Chapter 4: Flashbacks and Ideas
Okay, now it seems like I haven't posted in a bazillion years. Anyway, here's the next chapter. I hope you like it. BTW, this takes place after Martin hangs up his sword for good. And, another thing, I had to change chapter two a bit to... well, you'll soon see.
Professor Ratigan stood at the end of the clock hand and stared down the seemingly endless drop. Basil was gone. He couldn't believe it! He won. "I won..." he breathed aloud. He brought his head out high and cried out gleefully, "I WON!"
"Correction..."
Ratigan stared down in disbelief. It couldn't be! But, it was. Basil of Baker Street was alive, hanging on to the propeller part of Ratigan's blimp... and his bell! "...the game's not over yet," he finished. Having said that, he rang the little bell.
What came next, Ratigan would have never been prepared for. He stared up in shock as the minute hand of the clock tower clicked into the "12" position... and then, the loud, booming sounds of Big Ben rang out. The criminal rat felt like his ears were being blasted out and his chest was being split in two from the vibration! Finally, he couldn't support himself any more and he fell off the clock hand.
Down, down, down he fell. In a desperate attempt, he grabbed hold of Basil, but that broke the propeller mechanism clean off the blimp! Both fell tumbling down... but, then, Ratigan saw Basil climb up on the Blimp piece and place his feet on the petals that ran the propeller. Doing so, he was able to use the thing as a tiny helicopter and fly back up to his friends.
But, that didn't help Ratigan. He continued to fall down, when, he saw something bright and colorful float past him! He, instinctively, grabbed the string trailing behind it and found it was a stray balloon. His weight pulled it down, but not too much. He tied the string to himself, allowing the balloon to, safely, carry him to the ground. As he floated down, he glared up at where Basil and company still where, and swore, "We will meet again, Basil of Baker Street. Mark my words." A/N: Just a little background thing that can help lead to the start of this story.
I looked up from Basil to see Gonff looking between us. He sighed. "If only I had a knife with me. I'm an expert at picking locks and managed to get out of cells, during the wildcats' rein, that way, but I need a knife to do that."
I looked over to Basil, who, to my surprise, was looking at Gonff as if he were the greatest mouse alive! "That's it!" he cried. "Gonff, my boy, you're brilliant."
Okay, now I was confused. But, Basil had a tendency to confuse me, then tell me it was all elementary the whole time. Still... "I believe Gonff made it clear that he doesn't have a knife."
Basil smiled and raised his eyebrows at me, saying, "No, but you do, my dear Dawson."
I did? I stared at Basil for a moment before it dawned on me. "Of course!" cried I. "The pocket knife I brought to scrape up samples for clues!" I pulled the knife out of my pocket and switched it open before frowning. "But, Basil, do you really think that this little thing will be able to..."
Before I could finish, Gonff took the knife out of my hand and walked over to the door. "It's worth a try," he said. He held the knife like a key and inserted it into the keyhole. Moving it around, he listened closely for the lock to click. As for Martin, Basil, and I, we waited anxiously for the good news on the plans success... if it even was to succeed.
After some time, he stopped... pulled the pocket knife out... tuned to us... and with a smile, nodded. We all sighed with relief.
"Thanks for letting me use this, Mr. Dawson," said Gonff, as he handed back the pocket knife.
I nodded, and said, "Glad to be of service, sir," switching the blade closed and re-pocketing it.
"Now, let's go, chaps," Basil said to all of us. "We best see what Ratigan is up to now."
Acoustical Ferret (the only signing reviewer among the winners), C.J. Sandiego, and Kelsey are all winners, for suggesting the traditional Gonff escape. Now you can be honored by future readers. Congrats. I couldn't think of anything better, anyway, so I have it so that no one remembered Dawson's sample-collecting pocket knife. And, of course, I have to put that into the story in an earlier chapter. Have a nice next bazillion years. LOL!