Baron Zemo's Lair. - The Journal of Sir Mumphrey Wilton, Extract Four: In which a very odd chappie renders his assistance but I end up with a headache all the same

Baron Zemo's Lair

The Journal of Sir Mumphrey Wilton, Extract Four: In which a very odd chappie renders his assistance but I end up with a headache all the same
Tuesday, 24-Aug-1999 14:05:43
195.92.194.42 writes:

The Journal of Sir Mumphrey Wilton, Extract Four
In which a very odd chappie renders his assistance but I end up with a headache all the same

Most perplexing fellow, Xander the Improbable. Best way to describe him is as sort of fairly young but dusty, innocently cunning, and irritatingly useful. Sort of chap one would prefer on the team, but preferably somewhere in front where once can keep an eye on him.
The mysterious cove appeared to me back in New Orleans, where I was puzzling over the helix-shaped amulet worn by the vampire that had attacked to prevent us learning about Leonard Hopkins. Hopkins was the fellow who patented but clearly didn’t understand some ionic device two decades ago, the gadget which Zemo and the Yakusa seem so keen to get their hands on. “Looks like you have some twisted strands before you,” were the odd little codger’s first words. Not sure if he was talking about the situation or the amulet’s design.
Well, a fellow doesn’t like to be interrupted over his cocoa without so much as a by your leave, but common courtesy compelled me to offer this Xander a mug. Got chatting. Turns out he’s a ‘master of the mystic crafts’. Asked if that was a bit like a mason. Tried making winking gestures whilst rolling my trouser-leg but couldn’t catch him like that. Eventually got so baffled asked him for quick Xander factsheet.
Anyway, Xander opens up plumbers bag, carefully balances stone carved into hamster shape on pile of books he unpacks, then produces small jeweller’s eyepiece. Invites me to examine amulet through it – and blow me down if it isn’t made up of teeny-tiny circuitry. Dashed odd for a vampire to have as decoration, I comment. Yes, says Xander, except that this is (must check note made on Times margin to get this right) psycho-interactive circuitry enhanced to interface with a necromantic psionic signature. Wade through ten minutes more of cryptic hints but keep playing the baffled Watson to his Holmes until he gives in and explains the whole thing. Usually works with these clever chaps if you keep it up long enough.
Seems that this amulet is a little device which plants suggestions in the sleeping mind of its wearer – suggestion number one presumably being to keep this little amulet handy. Somebody’s enhanced this one so it works even on an undead mind. So it seems as though the vampire that came after Ms Waltz and her party was actually having its strings pulled by someone else.
Xander suggested departure to another continent before the someone else turned up. I asked where. So here we are in Australia.
Been to Australia before of course. Used to pop out fairly regularly once upon a time back when England had a cricket team, as opposed to those namby-pamby nancies that couldn’t hit a wicket if they were three feet away with a bowling ball who call themselves the England team nowadays. Must write another stiff letter to the board of selectors. Last decent player was Truman, and since then the game’s gone to the dogs. Don’t even wear proper whites these days. Next it’ll be cheerleaders and body armour, you mark my words. And don’t get me started on the bodyline issue!
Where was I? Oh yes, the Antipodes. Having been there before I know a little bit of the native lingo. I’ve lifted a sollicker nobbler or two to prove I’m no jackaroo in the woop-woop. Strangely, Xander hides behind trees every time I demonstrate my understanding of the local lingo.
Asked the fellow why of all the continents to choose from we should go for one with the longest flight time. He tells me that it’s imperative we get to some place called Uluru because it’s the very best dreamtime interface and we’re going to need that if we want to deal with what’s behind the amulet. Also hands me bill for consultation so far. In actual fact, however, we didn’t end up at this Uluru place but at a big lump of stone in the outback called Ayers Rock. And dash it all if having made it all the way to Australia having to charter a private jet and everything if this Xander chappie doesn’t just pull a little straw hat from his red academic rig, pull it down over his eyes, and go to sleep in the shade, right up there on the big rock.
Still, it was very pleasant out there out of the direct sun. There are plenty of crevices and hollows where a chap can settle down and read a good book, so I dug out The Barchester Chronicles and spent a bit of quality time with old Septimus Harding. Before I know it I was dozing as well.
Most unpleasant dream. Madge’s funeral. Felicity howling, Roland blubbering, Felicity’s pointless husband delicately testing to see if I’m ready to liquidate the company and share out the cash. And Madge in that box, except not really being there because none of the spark and the energy and the love were in that lump of old lifeless flesh. And I hear something scratching inside the box so I go over and brace myself and lift the casket lid and there are hundreds of albino rats crawling all over Madge and then they swarm out and go for me.
These last few days I’ve fallen back into old habits. I reached for the pocketwatch, but true to the period of the nightmare I didn’t have it, it was still locked away far from the chapel of rest. I tried my best to pull off the dratted rodents but there were so many of them. I was struggling on the floor when I saw Felicity and Roland and What’s-his-name all coming towards me. My expectations that they were going to help me came to naught when they all pulled long nasty knives and started to slash at me. Then Madge’s corpse sat up and grinned a ghastly smile, co-ordinating my destruction.
Except the nightmare had gone too far. Madge wasn’t like that, never could be. Nothing could corrupt her that way, not the devil himself. And suddenly it seemed all a bit… unreal.
“Think you might have dropped this,” Xander said to me, appearing in the way that people do in dreams, handing me my pocketwatch. Without thinking I dialled in a chronal acceleration and aged the rats to death. What’s-his-name hacked at me with a knife so I dinged him one on the nose and he crumpled like the little weed he is. Couldn’t bear the thought of hitting Felicity or Roland so I just stopped time around them while I dealt with the real problem.
Once I’d time to think it was pretty clear that the corpse in the dream was co-ordinating things. As I approached it, it dropped it’s illusions and became this nasty nightmare creature, as malevolent a blighter as I have encountered in all my born days.
“Ah, it’s the Dream Demon,” Xander muttered behind me. “A minor minion of Baron Zemo’s.”
“Minor?” the creature hissed, orienting on the little fellow in the red gown. “Petty mage, you shall die along with your charge.”
Well I was pretty miffed by now. I’m a bit sensitive about Madge at the best of times and this fellow had been an utter bounder in dredging up a nasty nightmare like this. I was reasoning by now that this was a dream, so I concentrated hard to get what I needed.
The Dream Demon was stalking towards Xander. “Any last words?” it snarled as it cornered him.
“How about, ‘We’ve harnessed the power of dreamtime so that Sir Mumphrey here can actually harm you if his will’s strong enough’?” Xander suggested.
That was when I let the Dream Demon have it with both barrels. If you’re imagining a sawn off shotgun, might as well make it double barrelled, don’t you think? The beastie screeched and went all to pieces then – quite literally. In fact Xander grabbed a fragment and stuffed it in a jam-jar ‘for later’. “Take a little while for him to re-form,” the mage shrugged. “You appear to be going through Heinrich’s entire villain catalogue. Keep an eye out for Membrain.” Then he snapped his fingers and we woke up. There was this foul-smelling black ooze all over the rocks near us.
Anyway, all of that solved the little mystery about who the vampire and zombies were enslaved to, and it was rather jolly to see a dark-hearted sadist treated to two barrels of best buckshot. Due to travel to Hong Kong tomorrow to pick up some rare bit or other that young Jaimie Bautista needs in building this whatchamacallit that was on Hopkins’ plans, and Ms Waltz had kindly arranged for me to have a couple of guides who might be able to negotiate with the Yakusa if things turn nasty in their backyard. Meeting a Mr Visionary and a Mr Yo at Hong Kong International Airport at 11.15 local time.
Almost reluctant to get to sleep tonight after my earlier experience, but Xander tells me the Dream Demon won’t be coming back for quite a while, and never after me again. Perhaps I’ll dream about Madge as I sometimes do, in that white dress, laughing in the big meadow at the back of the house, my Madge. It’s worth having nightmares sometimes if they’re the price we pay for having dreams.

Same thing with the hampster amendment; profoundest apologies from Mumphrey