Chapter 8

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April 1, 2001 – Sunday (in my time-zone, at any rate)

Dear Diary,

Strange. Very strange. Just as we reached the car, Agent Rock told us he would check up on a few things elsewhere, and would meet back up later.

After a quick consultation with Joker, Drake said coolly that it was fine, he didn't really care anyway, and good luck and all that.

I'm sure Drake, Nancy, Yomiko, and Joker all think he's got some sort of scheme of his own, but honestly, I think he's just going for a drink.

It'll do him good. Poor man seems a bit high-strung.

At any rate, the rest of us piled into the car, and Mr. Joker explained something that might just clinch the seriousness and possible danger of this mission.

Well, the danger. I would hardly call what he has found out "serious".

Apparently, he has done some checking up on exactly what the Legendary Cookbook of Yore and Slight Absurdity contained. He didn't know, you see, as he had not previously read it. Personally, I think he could have spared himself some trouble by asking Yomiko, because I'd wager she has.

One of the recipes in the book was a certain complex and extremely difficult one for a pastry so fantastic that it defies laws of logic and physics, and will inevitably pull the entire universe into a black hole of sheer deliciousness.

Yes, I know.

I realize exactly how it sounds, and I am currently biting the inside of my cheek to shreds to keep from laughing.

I don't know what the funniest part is: Mr. Bone's idiotic scheme, or Mr. Joker's utter seriousness in telling us of it. "A black hole of sheer deliciousness", indeed.

And this, as Nancy said, dropping her head to her hand in despair, is where it gets ugly.

Drake asked in an irritated mutter if the word she was looking for wasn't perhaps "stupid" instead of "ugly".

I would be more inclined to agree with Drake, although ugliness and stupidity are not mutually exclusive. Why, just consider my brothers! They're both ugly enough to crack plaster, and their IQs couldn't be any lower without their being clinically dead!

Yes, I hold a grudge. What of it? You might hold a grudge, too, if your brothers routinely tossed you out your bedroom window – on the second storey of the house – after you'd done some miniscule thing like scribbling "I Am a Cute Little Bunny" on their foreheads in non-washable marker.

Well, honestly, people have been saying that all three of us Earhart kids have bunny-rabbit faces for years! Why on earth would they get mad at me for helping them point it out before anyone could bring it up?

So, Mr. Bone's nefarious plot does involve the book, and this does stand to be a more difficult mission than one would expect, considering the fact that we're dealing with a chef.

Have just asked Mr. Joker hopefully if he's sure he doesn't want me to leave right now, before I break something important.

Mr. Joker has just laughed and said no, but that he's going to work with me on this apparent confidence issue when we all return again.

Bugger.

I don't have a confidence issue; I just want to go home!

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Well, it has finally, finally happened: Mr. Joker has returned to his senses, and I am to be sent home directly, just as soon as a flight can be arranged.

Somehow, I'm not so giddily joyful as I had expected to be.

You see, there is a very large difference between being allowed to come home because you are beginning to loathe your new job – more than before, even – and being ordered to back away from the action because you've made a mess of things, and those you are working with want to prevent it from happening again.

I had best explain what has finally caused my wish to be granted in a way that I blatantly did not want, and thus I have compounded my irresponsibility by flipping off my transmitter despite Mr. Joker's painfully terse-sounding request that I leave it on until I got back to the hotel, just in case, stopping in this rather conveniently-placed park, and plunking myself down on this park bench to w wholeheartedly vent my frustration with the universe. Despite Drake's order, and Mr. Joker's seconding of that order, that I go back to the hotel immediately.

To begin at the beginning, we arrived at the university to interview the students and faculty who had attended Mr. Bone's seminar, and spent a lot of time in pleasant small-talk. On their side, mine, and Yomiko's to a lesser degree – Drake and Nancy seemed slightly annoyed at their skilful evasion of any questions, the answers to which might have proved helpful.

Well, just as Drake had wrested from one student that yes, Mr. Bone had seemed very antisocial in an incredibly charismatic sort of way, another man slipped quietly into the room.

Now, one would think that, upon noticing that the very man we were here to find had just slunk into the room, telling Yomiko, Nancy, and Drake would be a good idea.

It so blatantly wasn't, diary dear.

I (fairly subtly, I think) pointed him out to Yomiko, who took no notice, so less subtly, I pointed him out again. Again, no reaction. So, being no more annoyed than one might be at being ignored when they had genuinely important information to convey, I abandoned caution and told her more loudly than was perhaps wise.

Than definitely was wise.

Mr. Bone took immediate notice, pulled something that looked vaguely like a tiny pumpkin from his jacket, and proceeded to blow a massive, gaping hole through the wall of the room and escape in a giant layer cake.

No, I have not gone suddenly mad. I'm not a bloody cock-up and a hopeless looney.

I'm perfectly content to only be a bloody cock-up. (I know this term isn't polite, but I'm not feeling very polite at the moment.)

Actually, I'm not content to be a bloody cock-up, which is why I'm currently sitting in a park, scribbling in a diary, and knocking my head repeatedly against a metaphorical wall at the knowledge that just as soon as I've been given something important to do, I've gone and ruined it.

Bugger, I say.

Bugger and bugger again.

Now, what I would really like to know is how on earth I was supposed to know instinctively that Nancy, Drake, and Yomiko had already noticed Bone, when none of them had so much as glanced at the door, and that they were simply biding their time.

No, I am not crying! Bloody silly thing to do at a time like this, just because I've disappointed my boss by proving that I can't do a job I haven't been trained to do.

But he did sound so disappointed. And not even angry, but just…resigned, which is much, much worse.

Still, if this kindly old gentleman beside me doesn't stop staring oddly and looking as though he's wondering if it would be the right thing to offer me a hankie and a peppermint, I just may say something unpleasant to him.

How strange.

Now I have two men staring at me oddly.

The kindly old fellow on the bench, who has just slipped me a hankie, and a man with a muffin on his head.

I think it's supposed to be a hat.

Looks rather silly, honestly.

I think I'd best get back to the hotel now.

You know, I fairly asked for something like this to happen.

Back in the park, just as I was leaving, I thought to myself,

"Well, I've made a mess of the mission and caused everyone else more work. Mr. Joker is angry enough with me that I may not have a job to go back to. Drake, Yomiko, and Nancy are angry with me. A man with a muffin on his head is stalking me. How can things get any worse?"

Rather funny that, just after I thought that, someone hit me on the head with a blunt object.

I think it was a ladle, from the shape and the noise it made.

Like I said, I bitterly hate my brothers.

I've only just woken up now.

Surprisingly, I still had my diary tucked away where I left it, although my transmitter is, predictably, gone.

I'm beginning to wish I had listened to Mr. Joker and left it on, and just let him see and hear me sniffle away like a silly child.

I'm bloody well not sniffling now; I'm far too angry.

You'd be angry, too, if you'd been thrown into a pantry with steel walls and a door locked from the outside, directly onto a sack of flour which promptly burst all over you.

You'd probably be even angrier if you tried to get up to investigate, only to feel a sudden sensation of choking, and notice at this point that you are wearing a collar, and are being held to the wall by a strip of leather looped through the ring at the back of said collar. A bloody leash, for the love of God!

As soon as I get free, somebody will die.

Just let some poor fool come within the range of my (twitch) leash. He will have his finger bitten off.

Or at least, he will be repeatedly poked between the eyes. Mwah-hah!!!!

…I must confess, I'm a little afraid.

A lot afraid, if one wants to be really picky.

Incredibly afraid.

I realize that I am fearing a man with a muffin on his head, who no doubt works for the man who blew up a wall with a pumpkin before escaping to freedom in a layer cake, and that this indicates that there is something wrong with me, but consider if you will that anyone who would consider being a "theme villain" is likely a troubled individual.

I simply have always found that the most troubled individuals are also the most sadistic individuals. And theme villainy gives so many possibilities for painful ways to kill someone.

I desperately wish I hadn't turned off my transmitter.

At least I can hope that someone happened to notice the silly blonde girl being clubbed unconscious with a ladle in the middle of a public park, and that I won't be in here long enough to discover whether or not Drake, Nancy, and Yomiko are angry enough to simply leave me to the fate of death by giant egg-beater or something.

I have just imagined exactly how that would feel.

I hate my imagination.

Oh, lovely. I have just noticed a mouse scurrying across the ground.

Right, then! The flour all over me, I can deal with, as the sacks make for a reasonably comfy place to sit while trapped in the lair of a madman. The collar and leash…well, it's difficult and very damaging to my pride, but I can deal with it if I have to. Would be very nice, I can imagine, if Mr. Joker and some articles of clothing flying across the room were somehow involved…

Um. The ink seems to be running again.

Now, where was I?

Oh, yes. The flour and the leash and collar can be dealt with if they must. Death by egg-beater would be unpleasant, but everyone dies someday, right?

Mice are where I draw the line.

Even in the midst of my absolute disgust, though, I am cackling in rather wicked glee at the fact that this man's pantry has mice.

Have finished cackling and begun screaming frantically and scrambling to my feet as the mouse has decided that up my skirt seems like a good place to pass its little mouse-time.

And now the door is opening.

Time to show them the horror that is an angry Wendy!

Humph. I am affronted.

Mr. Bone has just been here, and the first thing he did was tell me I had a little flour on my nose.

Well, goodness, I hadn't noticed! I thought that my nose had somehow been miraculously spared, even though the rest of me was liberally covered!

Then he came right up to me and wiped it off for me.

I bit at his fingers, but he got them out of the way in time.

Then I tried to punch him.

I didn't miss, or anything, but he didn't react much. Just looked down at my fist planted firmly in his stomach and said he hoped I didn't make my living by wrestling.

This is why I am now feeling rather affronted.

Some people just don't recognize my scariness.

In addition to feeling affronted, I am also feeling furious, dismayed, terrified, utterly confused, and hungry.

Mr. Bone explained his entire plot to me, as I suppose was inevitable, being that he is the very picture of a villain cliché (although, most do refrain from wearing capes fastened with very tiny éclairs) .

As it turns out, he plans to rob a bank.

Yes, I know.

A bank.

We flew here in a tearing hurry to stop the world from being sucked into a pastry-caused black hole, and the man has been planning a bank robbery.

So then I, in my wisdom, asked him curiously about the plan involving the book, and what had happened to it

Well, as it turns out, he had no intention of using the book in his plan. Or of attempting to destroy the world with a pastry.

However, when I brought it up, he acquired this very thoughtful expression, and said that this was a good idea, and that I was smarter than he'd assumed from our last meeting.

Humph! I'm not the one who holds his cape together with a high-calorie dessert and drives a layer cake!

At any rate, he has just left, and now you see why I am feeling affronted, dismayed, terrified, and confused.

Why hungry?

I am feeling hungry, of course, because I haven't eaten in a fairly large stretch of time.

As Mr. Bone left, my aggravating tummy protested loudly at the lack of food in it. He turned, smirked, and told me to help myself to anything I could reach.

I do hope the world is destroyed before I am hungry enough to resort to eating flour by itself!

Or, you know, that I am rescued or find a brilliant means of klutzing myself into an escape before the world is destroyed or I resort to eating flour by itself.

Whichever one prefers.

At any rate, the door is creaking open with the ominous slowness that I didn't think anyone really used to open doors outside of bad horror movies, and thus I had best tuck this little Diary out of sight.

Somehow, I have a feeling that the nefarious villain would be even less sympathetic toward it than Drake.

This cannot be happening.

This completely, absolutely, and totally cannot be happening.

Who do you think is currently sitting right next to me, pouting at being thrown into this ridiculous situation, perched atop a pile of flour sacks, fuming at the straps of leather, one connecting his collar to mine, and the other looped through the hook on the wall?

Why, Agent Rock, of course!

It seems, dear diary, that we really were destined to become roommates at some point.

I wonder if this is judgment for complaining at the idea of sharing a room with him.

At least, in the hotel, we wouldn't have been joined together by leather straps.

Not unless we'd gotten to know one another a LOT better before morning, that is.

Oh, dear. I wonder if I ought to scratch that out just in case he happens to glance this way instead of trying to chew through his leash.

He's going to hurt his teeth that way.

I wonder if I should tell him so.

No, I definitely should not have told him so.

All I got by way of thanks was a growl, and an attempt to chew off my finger.

Have just asked him how he came to be captured.

He has replied that if I'll shut up and stop writing down everything he says, he'll tell me.

Am going to put the diary down and listen now; will report back soon.

Am now reporting back.

Am glad to report that I am no longer the biggest idiot in this room.

You see, when Agent Rock happened to notice a group of twelve men with muffins on their heads while taking care of the "special business" that he won't tell me about, he thought it might have had something to do with Bone.

This was, I would say, a fairly good assessment, and not at all why he is an idiot.

The part that makes him an idiot was his decision to attack all twelve of them by himself.

He grumbled something odd about how he could have won if the fight had been scripted.

Sadly, the people I work with are still rambling odd things at odd times.

Will make a note to look into possible causes; could there be something in the water?

Agent Rock has just noted petulantly that if I were useful like Yomiko, I could use my diary to get us out of here.

Have just informed him snippily that, if I were "useful like Yomiko", Bone would likely have taken and shredded my diary after first reading it just because that is the kind of thing that these evil people do.

Am now not speaking to Agent Rock.

Have changed my mind about not speaking to Agent Rock, as he has just informed me that he still knows of a way we can get out of here.

Am going to sign off now, as he has just informed me that I can damn well wait here until Drake and Nancy and Yomiko come for me if I don't stop writing down everything he says.

Honestly! Why do men hate diaries so?

Your faithful servant,

Wendy

End Notes: Yaay! Second-last chapter! Or…y'know, third-last chapter. Depends on how verbose the next one gets.

Sigh. So, in other words, fifth- or sixth-last chapter. I love being overly wordy! :o)

Also, I'm not sure if the plot came in awkwardly, or if it works. I personally liked this chapter, but it's kinda different from what everything else has been. Maybe that's good, maybe that's bad. :o)