Chapter 11

April 7, 2001 – Saturday

Dear Diary,

It is currently three-thirty in the morning, and I am exhausted beyond what I thought possible while still retaining consciousness, but as Agent Rock is currently snoring like a jack-hammer – he's even worse than Drake, which is no small amount of shock – I won't be able to sleep anyway.

So, I might as well relate the rest of yesterday's Fantastic Adventures.

Unfortunately, nothing that happened to us was either Fantastic, nor well described as An Adventure. They were more like yesterday's Vaguely Stupid Happenings.

But, I suppose that, in the absence of Fantastic Adventures, Vaguely Stupid Happenings will do nicely.

Just until some Fantastic Adventures come along, you know.

To pick up where we left off, Yomiko and Nancy and I had just left Agent Rock and poor Drake to keep an eye (and in Drake's case, a fist) on Mr. Bone, while we disarmed the silly man's rocket.

He definitely stole the idea, too. He could never have thought it up on his own. Which, being an awful, ridiculous idea, puts his intelligence in shining perspective.

I have a few grievances to nurse over the next part of the story.

You see, the rocket was tall enough that it involved a lot of scaffolding to get to. Now, it is completely reasonable for any normal person to fall off a few times. It definitely does not imply that they are unable to climb around precarious wooden beams strung loosely together.

I certainly didn't slip more than about three times. Well, four times. Maybe five.

The point is, that isn't a lot! So, I don't see any reason why Nancy had to knock me unconscious with her gun (at least, I assume it was her gun; I suppose she might just have a very metallic-feeling fist that goes 'clang' when it hits me on the head; come to think of it, would a gun really do that? Has Nancy taken to carrying a ladle with her, too? Or a frying pan? Sounds a little silly, but that honestly fits the scheme of yesterday's Vaguely Stupid Happenings quite nicely), and shove me into a little hidey-hole underneath the scaffolding.

And I certainly don't believe what she told me right before hitting me about it being Mr. Joker's orders! I think she just wanted to relieve some tension by abusing the weakest member of the group (or so Agent Rock says, but we all know the truth). Mr. Joker would never order for me to be knocked on the head and left out of all the fun! Although, I do dislike heights quite a lot. And those beams sounded awfully creaky, from what I recall. And the whole structure looked like it was swaying just a little bit…

Why did I want to be taken along again? I'm getting a little queasy just thinking about clinging tightly to swaying, creaking, snapping beams.

Well, I still managed to pick all the bloody and gory details out of Yomiko (although, it was more like overhearing her tell them to Drake), so I am quite satisfied.

Apparently, Yomiko and Nancy got about halfway up the scaffolding before being attacked by fifteen men with muffins on their heads.

Agent Rock said that they must have been exaggerating, and it was probably only three.

Agent Rock is simply bitter that he got beaten up by nine henchmen.

Am now expecting Agent Rock to sit bolt upright in bed, glare at me through the dim light of the desk lamp, and tell me snippily that it was twelve, thank-you-very-much, and they each had two muffins on their heads.

Oh, poor, poor Agent Pansy! I once had thirteen boys twice my size land on me during a rugby match in the park after school with my brothers and some of their friends, and I didn't even feel woozy when I got up! Am still not entirely sure how thirteen boys ended up on top of me; have concluded that some spectators got involved.

Am also not entirely certain, to this very day, why people snicker when I tell them this.

Will make a mental note to ask Mr. Joker, and hope that he does not simply almost-smirk (since he never smirks, after all) and tell me that he's thinking of taking up rugby. That's what he did last time, you know. Isn't he strange?

Oh, dear. This is the problem with journaling while very, very tired. I've gotten a bit off-track again.

The battle with the fifteen muffin-wearing men apparently went well, once Yomiko recalled that the muffin wrappers are, indeed, made from paper, albeit slightly waxy paper, and had a jolly time using this to her best advantage.

I must admit, I did think it was a little curious when fifteen muffins came raining down from the scaffolding just as I woke up from the Nancy's-gun-induced unconsciousness, and landed right in front of my little hidey-hole.

No, I didn't eat them! Honestly, who knows where they've been?

Well, I suppose I know where they've been: sitting on Mr. Bone's henchmen's heads. Can you imagine how much head-sweat they've probably soaked up? What a waste of a good muffin!

Nancy said that the most irritating thing about the trip up wasn't being repeatedly attacked by men in muffins or men in chef outfits, but was instead Mr. Joker saying every five minutes, "The Paper, cover The Rock", and then going off into a round of chuckles, despite being reminded icily each time that Agent Rock wasn't actually there.

I wonder if Mr. Joker has been forgetting to sleep again. Honestly, Mr. Gentleman was right; the poor man is a wreck when I'm not there to remind him to do simple things like that!

Now, the next part of the story is a little confusing. Nancy and Yomiko's account of the events gets a little hazy, and of course, since they left me behind like a pair of big meanies, I have no idea what happened.

Still, to their credit, they did try to tell me their story on the way back to the hotel. Or left me to overhear it while they told it to Drake. Well, while Yomiko did. Nancy just said that she didn't want to relive it, and pretended to be asleep.

Yomiko said that they had just reached the top of the rocket and began looking for the kitchen in which the Pastry of Death was being constructed (surprisingly, by a few of Bone's henchmen – I wouldn't have thought he would leave something that important to his helpers; certainly I wouldn't, if I were an evil villain), when the scaffolding began to wobble.

Nevertheless, our brave heroines pressed on, although Yomiko didn't actually put it that way in her story, and I'm just adding more poetic touches.

After all, the scaffolding had been wobbling the entire way up. There was little point in going to pieces about it now.

Until, of course, it began to. Go to pieces, that is.

Then Yomiko made a rope out of her reserve paper (thankfully, she didn't have to touch her emergency back-up book) and swung herself and Nancy to the safety of the platform outside the entrance of the rocket.

Unfortunately, when the scaffolding began to tip sideways, it somehow picked up enough momentum to dislodge the rocket.

Awfully flimsy rocket Mr. Bone has, if you ask me.

Am trying not to think about the possible double meanings behind this statement, as I rather like being relatively unscarred mentally and emotionally.

Still, the rocket tipped over, coincidentally crashing through the roof of the Dome of Eternal Pastry.

Yomiko tells me that as soon as it started happening, she and Nancy rushed back to the Dome (by swinging in through the hole that the rocket made) to make sure that Drake was okay.

And Agent Rock, she added quickly when that same Agent shot her an outraged, hurt look.

Honestly, he was a terror to all three of us girls the entire ride back (he left Drake alone, which proves that he isn't quite as stupid as I had thought). And really, I think he could have been a little nicer to us. We'd all had an absolutely hellish time of it. Nancy and Yomiko had to fight half of Mr. Bone's staff, then had to jump off of a falling-apart scaffold, and then had to jump off of a tipping-over rocket! And then, to top it off, Drake told me that they landed right in a very large layer cake (a real one, I think, and not Mr. Bone's car) when they dropped through the rocket-induced hole in the roof of the Dome!

I wonder why Yomiko didn't tell me that part.

Or why Nancy stopped being asleep long enough to glare at Drake when he did.

And as for me, first I got knocked out by a gun-or-ladle-wielding Nancy, then I had to look at fifteen muffins full of head-sweat, then I had another mouse almost run up my skirt, and then I almost had a lot of scaffolding fall down on top of me!

Oh, the mouse?

Well, just as I was starting to consider sneaking out of my hidey-hole under the scaffolding long enough to kick the muffins aside so I wouldn't have to see them anymore, I heard a chillingly familiar little squeak.

I looked down, and lo and behold, there was my little friend the mouse from the dungeon-pantry.

And I honestly don't think it got the hint about only Mr. Joker being allowed there, because it made for the frilly, lacy, poufy land of Under Wendy's Skirt once again.

Since Drake wasn't there to calmly explain things to the mouse this time, I had to make do with my own powers of persuasion.

And the mouse seemed fairly persuaded to go somewhere else once I started hopping about and screaming. Although, it could have been less because of me and more because, after the fourth time I crashed into one of the little wooden beams supporting the structure, it began to creak and sway ominously, and then started to fall apart.

Oh, dear. Something has just begun to make sense.

Em…I think I'll refrain from telling Yomiko and Nancy that I might have played some small part in knocking over the scaffolding.

So, after the mouse and I scampered off to safety and then I kicked it across the room, I started back towards the Dome of Eternal pastry, but got distracted when I saw the rocket starting to tip over, directly towards said Dome.

It was awfully interesting to watch, after all. Disaster that wasn't – completely – caused by me!

When I got to the Dome to see what on earth was happening in there, and if anyone had been gruesomely killed by a rocket landing on them (and I wasn't entirely hoping that Agent Rock might have been!), Drake was helping Yomiko out of a layer cake, Nancy was trying to scrub icing spots off of her clothes, and Agent Rock was looking for some antacids and a glass of water to counteract all the rich desserts he'd eaten.

Oh, and a henchman was stumbling out of the rocket with a freshly-made pastry grasped in his hands.

A freshly-made, ominously glowing pastry.

At Mr. Bone's dismayed exclamation from where he was handcuffed to one of the massive industrial-looking refrigerators, Drake dropped Yomiko back into the cake and turned to watch the drama unfold.

Bone explained to us in a frightened, wavery voice that now the pastry would destroy the planet after all, and really, he'd been sending it to the moon to avoid that, and he really wished that rampaging heroes like us would learn to mind our own business.

Drake pointed out snippily that trying to destroy either Earth or the moon seemed a little stupid to him, and it certainly wasn't our fault that these rampaging villains were completely unable to get a life.

Agent Rock complained that his tummy hurt.

I reminded him that these things tended to happen when one made a pig of oneself on desserts that were not theirs, that they had not been invited to sample.

Yomiko interrupted politely and asked someone to help her out of the cake.

Drake and I went to help her while Nancy asked Mr. Bone if he had any idea how to disarm his fiendish creation.

Honestly, I wish you could see the withering 'you-are-so-stupid' glare he gave her as he said, "It's a pastry, lady; not a bomb."

And I wish you could see the blistering, 'you-are-SO-dead' glare that she gave him.

At this point, the pastry began to glow brighter within the hands of the unfortunate henchman who was carrying it, and to make an odd sort of growly noise.

And then Mr. Bone gave a howl of rage and pain, and with a strength born of desperation (or something), he wrenched at his handcuffs (unfortunately only succeeding in taking the door off of the refrigerator and dragging it along with him), bolted at the terrified boy bearing the pastry (still with the refrigerator door bouncing merrily along after him), snatched up the glowing dessert, and gobbled it down in about two bites.

And thus, it was a happy ending for everybody!

Aside from Mr. Bone, who promptly blew up.

And the boy holding the dessert, who was first crushed to death by a refrigerator door, and then his remains blown up.

And Agent Rock, who still had a tummy ache and couldn't find any medicine.

And Yomiko, who still couldn't get out of the cake.

And Drake, who rather resented being pulled in after her.

And Mr. Joker, who was a little miffed that no one was responding to his repeated attempts to get our attention through Yomiko and Nancy's transmitters.

And me, who was still stuck in that silly maid outfit, with a right pervert of a mouse following me around.

Well, at least Nancy was happy, if one doesn't count the fact that she had to watch the rest of us making fools of ourselves. And the little pieces of Mr. Bone she had to pick off of her shoulder.

Yes, that was a little icky, to be honest, but better him than the universe, I suppose. Although, I'm still not sure how a pastry that was supposed to suck the universe into a black hole caused the man who ate it to explode.

Have concluded that the minion he ordered to make it simply used too much baking powder.

You really have to watch that when you're baking. That's what my grandmum always says.

Once Nancy and Agent Rock and I had managed to haul Yomiko and Drake out of that layer cake, we made our way hastily out of Mr. Bone's evil villain hideout.

As it turns out, he hid it in an old costume shop.

Honestly, the place looked deceptively small from outside.

Well, at any rate, that was Our Fantastic Adventure. Oh, hold on; we went through this already. Our Vaguely Stupid Happenings.

And now we are well and truly through with budding chefs and their attempts to destroy the universe by pastry, and tomorrow we shall be heading blessedly back home.

I don't think I've ever had such a longing to do paperwork, fetch tea, and reorganize Mr. Joker's bookshelves again.

Well, that isn't entirely true; I generally enjoy fetching tea.

Am beginning to wonder if there is something wrong with me.

Aside from an incredible level of exhaustion, that is.

And so, diary dear, I shall leave you here and attempt to go back to sleep, despite Agent Rock and the cement-mixer-like noises drifting from him.

Your faithful servant,

Wendy.

April 7, 2001 – Saturday

Dear Diary,

It is now five in the morning, and I have just put a clothespin over Agent Rock's nose in the hopes that it will make him stop snoring.

I do hope desperately that it works.

If it does not, I may hurt him.

And I suppose it is usually frowned upon when one murders one's temporary roommates.

Do you know what else is—

Dear Diary,

It is now six in the morning, and I have just woken up at the desk in our hotel room, with the faint imprint of my previous entry across my cheek.

Am planning to go scrub the ink off.

Am hoping it comes off.

Dear Diary,

It didn't come off.

Groan. I think Drake's bad luck is catching.

Will make a mental image to Frown At him tomorrow.

Your faithful servant,

Wendy.

April 8, 2001 – Sunday

Dear Diary,

Home! Home at last! I don't think I've ever been so glad to see my humble little apartment, and my ugly brownish carpets, and my bookshelf, and my forty-three books, and my stereo, and all my CDs, and my rather awful but exceedingly comfy big blue plushy hand-me-down sofa and chairs, and my own soft, comfy bed in my own bedroom free of loudly snoring men to accidentally cuddle while having naughty dreams about...someone.

What was I talking about again?

Oh, yes; home, and how glad I am to be there.

I am currently lying upside-down on the sofa and scribbling away, which may explain why said scribbling is so frightfully messy.

I didn't write back yesterday, because no opportunity afforded itself. I didn't think it safe to test my luck by taking my diary out in front of Drake, after Frowning At him.

Or after giving him a big hug because I felt bad for being so mean.

He didn't really get angry, though, he just grumbled a lot and said it wasn't his lucky day.

I wonder if he has that phrase copyrighted.

If he doesn't, he might as well.

Nothing very exciting happened on the ride home. Although, it was certainly a happy moment when Benny announced that we were stopping to drop off Agent Rock.

Unfortunately, our Loser Helicopter Pilot actually insisted upon actually landing, instead of just throwing Agent Rock out the side as Drake and Nancy – oh, fine; and I – suggested.

But at least our violent tendencies made Benny so scared of us (or at least of Drake and Nancy) that he didn't sing any Elvis on the way back.

So, the trip back wasn't quite as bad as it could have been.

Although, I did spend the entire thing hearing Mr. Joker's voice in the back of my head telling me that I had half an hour to clean out my desk and be out of the building for good before he set Drake on me with a pillow.

After all, I did make a mess of a job I hadn't been trained for and had been given no choice of refusing.

Grumble.

Oh, dear; I've been spending far too much time around Drake.

I can fairly hear his dulcet tones everywhere I go, telling me to put away the damn diary before he throws it out the window.

I might ask him for a recording when I see him next – something to help me go to sleep at night. I wonder if he would find that creepy.

At any rate, we got back to London much sooner than I and my slight terror of Mr. Joker would have liked, and went back to the Library to tie up loose ends. Or something like that. I wasn't entirely clear on what we were supposed to be doing, and just sort of sat there quietly and drank my Very Bad Tea while Drake, Yomiko, and Nancy explained everything.

A little boring, to be honest.

Although, I promptly began to miss the boring when Mr. Joker told everyone else to go, and asked to speak to me for a minute.

He offered me more tea, and I was going to vehemently decline, because the stuff honestly tasted like paint thinner, but then he said that he didn't think he'd done too badly making it.

Now, I don't know if there is an established rule against this, but I certainly wasn't going to risk offending my boss by telling him that his tea is frankly undrinkable, particularly when there was a high probability that he had kept me there to fire me.

So, I smilingly gulped down half the cup before "accidentally" spilling the rest down the front of my dress.

Of course it wasn't actually an accident! Really, it wasn't!

Alright, so it was.

Still, it was a good accident, since it meant I didn't have to drink any more of that tea.

So, after starting to tell me what I was still doing there and getting distracted by this or that about five times until I was ready to scream, Mr. Joker finally told me that he was certain I had tried my best as a field agent, and I wasn't quite the worst one they'd ever seen (which frightens me to no end), but all in all, he felt it best that I return to my real job. Because frankly, my strengths did not lie in the area of going out into the world and 'kicking a little ass', as it were, and he was afraid that someone would actually be badly hurt next time.

He also muttered something under his breath about how he owed Mr. Gentleman a lot of money, because he'd been right, the smug old bastard.

And I'm sure that, following this demotion back to the job I never wanted to stop doing in the first place, Mr. Joker was expecting me to shuffle sadly out of the room and go home to lick my wounds.

Because he certainly seemed surprised when I tackled him to the ground and hugged him, before begging him to let me fetch him a cup of tea – real tea.

I don't think he was terribly pleased about being tackled to the ground – that hadn't actually been part of the plan, and really, I should have recalled that I am a former rugby star, and have taken down much larger and stronger men than him – but he certainly smiled widely enough at the bit about a cup of tea, and said he supposed he would let me.

When I brought it back, I asked if I could go put his bookshelves back in order for him, but he said that would have to wait until Monday, because he for one was going straight home, and he didn't want to leave me to lock up.

And so, I am now looking very forward to tomorrow, when I shall be joyously reorganizing all the bookshelves Mr. Joker has un-organized within the past three weeks!

My God, the man is hopeless.

I'm going to go reorganize my own little bookshelf, this time according to the second letter in the author's last name!

Just to get ready for tomorrow, you know.

Your faithful servant,

Wendy.

End Notes: Okay; we're in the homestretch! Only one (or maybe two…or three…or twelve) more chapters after this!

No, I swear right now that I'll confine myself to two more. But it should be easily wrapped up in one.

And hey, this was even a shorter chapter! Go me:o)

Anyway, that aside, we've had a frightfully silly end to a frightfully silly conflict, but nevertheless I hope you enjoy it, comments are always welcome.

Thank-you, and good evening. :o)