Chapter 10

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Dear Diary,

What an utterly bizarre day!

I know that I have said that about at least half of the days that I have lived through since becoming a field agent (in training), but the sheer strangeness of this day easily overshadows that of any day I have ever experienced in my life.

So, let that put it in perspective for you, future-me-who-drags-out-our-old-diary-on-a-rainy-afternoon.

I am currently back at the hotel, and we are to leave for London tomorrow morning. I needn't tell you how utterly giddy this makes me, even though I'm a little uncertain as to exactly how angry I can expect everyone back at the Library to be with me right now.

Yes, particularly Mr. Joker. And what of it? And what of the fact that I am currently wracking my brains for little ways to make him less annoyed and more pitying? Or, if I decide to go with the scandalously short skirt and frivolous impractical undies that I shall conveniently reveal by "accidentally" tripping, more something-else-that-is-neither-pitying-nor-annoyed.

I suppose I ought to explain what exactly led to Agent Rock's, Drake's, and my no longer living in a distinctly dungeonesque pantry, sleeping on flour sacks, and making friends with the mice.

And washing dishes in embarrassing outfits.

Although, that was just me; Bone felt no need to force Drake into a dress any more than he did Agent Rock, for which we are all grateful.

The Beginning of the End of Our Troubles came while we were being put back into our pantry dungeon early this morning for a bit of sleep after working the night shift (why they needed to have a night shift for dishwashing in the first place, I'll never understand – likely just to be mean; villains, you know).

Bone had just tied Agent Rock's leash to the wall again, was in the process of finishing with Drake's (and I must say, I'm stunned that Drake didn't move Heaven and Earth to keep that from happening – unlike Agent Rock, I suppose he knows how to bide his time and play along instead of raging like a child!) and was about to do mine, when a mouse scurried out from between two flour sacks, and made for the poufy, lacy, very pink haven of under my skirt.

Needless to say, I took exception.

I explained calmly to the mouse exactly why I didn't want it up my skirt, as that privilege was reserved specifically for…well, for a certain someone else if he should ever get around to bloody well wanting it, and being a reasonable little vermin, the mouse found a new place to take a nap.

Oh, very well; I went slightly hysterical and hopped about screaming as Drake explained to the mouse with a slight grin that I would only allow Mr. Joker under there. Which made Agent Rock snicker and utterly confused Mr. Bone who, I would assume, has not been near the underside of a girl's skirt in likely his entire life.

At any rate, yes, I panicked in a rather shameful manner.

Still, I would say it's quite a good thing, as one of my hysterical little hops sent me directly back into Mr. Bone.

Did you know that the simple act of knocking someone backwards onto a stone floor can knock them completely out cold, diary dear?

Well, it can.

As soon as I determined that our captor was, indeed, completely unconscious, I did what any intelligent and fast-thinking super-agent would have done, and set about untying my still-bound comrades.

Oh, very well! I panicked a lot more, whimpering about how I had just accidentally killed a man, and what kind of person did that make me, because I felt a little guilty about it, but not guilty enough, which made me feel guilty all over again.

Then, when Drake began grumbling and Agent Rock yelled at me, I remembered that they were there, and that we were basically free to leave the pantry-dungeon whenever we wanted to now.

So, I untied Agent Rock (once he explained to me exactly how to work the locks, and told me impatiently to never mind why on earth they made leather straps with padlocks on the ends), Drake untied himself, and we left.

Only to find a lot of angry henchmen waiting for us on the other side of the door.

Which we eliminated quickly and efficiently with a wide variety of stunningly cool action-movie moves.

Oh, fine! So I got immediately out of the way at Drake's and Agent Rock's combined requests, and Agent Rock grabbed a conveniently-placed steel folding chair and began hitting them, which made some very interesting noises, I must say. Although, not as interesting as the noises they made when Drake picked one of the henchmen up and began using him to bludgeon the rest of them.

Why on earth did that maneuver seem so familiar?

As it turned out, I wasn't left completely out in the cold. You see, one of the henchmen decided that it would be safer to pick on the terrified little blonde huddling in the corner in a maid outfit than on the steel-chair waving, maniacally laughing, six-foot-something Agent Rock. Or even worse, the eerily calm, significantly-taller-than-six-foot, well-able-to-destroy-them-with-his-bare-hands Drake.

I don't remember entirely what happened. I stepped back with a little squeak of fright – although, a dignified little squeak of fright, I'll have you know! – and the next thing I knew, the man was buried under the remains of a massive, industrial-looking light fixture that got suddenly tired of the ceiling and decided to relocate to the floor.

Could it be, I began to wonder, a little wary of jinxing it, that my dumb luck can hold its own in a real fight, when someone other than those poor, poor scientists are around to be harmed by it?

I didn't have time to ponder this in a properly dramatic manner. If there had been background music, it wouldn't have had time to even swell grandly before Agent Rock incapacitated the last of the henchmen with his chair, and called to me to stop making stupid faces and hurry up.

Honestly, no one understands the value of a good, cinematic moment anymore!

Still, it was just as well for us to get around to moving, because at that moment, another group of henchpeople (have just realized that I was being horribly sexist) arrived, oddly enough drawn by the terrified screams of their friends.

They, however, only saw the backs of us as we ran away, screaming. Still in a very dignified manner, I would like to clarify.

Oh, come, now; what sort of idiot would stand and fight when they were outnumbered, seventy-to-three?

Agent Rock wields a steel chair almost as effectively as Drake wields a pillow (which, unfortunately, he didn't have with him at the time), but even they aren't that good! And I wasn't terribly anxious to test the exact extent to which my dumb luck operated on a large scale.

And so, we ran.

And ran.

And ran.

Then we slowed to a jog.

Then we slowed to a fairly pleasant walk.

Behind us, seventy henchmen were doing essentially the same.

We all began having a friendly conversation, which stretched from the good movies each of us had seen lately, to music, to our plans for the summer, to the best way to turn leftover meatloaf into something edible. All in all, they were a very polite and interesting group of low-grade villains out for our blood.

Although, there was one fellow who kept whistling Elvis songs.

Imagine my surprise when another henchman told us that everyone just called him Benny the Loser Henchman!

I must admit, I snickered a little.

A lot.

Especially when Drake sighed in deep resignation and said he might have known; there was just an aura about that type.

I must make a note to snidely refer to our Benny as Benny the Loser Helicopter Pilot.

Although, I might just do it in my head.

It might be too mean to say it to his face.

I don't want to be mean, after all.

At any rate, I am beginning to wonder if my Intensified Dumb Luck can bring about Absurd Coincidences That Simply Should Not Be, too, because as we were being pursued at a leisurely stroll down the corridors of Bone's hideout, we nearly strolled headlong into Yomiko and Nancy, who were coming towards us at a speed faster than a stroll, but slower than a stride.

Nancy demanded to know what the hell we were doing there, which made me wonder why on earth they broke into Bone's fortress, if not to rescue us.

I did not ask, as I did not particularly want to hear that they only make a point of rescuing people who are useful.

Agent Rock, however, had no such qualms, and thus informed Nancy snippily that we were busily undoing our status as prisoners, and what were they doing here?

Yomiko replied hastily that they had come for us, but they just hadn't expected to find us wandering the fortress freely.

Nancy looked rather surprised at this, which makes me suspect that Yomiko made it up on the spot for the sake of tact.

At this point, Yomiko proved that she's really the common sense of this group by asking exactly how we came to be socializing with Mr. Bone's minions.

I must admit, I was rather startled by this question, as it hadn't occurred to me.

Obviously, it hadn't occurred to any of the minions, either, to wonder why they had left off ruthlessly pursuing us and opted to give us the guided tour instead.

A pity that Yomiko and her common sense felt it necessary to remind them.

A minute and a half later, since minions are not known for being particularly bright, saw the five of us running through the halls, driven relentlessly forward by a near-solid wall of men clothed in chef's uniforms.

They didn't have hats, though, because Mr. Bone apparently insists that all his minions earn their hats.

Apparently none of us are very bright either, because it took us about five minutes of running and screaming to recall that we had some tricks of our own.

Well, to recall that Yomiko has some tricks of her own. And Nancy. Drake and (giggle) Florence and I were all fairly useless, since Drake had left all his heavy weaponry in a "secret hiding place" (which, being outside and far away from the fortress, did him little good) and was uncomfortably certain that he had strained a muscle with the technique of using one henchman as a bludgeon against the others, there were no steel folding chairs for Agent Rock to use for a weapon, and there was little opportunity for me to klutz my way to usefulness.

In fact, Yomiko did not recall that she did, indeed, have several methods of improving our circumstances until one abysmally foolish minion (possibly the one they had called Benny the Loser Minion, although I wouldn't bet money on that) decided to attack her with paper plates.

Oh, yes, that was indeed a fun three-and-a-half minutes.

I remember everything I saw from my safe haven huddled beneath a table between Nancy and Drake, who had simultaneously decided to duck and cover as the first razor-sharp paper plate whizzed past Drake's ear.

I shall have to remember to thank them for also simultaneously deciding to each grab me by an arm and haul me with them.

I didn't thank them at the time, because the hand-shaped bruises rather hurt.

While we settled comfortably under the table to watch Yomiko take care of business in such a manner that left several of Bone's minions picking up various and sundry body parts, Agent Rock completely missed the point of getting to safety, and opted to stay where he was, amid the flying plates, and pout.

I suppose it was rather hard on the poor boy's ego to be reduced to "the useless one" so soon after picking on me for being the same.

Even now, I am trying very hard not to grin smugly at him.

I would still just as soon not spend the night in the hotel swimming pool or out on the hotel's front lawn.

I've slept on a sack of flour long enough that, even if I have to share it with someone whose weapon of choice is a steel folding chair, bed is extremely appealing.

It was only a matter of time before all of Bone's minions were down, at which point we went on our merry way, down the corridors at top speed for about four minutes before Nancy slowed to a walk, and asked with a frown if any of us actually knew where we were going.

We all had to admit that no, we did not.

Several minutes and a gentle reminder from Yomiko's monitor that Mr. Joker was still looking in on us every once in so often, we decided – well, Mr. Joker decided, Drake and Nancy agreed, Agent Rock pouted, Yomiko read a book, and I stayed Very Quiet – that we would be best occupied at this point by finding Mr. Bone's silly pastry studio and smashing it up with a baseball bat.

The baseball bat, I think, came from Drake, as Mr. Joker tends to avoid even mentioning sporting equipment if he can.

But to return to the story, we all decided that the idea of destroying his cooking equipment would be a good one, whether or not we decided to use a baseball bat, which Yomiko informed us with complete earnestness she could make, if we wanted.

Agent Rock, predictably, said thanks-but-no-thanks, he'd be fine if he could just find another folding chair.

And so, off we went, toward the little blipping red dot on the map that Mr. Joker informed us was Bone's center of nefarious baked goods.

Honestly, I don't know how he has enough room to do anything inside a little red dot like that!

When I voiced this thought to Drake, though, he simply told me good-naturedly to shut up.

I would have forgiven him, if he hadn't felt it necessary to borrow Yomiko's transmitter long enough to ask if Mr. Joker would like me to bring back the frilly pink maid outfit Bone had kindly given me to wear while here.

Mr. Joker sounded a little annoyed by this question, but he did ask how long the skirt was, and when I confessed miserably that it just barely covered some of the necessary areas, he replied with a far less annoyed sound to his voice that yes, he would rather like to see it, although he wasn't exactly fond of the idea that I had been roaming around a fortress populated by men who likely hadn't been near a woman since their infancy while wearing it.

I stonily ignored this, but unfortunately no one noticed, since Nancy chose that moment to get us back on track, by announcing that we had taken a wrong turn somewhere, and had been sort of slowly wandering in the absolute wrong direction for several minutes now.

So we all turned around, checked the map once more for the red blippy dot that is by far too small to bake anything in, and off we went.

When we reached a massive steel dome in the center of an even more massive room of Bone's secret lair, we decided that this was likely the place, particularly because the door was well padlocked.

And because of the neon sign above the door, declaring, "Artemis G. Bone's Spectacular Pastry Dome".

Drake, Yomiko, Nancy and I all took this at face value, and started towards it, thanking the universe that this would soon be over, if we were very fortunate (which, Drake added, we probably wouldn't be, as it still wasn't his lucky day).

Before we could try the large steel doors leading into the dome, though, Agent Rock demanded in disbelief what we were doing, and if it hadn't occurred to any of us that this just might be a trap.

Yomiko asked why we would think that.

Agent Rock scoffed, tried to exchanged amused, long-suffering looks with Drake (who didn't reply with one of his own), and then told her that it just looked too easy.

I don't remember exactly what happened after that – it was sort of a blur. An angry blond blur.

When the world became clear again, Agent Rock was dangling from a point on a nearby wall that put him on eye level with Drake, who was gripping him tightly around the throat and asking him in a cold, far too calm voice that gave me chills, if he had been carrying out the same mission as us, and if he had, how anything that had happened to us so far could possibly be construed, no matter how big an idiot you were, as "too easy".

Agent Rock replied as best he could with a hand around his throat that that was his point: since nothing had been easy yet, why should it be starting now?

Yomiko said thoughtfully that this was kind of a good point, and I have to say, even though I have developed a personal policy against agreeing with Agent Rock on anything, I agreed. With Yomiko, thus maintaining the integrity of my personal policy.

Nancy made a noise of deep consideration, and we all watched, awaiting her opinion, since it seemed that we had come to an unspoken agreement that Nancy was the smart one, and we would listen to her.

I began to question the wisdom of this decision when Nancy simply shrugged and said that yeah, it looked a little too easy, but why fight it? After all, we had to get in somehow, and finding our way through a complex series of tunnels was bound to be just as much of a pain in the ass as anything that could possibly happen to us from simply barging in.

Yomiko and even Agent Rock confessed that this made a lot of sense.

And I admit, it did.

Still, I will also admit that, being a wee bit of a coward, and very fond of living, I still had my doubts as to the wisdom of this plan. Of course we would eventually have to reveal our presence – it was a rather integral part of confronting the villain. Still, what was the point of rushing these things? Particularly when it was very likely a trap? A trap that could end up hurting a lot?

And so, I followed everyone else in a very pointedly reluctant manner, and was rather annoyed when no one noticed my reluctance.

Then, just as we were about to try the door, Nancy stopped still, listened carefully to her transmitter, made a rather irritated noise, and said that Joker wanted a word with all of us. It seemed that he was a little annoyed that we had all decided on a course of action without bothering to consult him, since he was still heading this mission, you know.

I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the universe would return to sanity now, and that Mr. Joker would tell everyone just how silly they were being in rushing into a clear trap.

Sadly, it didn't. Because he didn't.

Honestly, I don't know why he felt the need to interrupt us in the process of doing something blatantly stupid, just to tell us that he thought we should do something blatantly stupid.

When Nancy announced that Mr. Joker approved of our "plan", I couldn't keep quiet. I just had to express, in a calm and mature manner, my disgust.

Agent Rock is completely lying when he says that I whimpered that I was scared, and it was going to hurt, and we should all just go home and let the world take care of itself.

I only said about half of that.

The first half, by the way. Right up to the part about us going home and letting the world take care of itself – I did not say that.

I only pointed out that this was likely a trap, and that I was a little nervous to be walking directly into it, and that I would come back and haunt someone if we all died strapped to those giant egg-beaters.

At this point, Nancy shoved her transmitter at me, telling me with admirably concealed impatience that Joker wanted a word.

The "word", it turned out, was to tell me very gently that he was, frankly, a bit disappointed. He had, it seemed, imagined that I would be more anxious than this to take bloody, vicious revenge upon any man who had put me through the humiliation of being dressed as a walking maid-fetish.

And I suppose that now you poor souls who have been driven by boredom to perusing my diary are expecting to read that I fired up indignantly and told Mr. Joker that yes, I damn well wanted revenge against Mr. Bone the Rampaging Pervert.

Honestly, I wish I could tell you that you would be wrong.

Instead, I proved once again that I can be very easily manipulated by the love of my life, and set about shoving the transmitter back at Nancy before storming toward the door, intent upon ripping every man in the Dome of Eternal Pastry to shreds myself.

Yomiko, Nancy, Drake, and Agent Rock stopped me, reminding me indignantly that they wanted their shares, too.

And so, dear diary and dear bored souls who are reading it, off we all went.

And a bloody quarter of an hour followed.

Countless minions found their shoulders suddenly lonesome for their heads, as the saying goes.


Well, that was only about twelve, but it still made quite an impression on me, who still flinches upon seeing a child with a skinned knee.

Honestly, it takes a lot to make a chocolate cream pie look unappetizing to me, but seeing those heads rolling merrily across the floor utterly robbed me of the urge to try to smuggle out the one sitting proudly on the counter, in my apron.

Amid the chaos, those of us who were not Agent Paper and thus busy doing all the real work instead of drooling at the confections that the Dome of Eternal Pastry apparently contained noticed Mr. Bone trying to make a subtle escape.

Honestly, the man does subtle worse than me! At least I don't insist that everyone in the nearby vicinity listen carefully to my innocent whistling!

When Drake had Bone shoved firmly up against a wall, we each took our turns trying to intimidate him into telling us what he was cackling about.

However, that aggravating man merely continued to cackle.

Finally, when Yomiko made her point by sending a cue card whizzing past to embed itself into the wall, millimeters from his ear, on either side of his head, he found his tongue loosened a little.

He had, it seemed, already finished making his pastry and loaded it into a rocket, headed for the moon, which would be sucked into the resulting black hole of sheer deliciousness instead of Earth.

An exceedingly annoyed Yomiko demanded to know what the obsession was for all these nefarious villains with rockets nowadays. Nancy informed her mildly that they were definitely compensating for something; she knew from personal experience with Ikkyu.

After several seconds in which Yomiko, Drake and I all tried through severe slamming of heads against walls to rid ourselves of the disturbing mental images this had conjured, Mr. Bone cleared his throat in a vaguely annoyed way. It seemed that, having gotten started revealing his nefarious scheme and why there was absolutely no way to stop it at this point, he didn't want to be interrupted.

He beamed at me and thanked me for the idea, adding that he hoped I wasn't hurt that he had modified it slightly; destruction of the planet was so cliché, whereas there was still something new and exciting left in destruction of the moon.

Drake shoved an arm tightly across his throat and demanded to know what status the launch was at.

Bone replied that it should be launching any minute now, so long as none of his incompetent hatless minions had broken anything.

Agent Rock said with a snicker that since I wasn't one of said minions, Bone likely didn't have to worry.

I elbowed Agent Rock rather hard in the ribs, and firmly resisted the temptation to shove him face-first into a nearby banana cream pie.

At this point, a severely annoyed and vaguely frantic Mr. Joker interrupted this idyllic scene through Nancy's transmitter and suggested that we go stop the launch. He added with a weary sigh that Yomiko ought to be able to figure it out, since Mr. Bone was apparently so utterly incapable of any originality whatsoever.

And off we went, leaving Drake and Agent Rock to watch Mr. Bone.

I suspect, however, that Drake was left to do all the work while Agent Rock merely helped himself to the various desserts scattered about the Dome of Eternal Pastry.

At this point, it occurs to me that I am very sleepy indeed, and in addition to this, Agent Rock is threatening to hurl me out the window if I don't turn off the desk lamp and go to sleep decently. Poor boy must have made himself ill on all the baking he consumed.

Honestly! No restraint, and he has to use Drake's second-hand threats instead of thinking up original ones! A creature like him deserves only pity, so I shall stop hating him no matter how many snide remarks he makes.

While on the subject of things I shall stop doing, I believe I shall stop writing for tonight, as I am uncomfortably certain that the fairies of coherency have not been with me for about the last page and a half.

I'm sure it won't be a hardship to wait until tomorrow to hear the rest of the story, diary dear. Partly since you already know how it ends, given that we are all here. More, however, since you are inanimate, and thus cannot feel impatience.

Yes, poor sleepy little Wendy has figured out all by herself that her diary is not alive.

And with this great achievement, she is going to sleep, where she will hopefully overcome the urge to refer to herself in the third person.

Your faithful servant,

Wendy

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End Notes: Yeesh, that was looooooooooooooooooooong! And all one entry, too! And I'm sure you noticed my little cop-out means of not making it any longer. Sheepish grin Well, after close to five thousand words on one bloody entry, I'm sure you're ready to forgive me for not making the problem even worse. :o)

Anyway, thanks again to anyone who's reading, and I hope you've enjoyed.

Oh, yes; and I solemnly swear that there shall be a good deal of 'shippiness in the next chapter. I'm becoming as impatient for it as anyone. ;o)