The Big Con

Chapter 10: A Waist is a Terrible Thing to Mind

The small—well, relatively small—boat that ferried tourists out to the Mistral began to load twenty minutes before the hour. Dipper estimated that it was taking about a hundred visitors out—the ferry was a double-decker, every seat was taken, and people lined all the rails. "This is really popular," he told Mabel and Wendy.

"Eh," Mabel said, "remember, this is prob'ly like this world's Mystery Shack. Mystery Ship! Woo-woo!" She pulled her hands inside her sleeves and waved her arms, then stopped, frowning. "Why doesn't that work here? It's like my arms have a hinge at the elbow!"

They had climbed to the top deck and had seats in the stern. Even here some of the tourists pushed back through the crowds to ask for photos with them. Wendy didn't even charge—"What's the point?" she asked. "Even after paying off Creighton, we still have a stash of cash if we need it."

"Yeah," Mabel said. "It's cool. I just wish Dipper had a change of clothes along." She made a blatting sound with her tongue and pinched her nose.

"I took a shower and used a deodorant," Dipper said with as much dignity as he could muster. "This is a hot place, okay? And I think these bodies sweat more."

He leaned back for a moment and scanned their surroundings. The bay sparkled in the morning sun. It was shaping up to be a hot day, but this close to the sea there was a cooling breeze scented with salt water. It rustled the fronds of the big palms running along beside the street a hundred yards away. Out in the harbor the Mistral lay motionless on its own reflection.

Just then the P.A. crackled to life: "Ladies and gentlemen, this is Michael, your captain for the brief run out to the Mistral. Federal and state regulations require that I make some brief safety announcements, so give me your attention."

"He sounds adorable!" Mabel said.

"Okay, we currently have ninety-seven passengers aboard, and there are three of us in the crew—me, Evelyn back there who'll stay on the dock, and Jamey, who'll help you up the ladder when we arrive at the Mistral. We have 120 life vests aboard, stored in the bins fore and aft and above you on the lower deck. Under the seats are eighty more life vests. To put them on, pull them down over your head . . . . "

He went on for about a minute, listing things they shouldn't do: "No standing on the rail."

"Sounds like fun!" Mabel said.

Annnnd she'll repeat that for everything, Dipper thought. He was right.

Finally, Captain Michael told everyone to hold on, gave the horn a blast, and Evelyn must have cast off the mooring line, because the engine came to life. The ferry slowly backed out into the calm waters of the harbor, did a graceful turn, and then picked up a little speed. Wendy looked around. "I see Creighton over by the rail," she said. "Be back in a minute, dudes."

"Creighton's kinda cute," Mabel teased as Wendy moved through the crowd.

"Don't even start," Dipper said.

Wendy was back before they reached the patrol ship, and she gave them a thumbs-up. As they pulled up to the moored Mistral, the P.A. came back on: "Folks, in just a minute Jamey and I will tie up alongside the mysterious Mistral. Now, we're gonna board like this: First the top deck, because that's a lot shorter climb. Jamey will go up there to help you up. It's just a few steps up a ladder from the top deck, port side of the stern—that's the left side for you landlubbers. I'm gonna ask anybody who needs special help in climbing ladders, or anybody with children under eight, to wait for the end of the line. Don't worry, we'll all have plenty of time to see the sights. When we get aboard the mystery patrol boat, we'll split into two groups. I'll lead one, Jamey the other one. It's the exact same tour, so don't worry about which group you'll be with . . . ."

They came alongside the patrol ship, maneuvered a little, and finally Dipper saw that the ladder was a lot like the ones in swimming pools—two big loops at the top and only four treads to climb before you were on the ship's deck. When Jamey, an overweight, bored-looking teen guy with spectacular acne, came up from the lower deck and unhooked the safety ropes blocking the exit, everyone crowded over to the ladder. Wendy held them back until they could slip into line just ahead of a slow-moving elderly couple. "Now, dudes," she said.

Jamey was standing by the ladder. "Grab the rails, hold on, watch your step," he droned over and over. Mabel climbed up first, then Dipper, and Wendy came last. She paused and told Jamey, "Hey, man, I think the old couple behind us needs some help."

Jamey leaned over and held out his hand for the lady. "Grab hold, ma'am."

Wendy nudged Dipper. "He's distracted. That buys us a little time. C'mon."

The others who had gone before them were up at midships, bunched around a big plaque with "The Legend of the Mistral" written out in sun-faded letters. Wendy led them around the stern, past the elevated helicopter-landing pad—and then they were on the other side, out of sight of the newcomers from the ferry—and she said, "Now we gotta find a place to hide, quick."

"Up there," Dipper said, pointing up toward the bridge. A sizable lifeboat hung from two davits.

They climbed up the two ladders as quietly as they could. "Yes!" Wendy said, pumping the air. "Good spot, Dip!" A canvas tarpaulin covered the lifeboat. She loosened it, boosted Mabel in, helped Dipper scramble up, and then pulled herself up and in. She pulled the tarp back into shape, squeezing her hand down between tarp and hull to tighten the lines. "That should do it."

"It's kinda hot," Mabel complained.

"Yeah, but the tour only lasts forty-five minutes, so tough it out, girl," Wendy said. They lay on their backs in the dim light that filtered down through the canvas. It smelled like the inside of a tent on a hot day. And like very old fish. And sweat. They talked in whispers.

Dipper said, "Man, I hope we can find McGusset. And that he can help us with the ghost's request. And that we can get back home."

"I dunno," Wendy murmured. "If we're like stuck here in this world, there are advantages. It's nice to have an actual figure."

"Yeah, I bet Dipper thinks so, too," Mabel said. "Ow! Don't punch me so hard!"

"Sorry, accident, it's crowded," Dipper said sarcastically. More thoughtfully, he added, "Usually when a ghost is released from its haunting, things go right again. Like in the Northwest mansion, when Pacifica let the townspeople in. I mean, Mabel, Candy, and Grenda and I were all wood, but we went back to normal—"

"AB-normal in Dip's case," Mabel added.

"Shh!" Wendy warned.

From outside the lifeboat came the shuffling sound of tourist feet and Jamey speaking loudly: "Now, here is the bridge that's the command center this is just a little ship it had a crew of about seventy-five normal complement it served in the China sea during the Vietnam war now come along through the bridge, take a look but don't touch the controls take your pictures this way, we're walking we're walking."

"Twenty-five dollars is high for this, man," Wendy whispered.

"Wonder if there's a gift shop," Mabel whispered back. "Hey, if there is and we're stuck here, you could get a job there."

"We are not stuck," Dipper insisted. "You'll see." I hope, he added mentally.

Ten minutes later Captain Michael led another group past, repeating exactly the same spiel, but with a little more expression. Then quiet for many more minutes. "Think they're gone?" Mabel asked. "I gotta get a breath of air."

"I'll take a look," Wendy said. She slipped out of the lifeboat and was away for a few minutes. Dipper and Mabel heard an engine start up, and then Wendy pulled the tarp up. "Okay, guys, coast is clear."

"Hah!" Mabel laughed. "Coast."

Dipper, climbing out of the lifeboat, mumbled, "It wasn't a joke." He dropped to the deck and then helped Mabel down.

"We're in luck, guys," Wendy said. "I was like layin' on my stomach on the top deck on the port side lookin' down at them—they couldn't see me—and I heard Jamey tell Captain Michael—"

"He's hunky, isn't he?" Mabel asked. "I can tell from his voice that he's hunky."

"Well . . ." Wendy said, "no. He's a little bit like your Grunkle Stan, about sixty-five I guess—hard to tell with these people—big fat belly, thick glasses, gray hair, bald on top, ugly face."

"Aww, you have punctured my dreams," Mabel whispered.

"ANYway," Wendy said, "Jamey told him the count was good, and Michael asked him had he taken McGusset's supplies to him and Jamey said no, but he would, and I watched until Jamey came back aboard with a bag and went around back and then partway forward and headed down a ladder, so I know which way to go. And Jamey came up an' went back an' the ferry's gone now, so come with me."

The ladder—companionway, Dipper thought it was supposed to be called—was near the stern, next to the elevated helipad, on the starboard side—the side shielded from a shore view. They went down to a badly-lighted landing. In front of them was a hatch, a vertical one, with a central spoked wheel instead of a handle.

"Hope it's not locked," Dipper said. He turned it counterclockwise. Something clacked, he opened the door—and they heard eighties music floating out from somewhere. "We're in!" They stepped into a corridor that ran side to side.

"I smell pizza," Mabel said.

"Track it down, girl," Wendy urged her.

Mabel, nose in the air, sniffed her way down the very narrow corridor, past two other closed hatches, and finally pointed to one on the far side that opened toward the stern. The music was louder now—no song that any of them had ever heard, probably a big hit on this world at one time—and they found the hatch was open. Dipper stepped through—all the hatch openings were small, so that even Dipper and Mabel had to step up over a high threshold and stoop at the same time to avoid banging their heads—and they saw a figure sitting at a table, back to them, munching on a pizza slice while tapping on a computer keyboard with his other hand. On this level they could hear some kind of machinery going, a steady low thrum.

Dipper cleared his throat. "Dr. McGusset?"

"Yipe!" The man sprang up and spun around.

He was sort of like McGucket. White hair, bushy white beard—short, though, and no bandage on it—big nose, big eyes behind heavy glasses, but—

He was immense. A round ball of a man. He looked at them in absolute befuddlement, then said, "Tourists! Dagnabbit, this is the second time in ten years! This is gettin' to be too much! Scat!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dipper said, holding up his hands. "Listen, we didn't come just to stick our noses into your business. Admiral D.D. Skipper sent us!"

"Hornswoggle it, I'm so close to solvin' this if people'd just let me—what? Who? Who sent you?"

"Uh, Admiral D.D. Skipper. Short guy? Very craggy face? Rich?"

McGusset sat down again in his swivel chair, which screeched under his weight. "D.D. Skipper?" he asked, scratching his bald head. "You—you saw D.D. Skipper? Impossible! Where did you see him?"

"In Gravity Falls," Dipper said.

"Gravity F—what? It's real? And D.D. Skipper's in—let me get my head around this."

"Meanwhile," Mabel said, "Can we have some of your pizza?"

"Huh? Oh, sure, help yourself." He sounded embarrassed when he added, "I didn't useta be so fat. Spendin' all my time on this ship, no exercise, nothin' to do but eat an' sleep an' keep things a-goin'. I jest don't have no inclination to watch my weight." He broke off and squinted suspiciously. "Hold on a fiddlefaddle minute, though. You-all can't be from Gravity Falls. You look nothin' like the pictures of the humany creatures that lives there."

"Our bodies changed when we crossed over to this world," Dipper said.

Wendy pulled a picture from her wallet. "'S true, dude," she said, handing the photo to McGusset. "This is me 'n my brothers. Check it out."

McGusset took the photo and stared at it, his hands trembling. He looked from the picture to Wendy and back again. "Oh, my God," he whispered. "All this time—and you actually saw and talked to D.D.?"

"Yump," Mabel said through a mouthful of mozzarella and pepperoni.

"And he sent you—to me?"

Dipper rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, not exactly. See, he called us in because his house outside of Gravity Falls was being haunted by a ghost. I think it was the ghost of a sailor who died aboard this ship. The ghost led us to you."

McGusset's voice was shaky: "Here all these years I thought them voices in the night was just bad dreams, or in my head."

He handed Wendy's photos back and slumped in his swivel chair, his plump hands clutched between his fat knees. He stared downward, shaking his head.

"Uh, sir?" Dipper said. "The ghost—or maybe more than one of them—has a message for you." He took out his camera and called up the reversed audio file that Brad had saved to it. He set it to play.

The creepy plea that started "Help us" played first.

McGusset leaned back, gasping for air. "Stop the experiment? Is that what they're askin'?"

"Yeah," Dipper said. "We're pretty sure."

"Have I been wrong?" the old man muttered miserably. "I thought that by keeping' the field generator going' all these years I was given' them a chance to come back. But—they're really truly dead an' can't leave the space between dimensions? Can't go to their rest, can't find their way to the great beyond? Lord forgive me, have I been holdin' them back? That's horrible!"

"I think it will be over if you just shut down the experiment," Dipper said. "That'll set things right."

But McGusset shook his head. "I dunno. If you're lyin' to me, or if they're not for-real dead—oh, I jest gotta think about this. You'll have to stay with me until I figger things out."

"Dude," Wendy said, "we want to help you, that's all. We don't want to be your guests."

"Oh, not my guests," McGusset said. "I'm afraid you-all are my prisoners."