Basil of Baker Street and the Mysterious Toymaker
By Brinatello
Disclaimer: Aside from my own original characters, the others are property of Disney and are from their 26th animated feature, The Great Mouse Detective as well as the Basil of Baker Street series by Eve Titus. This story takes place after the events in the animated feature. Credit for grammar check, spell check, and the strive to keep this story in the proper time period, goes to my beta reader, Julibee-Darling. Thank you for all of your help, dear!
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Chapter 1: The Cursed Tool
From the Journal of Dr. David Q. Dawson
Saturday 21 August 1897
It has officially been two months since I began living at the home of London's famous detective of the mouse world, Basil of Baker Street. However, the choice I made to shake that fellow's hand and remain an associate with him has become one that I have often pondered if I made correctly. It seems I have plunged into a world of two specific subjects I never expected to encounter: mystery and crime. Since the moment I agreed to remain an occupant of the Mayfair district on Baker Street, my fingers have kept busy at the keys of this typewriter, keeping a daily record of the detective's numerous cases. An official biographer, if you will, of whoever comes through his front door pleading for his unmatchable assistance. Although the solved cases thus far are brilliant, this most recent case is one that I do not wish to look back on with any fondness at all. It began on the second day of August...
Throughout the month of July, Basil formed a team of inspectors from Scotland Yard to investigate the rooms beneath the seedy pub known as the Rat Trap. The mouse had a spirit plus ten, a strength I could never possess in my age. According to Basil, the fierce battle with his nemesis and plunge from the clock tower was all in a day's work. A week after the fall, he was up and about with the other inspectors, seeking out any remaining thugs and taking every item of Ratigan's for close observation...except for one. Basil and I were home when the team found an item that we had surely overlooked many times, or perhaps hidden from sight. The item arrived to our front door by two very persistent inspectors that only wished to see Basil himself. I was standing by to make my own judgments, but I let slip a gasp when I saw what one of the inspectors held.
"Oh, my Basil, is that a...a--"
"A voodoo doll? Yes, Dawson, so it appears to be." Basil replied before I could dare speak the name. "A rather amusing little toy, gentlemen. No doubt used for Ratigan to cause me great pain."
"We thought you might want to have a look at it, sir." One inspector responded. "We were not sure if you believed in superstition such as this."
"Oh, I believe in channeling one's anger upon objects, but in truth, any real curse works mentally over physically." Basil lightly tapped a finger to his temple. "In other words, it is all in the mind. Therefore, it cannot inflict harm unless I allow it to, and I most certainly will not let a child's toy do anything of the sort."
My vote always had little or no meaning, but I begged to differ. The more I stared at the doll, the more it gave me a dreadful chill. A remarkable likeness to my friend, so much that whoever created it knew this mouse from head to toe, clothes and all. And about the clothes, yes! Upon closer inspection, the clothing was the exact material and shade of plaid brown from Basil's deerstalker hat and inverness coat. Apart from its features, the doll suffered puncture wounds from a number of sewing pins protruding from almost every section of its body.
"You are not shocked by this horrid thing, Basil?" I asked in amazement.
He shrugged a little. "Why should I be? It is no surprise the professor delved into ancient practices to harm his enemies, namely me, of course."
"What should we do with it, Mr. Basil?" The inspector asked nonchalantly.
"Throw it away!" I exclaimed, yet Basil had not raised a fuss to dispute my words. I could not understand how he was handling this creation of evil so calmly and heedlessly. The detective had been a thorn in Ratigan's side for years, and here he found humor that his nemesis kept a voodoo doll in his likeness.
"No, no, Dawson, we will keep it. That is," he turned to the inspectors, "if the Yard does not mind?"
"I am sure they will not mind in the very least, Mr. Basil." The inspector passed him the doll, blinking in questionable surprise when Basil backed away with his hands raised.
"Is there something wrong?" The second inspector asked.
"No, not at all." Basil reached for a pair of tongs and seized the doll in-between the clasp. He then turned to carefully place it on top of the fireplace mantel beside Ratigan's Death Bell. The strange action brought forth a bit of silence. Basil smiled meekly. "I would rather not get pricked by one of those pins!"
I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there was indeed something wrong, something that Basil did not want any of the inspectors to suspect while cleaning out Ratigan's lair. Once the two left our flat, Basil sighed heavily and dropped down into his chair. Not only had his form begun to shiver from a sudden, unknown draft, but all of the color had drained from his face.
"Basil, are you all right?"
He pointed a trembling finger to the doll and faintly muttered, "Get those pins out...quickly!"
Without another word, I seized the doll and began to pull the pins out, turning to hear Basil wince and groan with each one removed. I gasped in shock, witnessing for the first time how such a small and innocent-looking object was filled with torturous evil.
"Oh, Basil, what in devil's name--"
"Ha-ha! Got you, old chap!" Basil jumped up with a wild grin and pointed to my shocked, wide-eyed expression. He was laughing at me. He released a low, hearty laugh and bowed his head with a sound I often enjoyed hearing, but most definitely not for this situation.
"Basil! Why, y-you...you no good trickster! How could you?!"
"Oh, Dawson, you are certainly one for a jolly good laugh! The look on your face..." he paused to stare at me, "is still there. Oh, come on now! You really do not believe in this voodoo nonsense, do you?"
"Basil, it is I who does not believe you are taking this so lightly! I thought you were really hurt by those pins--"
"Oooh, yes, those pins of which have caused me such great pain!" Basil doubled over and grasped the side of the fireplace. I was not the least bit amused. He lifted one eye to catch me cross my arms in disappointment. Snickering, he stood upright and walked over to apply an assuring hand upon my shoulder. I huffed and placed the wretched doll back on the mantel, resuming my crossed arms.
"I do not appreciate being duped--"
"Come now, friend, do not let my playful antics turn you sour. If this doll really is cursed, as you seem to predict, well, then, consider me cursed!" My mouth dropped like a lifeless codfish. "But, as I said, it is all in the mind, and unless I choose to let it harm me, then the maker and my deceased nemesis will have won the battle of wits. For now, we have an even bigger problem to deal with."
"A-- a bigger problem than you being cursed?" I asked, my jaw unable to hinge itself together.
"Yes, old chap." Basil glanced to the closed door leading to the kitchen, then back to my stunned face. "Mrs. Judson is very superstitious, and if she catches one breath of this doll, she will wish me to dispose of it."
"Basil, I wish you would dispose of it already!" I droned, dreading the fact that he was actually going to keep this monster of an object under our roof.
"Oh, but if it is cursed," Basil said in a theatrical tone, waving his fingers as if he were about to do a magic spell on me, "you cannot just rid the item and think you have solved the problem! No, no, I'm afraid the proper way is far more complex--"
"Do you know how? If so, you must do it! Whatever it takes!" I said in exasperation. Basil calmly shook his head as I suddenly thought of a plan. "Wait, what about your friend, Ms Rosenberg?"
"The apothecary?" Basil asked with one eye-brow raised. "What about her?"
"Maybe she can tell us how to rid the doll--"
"Dawson, I am not about to take a silly toy over to her shop and interrupt her busy schedule with such nonsense." He turned to look at the doll resting on the mantel. "Besides, I consider it another addition to my triumph against Ratigan. It can do neither of us harm as long as it sits up there. Anyway, we have talked about it quite enough. The discussion is over."
"But, what if it falls off the mantel? What if it lands in the fire and burns? What if you burn--"
"Dawson, please!!" Basil bellowed suddenly and I closed my mouth. Clearing his throat, he said in a straightforward tone, "Your 'what ifs' are hypothetical and therefore cannot be rational, and since you are becoming irrational, I will say it once more: the discussion is over!"
Indeed, the discussion was over. For a short while, that is. I could not get over the fact he would want to keep this evil thing in his home, and to get technical, it was not his home. He rented out a room from Mrs. Judson. Ergo, it was her flat. We had to respect her wishes. I had to find the time to tell her of this doll when Basil was not around, yet my feet decided to take me elsewhere while the detective went out on an errand. Around nine thirty that Monday evening, I made a visit to Ms Rosenberg to get my own insight on the doll. Once I spoke to her, I became more frightened and of a believer to that supernatural world.
"Basil is choosing a path not to believe in it, Mr. Dawson, and with that skepticism, the doll can only do minimal damage to his spirit." Ms Rosenberg began. "The maker of such a tool either uses it for good or evil. Coming from Ratigan, it is pure evil, and whoever he got it from, they are no amateur to black magic. Basil cannot have any sort of physical contact with it, but at the same time, cannot foolishly misplace it. If it falls into the wrong hands, he will become a living puppet without strings."
"But, is he truly cursed?" I asked with brows deep in worry.
"Mr. Dawson, I regret to inform you of this, but as long as that doll exists with an evil spirit within, his days are numbered."
I swallowed hard. "What do you mean, Ms Rosenberg?"
Sighing, she looked away before answering. "Those inspectors should have never brought it to your door, never put it in contact with him. The doll was dormant before shown in Mr. Basil's presence. The magic has already begun its cycle. He has until the next full moon to dispose of the doll properly, or else his life is at an end."
"Please, madam, tell us what we need to do!" I looked to the woman with agitation.
She spoke perfect English, and yet somehow I felt she was pouring out her words in some foreign tongue. Regardless, I listened carefully to what we needed to do and how to do it. The steps were so bizarre that I wondered if she was playing me for a fool. How to relay all of this to Basil when next I saw him would be not only difficult, it was downright impossible. I knew a heavy lecture was in store for visiting his friend after he told me not to go, yet my business here was critical. I have handled stronger outbursts from him and still have perfect hearing. My main concern was that this little toy was causing him great harm without him even knowing it. I could not sleep a wink that night; I tossed and turned and had nightmares of that doll and the things it could do to my friend.