Basil of Baker Street and the Rogues of Madame Mussaud's
Chapter 4
Basil-
The impact from the truncheon left me unconscious for a good fifteen to twenty minutes. The bad news, however, was what happened within the time frame I was not attentive. After viewing my current predicament, things certainly went from bad to worse. As my conscience returned to its usual state, I took note of that sensation I have had before of stationary arm and leg movement. That is to say, I was being tied down to a rather uncomfortable wooden bench. A torture device, no doubt. Blinking my eyes open, I stared up at my captor donning a black cloak and a full executioner's mask.
"Well, now, this is cozy, but isn't it tradition to get a last request?" As expected, no reply.
"Got 'im secure? Make those ropes good n' tight, chump!" I overheard someone talking in a dark corner of the room. Although he wore an identical cloak and mask, I instantly recognized that scruffy and inarticulate voice. It was that waspish worker, Charles Brunswick. Meanwhile, his associate, obviously Leonard, handled the ropes around my wrists and ankles.
"What do you think of our new toy?" he asked, gesturing to the contraption I was tied to. "We got this idea from some human named Poe. Tussaud's has a display, so we thought we'd give it a try. Needed a victim-er, volunteer, and we picked ya...seein' as you's was just lyin' around in the gallery..." Both of them chuckled, and well, I could not disappoint. I joined in with my own forced snicker.
"Ha ha ha, I am just so happy to oblige." I dripped heavily on the sarcasm.
"Now, to give this display a test run. Stand back, Leonard!" Charles threw the switch and my ears perked up to the sound of something quietly swishing from left to right. I turned to look up to see a faint glisten of something near the ceiling. With every swish it made, the object slowly moved lower toward my middle.
Uh-huh...a pendulum...with a scythe...oh, drat...
I suddenly had a wonderful idea come to mind: get off of this bench, and fast! Flat on my back, I struggled against the irritable twine ropes and felt my heartbeat accelerate at a record speed. I looked up again and became transfixed by the blade. What an amazing work of art; how lucky I was to be the chosen one to have my blood splattered all over its crescent-shaped steel!
"Help! Mr. Basil! Help me!"
I craned my neck as far as it would go; a child's head was poking out of a wood box several inches off the ground. Above her head was the spout to a long tube that connected to a vat of hot wax. Angela Proudfoot screamed and shook her arms, causing a rattling noise. She too had her wrists confined, but instead of ropes, they were of a set of shackles. She looked to me in a pleading gaze as if I was the only one who could save her. The unfortunate truth was that I happened to be the only one who could!
"Double drat..."
"Check the temperature on that vat," Charles mildly ordered to Leonard.
"Let her go! She's just a child!" I spat, finding it difficult to shout in my position.
"Yeh, a child who knows too much info, just as you do, 'tective," Charles growled and shouted: "Leonard, the temperature!"
"Still needs to heat up, mate," Leonard muttered, eyeing the gauge on the side of the vat. A sudden bang in the corner of the room got both of their attention. It sounded as though an object was thrown and crashed against the wall. All three of us looked around, unable to find who or what caused the commotion. "What was that? I thought we were alone in here?"
"We are," he replied, moving away from the wall. I shook my head at the sight of him taking out a pistol and casually waving it around. Both started a search around the room before catching sight of the main door swinging with a slow creak. Someone had come in, threw something at random, and ran back outside. "Someone's here!" The two workers quickly climbed a staircase and disappeared through the door. That allowed me a chance to work on loosening the ropes. Damn that Leonard; he triple-knotted them!
"Mr. Basil?" I frowned to Angela's voice uttering much closer to the bench. Rolling my head over and looking downward, my eyes met with a pair of blue, frightened ones. The second Proudfoot twin had managed to find her way into this basement area through a small hole in the wall!
"Agatha! You're certainly a sight for sore eyes!"
"I'm sorry...I was hiding, I got scared-"
"Understood, but right now, your sister and I are in a bit of bind. You're the only one who can get us out of our traps. Can you do that for me?" A silent nod was enough affirmation. "That's a good girl. Now, hurry!" As she moved, the pendulum shifted across us, sending her completely sprawled to the floor. Hearing faint sniffles, I tried not to release too loud of an annoyed grunt.
"Agatha, please! This is not the time nor the place for waterworks!"
"That blade almost got me! It's coming closer-"
"I know it is," I said, as if I needed reminding its intention was to separate my upper and lower half. "Keep your head as low as possible, and don't look up. Just get these ropes off before-" Agatha gasped and crouched lower, almost squeezing herself under the bench. "What is it, dear? Agatha?" I paused in my breathing to hear noises above us. "Someone's coming. Stay down, and stay out of sight." Agatha crawled down toward my ankles and carefully worked on the ropes. My heart pounded faster at the sound of the door slowly creaking open.
I distinctively heard a soft movement of footsteps. Standing in the doorway was a mouse dressed all in black with a long hooded cloak. Only my eyes could tell me the new form that entered the room, yet they were deceived by a black mask obscuring their features. Was it Leonard again?
"Hello there," I managed to say. "Have you come back to join the party?"
There was no response except for the stairs groaning to every step they made to the lower level. Suddenly, the pendulum stopped moving down and the swishing came to a halt inches above my abdomen. The new mouse had turned off the switch on the wall. One minute more and I would have looked like a magician's act gone wrong of a volunteer sawed in half!
Reaching my side next, I looked over to see them carrying a crowbar. They were far from having a masculine figure. Female, no denying it. I watched her kneel to the floor and start untying the rope around one of my wrists. There was a botanic aroma on her arms, instantly telling me this was someone unexpected who had come to my aid.
"Might I have a name to my rescuer?"
"Not now, detective," she replied. A soft yet sultry voice. Sings a lot from the sound of it. I inhaled her arms again. There was a mixture of something else besides botany...cigarette ash? Liquor?
"Hmm...you know, it is a well-known fact that showgirls...who perform in seedy pubs...often apply oils to their fur to smell of flowers and other nice aromas...to mask the odor of tobacco and alcohol..."
The lady mouse huffed as if I had said something offensive. Removing the mask, I looked up to a face with fluffed white fur and almond-shaped blue eyes. I instantly recognized her the night Dawson and I were looking for Fidget at that pub back in June. As I deduced: it was the showgirl who took off her blues for her audience of cheering drunks.
"Does nothing ever escape you?" she asked hotly.
"Well, if it wasn't for you, I probably wouldn't have escaped that swinging blade!" I added a wink.
"Please, detective, this is no time for jokes," the showgirl said, continuing to untie my binds. Who was joking? I was serious! "You and those children are in terrible danger. I've got to get you out of here before they make wax figures out of all of you!"
"They've already used Ratigan's real body to make a wax figure," I whispered back, waiting to see a reaction. She closed her eyes and bowed her head.
"I know," she said, almost tearfully. "Those two sculptors kept coming around my pub, asking questions about the professor. He has been dead all this time, but not too many knew this information for sure. The thugs that dressed as royal guards from Buckingham Palace took his remains from the clock tower. They tried to revive him, but it was no use."
I nodded slowly. "So, they kept his body-"
"Preserved, yes. They've kept him that way for months, something about trying to do a sort of...resurrection..." the showgirl finished the rope and slid around the bench to work on my left wrist, all the while I was taking each word she was saying and processing it in my head. Looking back down to her, I caught her pulling back the cloak and presenting a folded note. "Charles sent this letter to me, saying he and his fellow worker had completed the professor's wax figure." I went to take it with my free hand, but she quickly returned it to her dress pocket. "He seemed real excited."
"It's a high achievement, who wouldn't be excited?" I shrugged, watching which pocket she put it in.
The showgirl nodded before continuing. "Anyway, detective, I was curious to see the figure for myself, so I arrived in the afternoon. I was taken to the workshop and shown the mechanical features, but something did not seem right the more I kept looking at him. He seemed too real to be wax. They both escorted me back into the gallery room, and I overheard one of them whisper, 'Do you think she suspected it was really him?' That confirmed my doubts. They're all in on it, including the owner of this museum. He doesn't care where his workers get their materials as long as they make money for him."
"So, you're rescuing me from this trap because-"
"I need your help. I know how you work, detective," she replied, sighing a bit to the difficulty of untying the triple knot, courtesy of Leonard. "I read all about you in the papers. You have put many criminals behind bars or sent them directly to death row. After I discovered what those workers had done to the professor's body, I was furious. I wanted justice, to pay for what they had done, but I couldn't very well do it...alone." I briefly glanced down to the crowbar again, then back to her. She got the connection and softly stated, "I've only knocked them out to get to you down here."
"Whether you helped me out of this trap or not was never going to change the outcome of going after these rogues," I flatly said. "They committed a heinous crime. Stealing a corpse to use and make a profit is illegal, therefore, they can be prosecuted and sent to jail, including their curator."
Her eyes glistened as she asked, "You'll do it, then? You'll have them arrested?"
"But, of course! I had planned to do so from the very start-" I did not expect this emotional creature to thank me so abruptly, not to mention reaching over and planting a big kiss on my cheek! I am quite certain my expression fully told her I was beyond stunned. The showgirl pulled back, uttered a minor apology, and continued removing that piece of rope around my wrist. "Yes, well...um...you're welcome..."
"Who are you?" I looked down at my feet, once again forgetting there were children present. Agatha sat and stared with bewilderment to the new arrival.
"Just someone trying to help," the showgirl replied with a nervous smile.
"Are you Mr. Basil's girlfriend?" Agatha boldly said, receiving a chuckle from her and me an appropriate roll to the eyes.
"Agatha, are you afraid of heights?" Shaking her head no, I further stated, "Your sister needs your help in that box high up there. Do you think you can go get her down for us?" Agatha immediately obeyed and ran over to the ladder to start climbing. I looked to the showgirl again and said, "By the way, I was told by one of those fake employees that the curator himself was here. Did you happen to see him-"
*BANG*
The main door flung wide open and crashed loudly against the wall. Agatha screamed and dropped to the floor, hiding behind the ladder. The showgirl and I both gasped at the sight of a new mouse entering the room. The chosen attire was also black, but he had no need to cover his face. Benjamin Loveur came down the stairs with a pistol identical to Charles' aimed right at us. I groaned and glanced to the showgirl.
"Speak of the devil."
"I thought I saw that little minx come in here," he said, glaring at the showgirl. "So, you know about our little secret? Looks as though you caught me red-handed!"
"And it looks as though two more workers will be discharged from your payroll," I retorted.
"They had it coming to them. Using dead bodies for figures was not something I ever agreed to."
"That's not what I heard," I said, briefly eyeing the showgirl.
Loveur tisked lightly. "She's filling your head with lies, detective. Who are you going to believe? Me, someone you've known for years, or some floozy from a seaside dive?" Loveur decided not to wait for an answer and pointed the gun right at her head. "Hands up, vamp! Get away from him! Now!" The showgirl almost lifted her hands, but I quickly rolled off the wooden bench and threw her to the ground. The blade from the pendulum was so close to us by then, she would have cut herself if she had done as she was told. Loveur reacted and took a step back, still aiming that confounded weapon at us.
"Always playing the hero, detective?"
"Someone has to when someone always plays the villain," I sneered back.
"I really did admire our friendship; that wasn't a lie," Loveur said, clicking the gun's hammer and preparing to pull the trigger. "Such a pity it has to end here-"
"Don't shoot Mr. Basil!" Loveur whipped around and fired at Agatha.
"NO!" The showgirl and I both shouted. The bullet fortunately bounced off a ladder rung and ricocheted against the wall. Agatha scampered off to hide behind a table with wax body parts. I stared wide-eyed and mouth gaped. He shot at her. Benjamin Loveur had the audacity to aim and shoot at a defenseless little girl. My anger had no bounds. With an unholy roar I usually reserved for the lowest scum of the earth, I lunged at his mid section and knocked him to the ground, sending the gun off in some direction. The showgirl stole this chance to crawl away from the pendulum trap and get to the fallen weapon.
"Oh no, you don't!" Loveur shouted beneath me. Within our tangled struggle, he pulled out a small remote control from his breast pocket and pushed a button. The shadows started to move as two mechanical wax figures slid out on wheels, almost knocking over the young dancer. The showgirl dodged one figure, but the second sent her down to the floor. I quickly rolled off Loveur and rose up to meet two bulging eyes of a robot.
"Seriously, Flaversham, you need to get a job at a theme park!"
In the corner of my eye, I caught Loveur reaching for the gun and turning to aim it at me. I found the safety of a large set of crates and used that as my shield. Loveur fired, this time at the crates, causing a hole in the side. Although small, the hole was big enough to allow a brown, syrupy liquid to spill. It was the Hydrol chemical leaking all over the floor. One spark upon that dark, flammable mass and we were all going to meet our maker!
"Stop! Cease your fire!" I tried to call out from behind the crates, but another bullet told me he was not going to see reason. I looked up at the top crates and quickly pushed them over onto him. Able to react fast enough, the crates only fell to the ground, lacking what I intended to do. The showgirl, meanwhile, chose to take down Loveur next. I never did find the chance to commend her bravery!
Loveur swiftly turned the tables by gripping both of her hands. The showgirl fought with her attacker, whom was undoubtedly stronger in comparison, as he continued to hold both of her arms behind her back. Being a dancer on stage and constantly grabbed by the patrons, I was glad to see that she was trained in a bit of self defense. I looked just in time to witness her elbowing him in the chest, allowing her a chance to turn around and finish him off: Solar-plexus, instep, nose, and finally the groin. I knew that girl could sing after all as I watched the poor yet demented curator go down for the count! I looked down to him, then up at her.
"Not bad, for a-"
"Don't say it, or you'll be spitting teeth, detective!" the showgirl warned with a clenched jaw and raised fist.
"Whatever." Some women were just too sensitive!
"Mr. Basil, help! Please!" Angela called out from her perch. Turning my attention back to the twins, I ran to see what became of Agatha. Seeing her visibly shaken, I offered to climb the ladder and rescue her sister. The spout above her head was open and ready to pour the hot wax into the box. As I started to climb, I heard another bang and felt a piercing sting in my right leg. Loveur, still holding the gun, fired it at me.
I heard the showgirl scream as I felt myself fall to the ground. The mad mouse prepared himself for another one on one battle. I struggled to reach the box holding Angela once more, but I only made it to the third rung. Loveur jumped for my middle and forced me back down. Both children shrieked as I found my own self quickly losing air. He was choking me! I gasped and kicked with my good leg, sending him backwards, yet not far enough for me to fully escape his clutches. The Hydrol chemical was slowly coming towards us as well as creating a carpet upon nearly a quarter of the floor. Loveur threw himself at me again, landing harshly upon my back and throwing me down on my stomach.
"It ends here, Basil. If I have to die along with you, then so be it!"
A sudden 'clank!' sound appeared, and his body went limp over mine. I shoved him off and rolled myself with some difficulty to try and stand up. I knew I could have taken him on my own, but after looking over the showgirl's harsh features and the crowbar gripped in both hands, I made the wise choice to nod and grin instead.
"Um...thanks!"
The air in the room was starting to turn deadly from the fumes in the Hydrol chemical. Despite the soreness in my leg, I climbed the ladder to reach Angela once and for all. Her fur and clothing were drenched from the hot temperatures of the room. Staring listlessly up at me, she uttered a feeble question I could not blame her to ask:
"Mr. Basil...what took you so long?"
"I had some prior engagements, nothing too trivial," I calmly replied as I removed her shackles and lifted her weakened form into my arms. "I've got you, little one..."
To save an innocent often leaves one feeling proud of themselves. As soon as I stepped off the last ladder rung and another pain signal transferred to the brain, I lost that wonderful moment of elation. Angela unfastened herself from my grasp to turn and pull me in an upright position. Either she was a lot stronger than I realized, or Mrs. Judson had every right to call me an emaciated bag of bones.
Agatha rushed over next and held me up on the other side. "You're hurt!"
"Nothing a bit of surgery won't fix, my dear." Seeing her bottom lip start to tremble, I cupped my hand under her chin. "I'll be all right. If it wasn't for you and that showgirl, I would be pushing up daisies in two different coffins!" The Rat Trap dancer approached us next, pausing to look over the situation.
"Thank you for helping us," Agatha blurted out unexpectedly.
"Your assistance was quite appreciative, miss," I said, feeling my own smile lift. "Now, about getting this double-crosser relocated..."
The four of us worked as a team to find some sort of transport device to carry the unconscious curator up the stairs and out of the toxic room. I refused to listen to three females telling me to rest my injured leg when there was work to be done. Angela found and pushed over a large trolley containing an assortment of brushes, paint cans, and other oddities to bring the wax figures a realistic complexion. She and her sister removed the objects as I assisted the showgirl in lifting my so-called friend onto the trolley. By the time we reached the center of the steps, my leg had lost a considerable amount of blood. Gritting my teeth, I gave the trolley one last heave before I collapsed.
The last thing I saw before I momentarily blacked out was a view of the twins rolling the trolley up the final step and out the door. A scent of flowers filled my nostrils while a pair of hands gripped beneath my arms and pulled me off that middle step. My eyes briefly opened, enough to see a view of a black cloak and a dress pocket. Within minutes, we reached a dark and cool corridor connecting to the back workshop of the museum.
"This is where I leave you, detective," the showgirl whispered. "I don't want to be here when the police arrive. I'm not in trouble with them or anything, I just don't want to answer any-"
"Say no more," I cut her off. "Just go..." And go she did. She possibly meant she was currently not in trouble with the police, but I was not in the mood for such specifics. Receiving a pair of children as temporary crutches, I smiled down to both of them as we proceeded to walk away from that basement and onward to find the museum's entrance. "We'll leave that bad mouse there for now. I doubt he'll be waking up anytime soon."
"Mr. Basil, who was that pretty lady?" Angela asked, and before I could give a reasonable answer, the crutch on the other side spoke up.
"That's his girlfriend," Agatha said with a giggle. I gave her a look of warning.
"Enough with the fibs, young lady!"
We eventually found our way through the corridor and out to the foyer. It certainly was a welcoming sight to see living, breathing mice for once. Dawson was the first I made eye contact with, and I could not help but smile at seeing him once more. The Proudfoots pushed themselves forward to reunite with their daughters as police officials searched for Loveur and his workers. There were no casualties. Charles and Leonard were found knocked out cold. Receiving the same type of injury earlier, I could sympathize with the size of the headache they will have when they wake up!
I had much to tell my dear friend, but for the moment, I found the nearest bench and rested upon it, taking the weight off my battered leg. Yet another wound to add to the list. I inhaled and exhaled, clutching a hand at my middle. My intact middle, that is. Slipping a hand into my coat pocket next, I pulled out a folded note and, when no one was looking, read it to myself:
Miss Kitty,
The boys an me from the mueseim are finnished with Rattigan's figure! Stop by and come see it! -Charles Brunswick
"Charles, you really are one bad speller," I replied with a shake to the head.
The mystery behind who had it in for me was over. All that remained was answering questions and...of course...giving the mortal remains of Professor Ratigan a proper burial!
End of Chapter 4. Notes:
Basil being tied down to a pendulum was inspired by another Vincent Price film, The Pit and the Pendulum, originally written by Edgar Allan Poe. An assumption to why the torture device would be in the basement of the museum came about as a display in progress for the Chamber of Horrors room. This was a scene written years ago with the uncertainty of how to finish it.
I gave Agatha Proudfoot blue eyes, the same as the famous mystery writer, Agatha Christie. I don't think Eve Titus based Agatha Proudfoot on her, but it still felt like a nice little nod.
Miss Kitty knocking out everyone in the museum before coming to Basil's aid was inspired by the game, "Thief: The Dark Project." The player is forced to stick to the shadows to avoid direct combat as much as possible. When an NPC is in the way of an objective, the player can knock them out from behind with his Blackjack weapon, only making them unconscious. One hit and the NPC is out for the reminder of the level, allowing the player free reign of that area. This form of an attack is helpful when a higher level of difficulty has restrictions of killing anyone. Since I didn't want any casualties in this story, I stuck with just knocking the villains senseless.
An early draft was to have Miss Kitty as the one who typed up the letter to Basil from the curator's office. Since she was friends with Ratigan, she wanted revenge on him. The plan was she wanted the workers of the museum to kill him and use his body as a wax figure in a torture device. But then, I didn't want her to be the villain when she seems she could play a neutral part, wanting justice for the crimes committed, but doing no harm to the detective himself. That was when I changed it to workers who visited her pub and she gained the information that way.
Basil's line, "Seriously, Flaversham, you need to get a job at a theme park!" was a subtle nod to WDI (Walt Disney Imagineering) creating the animatronic figures for Disneyland's attraction, The Pirates of the Caribbean. Basil meant that Flaversham was such a genius, he was at the level of someone like a Disney Imagineer.
Solar-plexus, instep, nose, and groin, (S.I.N.G.) are the four movements women are taught in self-defense classes. I remember first hearing about it in the film, Miss Congeniality, so it was not something invented around the Victorian era. Still, with Miss Kitty being a singer and dealing with drunk mice all the time, I couldn't resist putting it in. I just didn't have Basil say that he had heard of such a technique before.
Agatha teasing Basil about Miss Kitty being his girlfriend was an inside joke about Disney loosely basing the Rat Trap showgirl on Relda, an opera singer from the Eve Titus books. Basil was captivated by her beauty and voice, sensing he did have strong feelings for her, but it never went further than that. Relda was based on Irene Adler from the Sherlock Holmes story, "A Scandal in Bohemia."
