants sit and swing one hand and say something to each other.
What are they saying?
Email your answer to: [email protected]
The winners will get to feel really good about themselves and, perhaps, receive a small prize from me of no value whatsoever.
I’ll put any interesting answers up on my website at:
jpbattle.wix.com/battlewrite
If you don’t see anything there, that means there have been no clever or witty responses.
Clue? You want a clue?
Well, they are all saying the very same words, giants are especially polite, and they have no expectation of leaving the planet.
There; I can’t say anymore or I’ll make it too easy.
I look forward to seeing your ideas.
**********
THE END
**********
Nobody Puts a Fool in a Corner
At last the hero!
All the usual front of book stuff can be found at the back, it you want to look, but you probably won’t, because nobody reads the back-section.
(I thought of putting the whole book there, but Phil complained. ‘No-one wants to see 230+ blank pages at the beginning of a book,' he said.
I don’t know about that. I think it would have a certain minimalistic appeal, and it might have helped me retain what’s left of my artistic integrity. N.F.)
What went before…
I should begin with an apology. Normally, it would be the Narrative Facilitator who would write this section, but he’s away for the time being on another project, which he may well tell you about later, although he does promise to be back for the bulk of this narrative.
Also, I should mention that I don’t really understand why this section is even necessary. If you feel that you really need to know what has already happened, then surely you should just read the first two books? Book I is free and Book II is modestly priced.
However, I have been told that the tradition is to do this, so I will make the best attempt I can. If you want to skip this bit and get on with the story, I will fully understand.
By the way, I am the Adjunct of the What If Something Really Bad Happens? AI.
I hardly appear at all in the first book; not until I’m required to be squirted into the head of Philip Humphrey Chandler, very
near the end, to save the day as it were.
In the second book, I’m much more involved; right from the beginning, and all the way through, you’ll be pleased to know, I should think.
I’m being told that I shouldn’t focus so much on my own role in the books and that I should concentrate more on the activities of the slightly advanced primate who has become my host.
I can’t think why this should be the case, but I assume they know of which they speak.
So, Philip Humphrey Chandler; what can I say about him? Not the most stupid man to put on a pair of trousers. I’m not sure that I can say anything more complimentary than that.
He’s a Private Investigator who gets involved in a case with a missing crime lord. He travels to three worlds; one without any justifiable reason. He is captured by an alien by the name of Millie, and then he is saved by yours truly, and very briefly, he becomes the richest man in the Universe. He was quite insistent that I put that bit in. He is really quite proud of that ephemeral fact.
So, in the second book, we become a team and travel to Stepworld, and Coldworld, and finally to Waterworld, where Phil becomes a conference centre, and then we squirt back to Manchester, to find that the building housing our office has been demolished. Phil then squirts to Gotcha! to rescue his sister, and that’s about it.
Oh, you probably want some information on characters, worlds, technology, sub-plots and possible romantic moments.
If that is the case, I can only suggest that you take the time to read the original books; it really is that simple. There’s bound to be a link at the back of this book that will take you where you need to go.
This has been Neville, the Adjunct to the What If Something Really Bad Happens? AI, and I really have better things to do with my time than this, if you don’t mind my honesty. In the 0.27 seconds it took me to write this What Went Before section, I could have learned another three languages.
