"Cumberland Shmumber did not create Shmumberman." The hirsute man with the GASTROINTESTINAL DISORDER tee-shirt took a bite from his sandwich, chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed. "He had nothing to do with it. It was all Johnny Bailwick."

Otis and Olympia stood at the gaming table in the corner of the Way of The Wombat Comics Shop where the expert they'd been referred to ate his lunch.

Otis consulted his notes. "We were told..."

"Yeah. Course you were." The guy took another bite of his sandwich. "They go around telling everyone Cumberland Shmumber created Shmumberman. But it was really Johnny Bailwick."

Olympia's eyes narrowed. "But I thought it was..."

"No. All Johnny Bailwick." The guy munched a handful of waffle fries. "What really happened was the fruit juice company was going under." Another handful of waffle fries. "Johnny was working in the PR department and Shmumber called him into his office." Another bite of sandwich. "He could tell Shmumber had been crying. He told Johnny the company was almost bankrupt. His parents were about to fire him. They had to find some way to turn it all around and save the business." He slurped his soda. "Johnny was the one with the comics know-how. He used to ghost for Syd Nicholls back in the day..."

"Syd Nicholls?" Otis raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't he Australian?"

Olympia stared at him in shock.

"That's right," Otis told her. "I know early Twentieth Century newspaper comics."

The hirsute guy ignored them and kept going. "So Johnny came up with the idea for a comic strip with a superhero promoting their fruit juice. Laid out the whole thing. Created all the characters, wrote the stories, drew the stories, everything. It was a huge hit. In no time, Shmumbers Juice was the leading brand again. Then the Shmumbers stole all the credit and swindled Johnny out of his royalties and his rightful place in comics history."

Otis looked up from his notepad. "That's a rather strong accusation."

"Yeah," Olympia nodded. "Is there any proof of any of this?"

"Sure." The expert reached into a pile of clutter near his chair and produced a large, beaten-up hardcover book. The agents read the title on the spine: JOHNNY BAILWICK, THE MAN WHO MADE THE GOLDEN AGE GOLDEN.

Setting down his food and wiping his hands on his shirt, the expert flipped open the book. It opened precisely on the page he was looking for. Clearly, it had been opened to that page quite often.

"There it is," he exclaimed in a triumphant mumble, pointing to a black and white drawing. "Johnny Bailwick's original design for the character who would become Shmumberman, drawn back in the early Forties before he even met Cumberland Shmumber. It got turned down back then. So he dug it out and adapted it for Shmumber."

They looked. "Doesn't look much like Shmumberman..."

"Yeah, well, they changed the character design after they stole him." The guy slurped his soda. "Course, he had a different name back then. His original name was The Silver Star Centurion. And he was powered by an energizing pill. This was way before fruit juice came into the picture."

"Mm-hmm," Otis made more notes while Olympia just looked confused.

"Bailwick sued for credit and a piece of the profits back in 1998. They settled out of court. But they added a byline to the character: 'Created By C. Shmumber and J. Bailwick.'"

Olympia blinked. "I have some of the old comics. I'm pretty sure that was there way before then."

"Sure." The man finished his sandwich. "That was from the lawsuit before then."

"I... What?"

"Lotta lawsuits." The man explained, gulping the last of his fries. "Bailwick filed a lot of lawsuits over the years. They finally agreed to a monthly payment so he'd stop causing trouble."

"Okay... Thanks," Otis told the man. "You've been very helpful."

"Johnny Bailwick got around."

"I'm sure he did," Olympia smiled politely.

"He was smart. Knew a lot of secrets. Knew about the alien cities on the moon years before NASA found 'em and hushed them up. Found out about that in his army days."

Olympia was about to ask but Otis restrained her. They edged toward the door.

"Then there were all the songs he wrote for The Beatles..." He started scratching. "Great. Every time I eat there." He indicated the discarded bag. "I just wish they wouldn't soak their food in pickle juice. I'm allergic to pickle juice. Makes me break out in hives."

Olympia asked before Otis could stop her, "Why do you get their food if it makes you sick?"

The guy shrugged. "Gotta own the libs, man."

Otis and Olympia continued toward the door.

"Yeah. Y'oughta talk to that Wendy Breise chick too. Her and her gal-pals're ruining comics."

"Is that so?" Olympia demanded. Otis restrained her.

"Yeah. About time Odd Squad put a stop to them."

"Well, thanks for your information," Otis propelled a livid Olympia out the door. "Goodbye."

She was still fuming as they headed for the tubes. "Who IS that guy?"

Otis shrugged. "Dunno. But he's given us a lot of good information..."

Olympia looked at him in disbelief.

"Not about Shmumberman. But if there's some sort of feud over who created the character, it might explain a few things."

#

And in another world...

Following the directions in its programming, the OSMU van plunged deep into the ocean depths, scattering a school of fish. They regrouped moments later after the van passed.

"Oh, MAN..." Omar was snapping pictures with his phone. "This is gonna look so COOL on my Oddstagram page..."

As they sailed over the ocean bed, bizarre, inexplicable and incredibly ancient ruins could be seen, decaying and covered with coral and sea stars, protruding at odd angles. Crustaceans and small octopuses, startled by the van's headlights, crawled over strange and mysterious hieroglyphics faded by millennia.

"It reminds me of the obelisks outside our village when I was but a child," Orla observed. "In retrospect, I suppose we should have taken better care of them..."

"Oh... My..." Oswald gasped. "That's a MAYAN PYRAMID! I mean, there are a couple of stylistic differences but that's basically a Mayan Pyramid!" He pressed his nose against the glass window, trying to get a closer look. "What's a Mayan Pyramid doing way down here?"

"RIGHT NOW, IT IS STANDING GUARD," Van Computer responded. Using its electronic systems, the computer transmitted a coded message to the Pyramid. In response, an enormous metal door concealed beneath the silt on the ocean floor slid open.

"OH my GOSH..." Osmerelda squealed. "It's the secret entrance to the Shmumber Sanctum, Shmumberman's private retreat and occasional meeting place of the Shmumber Squadron!"

Oswald glared at her, wrinkling his nose. "I knew that."

"WE ARE ENTERING THE SHMUMBER SANCTUM AIRLOCK," Van Computer told them as they passed through the metal doors which slid shut behind them. A moment later, the sea bubbled and churned as the water swallowed during their entrance was expelled back out through hidden vents.

Moments later, the van surfaced near a stone dock. Activating its jets, the van rose out of the water and hovered a moment, transforming back to its land-form before touching down on the dock. The agents climbed out to look around.

Omar was smiling and nodding. "Wow."

"The secret dock of the Shmumber Sanctum!" Osmerelda exclaimed. Then she made a face. "I didn't expect it to smell so musty..."

"The Shmumber Sanctum," Oswald whispered in awe. "Where Shmumberman comes to relax between cases." He turned to the others. "He has the Shmumber Cave too. But it's not as private."

"It is damp, it is crumbling, it is drafty and foreboding," Orla grinned. "I can see why he feels comfortable here."

Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice echoed through the room.

"POPPIN' PINEAPPLES! INTRUDERS!"

The four agents found themselves thrown backward by a sudden force and pinned helplessly against the side of the van.

They looked up to see a slender teen wearing a harness over a bare chest, silver shorts, black boots, and a finned helmet. He flew toward them using the rocket jets on either side of his belt. After landing, he pointed an arm covered with complex-looking machinery at them.

"Okay, kiddos!" The teen shouted. "Start flapping your gums! You've got two seconds to elucidate how you slid into the S-Man's private digs!"

#

And many miles away, back on the mainland, a disheveled man dozing on a couch cried out in his sleep.

"Vitriol! Vitriol!"

A ravishing woman in a skintight purple catsuit paused in the midst of chopping boards in half with her hands.

"What is it, Somnambulist?"

Still sound asleep, the man replied. "Odd Squad have become aware of our plot! Already, several of our allies have fallen to them!"

"What? How can mere children...?"

"Do not underestimate them, oh queen of poisons!" he warned. "They are small and cute but dangerously cunning! Already, several of our colleagues have been defeated! Unchecked, they could undo all our schemes!"

"Absurd! Impossible! Rubbish!"

"You know my dream-visions are never wrong! The whole lot of them must be disposed of! We can't take this sitting down!"

"Of course not! Sitting down is not an option for me! This outfit is way too tight!" She cast envious eyes on the man resting on his comfortable couch. "All I can do is strut about and perform malevolent acrobatics."

She karate-kicked an end table, then cartwheeled across the room.

"Very well," Vitriol brushed her hair back and struck a pose. "I shall deal with them myself!" She reached for a poison dart gun.

"Wait!" The Somnambulist shouted. "Olive and Otto are the most immediate threat! They have conquered The Spider Witch and are working on constructing another interdimensional transporter!" The villain smiled in his sleep. "But I know of them! And I know the perfect villain to destroy them!"

#

Unaware of the villains plotting to destroy them, Otto and Olive were in Professor Straw's lab trying to determine The Little O's possible location.

"Well, she said she'd just escaped a castle," Otto observed. "That should narrow it down. How many castles can there possibly be around here?"

Professor Straw looked up from her work. "This is a comic book. There are four within walking distance."

Otto sighed.

Then there was a loud BANG! and the door rattled.

On the other side of the door, a dopey, slightly muffled voice. "Awww, nuts!"

There was another BANG!.

"Oh gee WHIZ, this is sure hard, lemme tell ya! My poor old foot! Wow, I gotta wait a second before I do that again!"

"Um, excuse me," Olive addressed the person outside. "Are you trying to kick down the door?"

To her surprise, the voice answered. "Yep! Yeah, I sure am but I guess I ain't havin' any luck, lemme tell ya! Boy, they sure build doors tough nowadays, I gotta say that!"

Olive did a take.

The voice continued. "Y'know, I think I better get my inflatable chain-saw, y'know, so's I can cut my way in!"

Professor Straw gasped. "It's Vendetto The Clown!"

"Another villain?" Otto braced himself.

Olive listened to the stream of inane muttering audible through the door. "He seems pretty harmless..."

"Don't let him fool you!" Professor Straw warned them. "He may sound foolish but he's actually deadlier than a striking cobra!"

Olive and Otto exchanged looks.

"Yeah, got my inflatable chain saw right here... And I got my bicycle pump around here somewhere... Oh, here it is! Now I just gotta inflate it, you know, like..."

Otto and Olive had almost dismissed him completely when there was a whining roar and a sputter. A ferocious looking saw blade ripped through the wooden door.

"Yeah! There! That's more like it!"

Pieces of the door fell away as the absurdly dressed, white-faced, red-nosed, fright-wig wearing figure of Vendetto The Clown became visible between the shards of wood. He pushed the remnants of the door aside and forced his way in.

"A clown with a chain saw!" Otto wailed. "That's never a good thing..."

A bizarre little plastic chain saw that looked like a child's toy but clearly wasn't dangled from one of the clown's hands. But what was in his other hand made Olive freeze with fear.

It was a custard cream pie.

#

In the skies overhead, the Little O struggled to maneuver her glider away from the winged villain calling himself The Archaeopteryx. He kicked at her, the steely knives protruding from the toes of his boots slashing at her glider wings.

"Ah yes, my little white dove!" The Archaeopteryx gloated. "Now I've got you!"

The Little O was too busy to think of a rejoinder. She struggled to steer her damaged glider to safety.

She was so focused on that, she didn't notice the villain's scaly, plumed tail until it whipped at her, hitting her a glancing blow across the skull.

She spiraled down, landing hard on a rooftop.

The Archaeopteryx screeched in victory. Flapping his wings, he swooped down toward her, knives extended.

#

TO BE CONTINUED...