19 January 2009
Lord Likely and the Cake of Doom
Previously in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: His lordship, hot on the trail of a villainous bootblack who had been severing the feet of his customers, tracked down the cad in question and, through an ingenious use of origami, forced the bounder to confess to his crimes. However, the bootblack then surprised Likely by revealing that he had not been acting alone, and was in fact working for Mrs. Bapps the baker, who was using the feet as a special ingredient in her baked goods. Is the bootblack telling the truth? Is Mrs. Bapps really so twisted? And where the ruddy hell is Botter?
Read on, dear readers…
“YOU had better not be lying to me, Swishbuckle,” I growled, training the blade of my origami cutlass at the bootblack’s neck. “Or next time, I shall bring a real cutlass and slice off your balls, and force feed them down your awful throat.”
“I ain’t lying, sir! Honest! Mrs. Bapps is deranged, sir! She’s a sick and twisted individual!”
“Hmmm,” I said, lowering my paper sword. “So what is in this for you, Swishbuckle? Why are you working for Mrs. Bapps?”
Mr. Swishbuckle lowered his head meekly. “She…she lets me keep the shoes, sir.”
“What?”
“I…I love shoes, sir. I mean…I really love shoes, if you get my meaning…”
I paused a moment to try and get Mr. Swishbuckle’s meaning, and then got it, and instantly regretted getting it.
“Are you trying to tell me that you are a shoe-fucker, Swishbuckle?”
Mr. Swishbuckle nodded slowly. “Aye, sir. I…I cannot help myself, sir. That is why I became a bootblack. I just love shoes. I love the smell of the leather, the feel of their tongues against my skin…”
“Good God, man!” I exclaimed. “And you claim Mrs. Bapps is the sick and twisted one? Talking of which, I had better go and pay Mrs. Bapps a visit, I feel. I shall deal with you later, Swishbuckle….Swishbuckle?”
I looked down to see Mr. Swishbuckle gently licking the top of my boot, his hands straying perilously close to his groin.
“Argh! Shoo, shoo!” I cried.
“That’s it, sir!” the bastard bootblack panted. “Keep talking dirty!”
“Gah! Get away, your depraved hound!” I yelled, kicking Mr. Swishbuckle square in the mouth, dislodging a couple of teeth in the process. The swine thus subdued, I made a hasty exit.
There are some truly disgusting perverts out there, you know.
I STRODE into Mrs. Bapps’ bakery once more, my heroic return rather diminished somewhat by the cheery tring of the shop’s bell. Mrs. Bapps looked up and flashed a rather saucy smile at me, which almost made me want to bend her over the counter and roger her senseless. But, somehow, my sense of justice prevailed.
“Mrs. Bapps! The game is up, you sexy fiend!”
“Game? What game?” asked another voice. I turned around to find Inspector Spunkleford innocently chomping on a sandwich, containing a mystery meat which I could only assume to be the flesh from some poor swine’s feet.
“Inspector, this woman is a lunatic, and has been using the hacked-off feet of the bootblack’s victims in her baked goods!”
“Really?” said Spunkleford, taking another bite from his sandwich.
“Really,” I repeated.
“Good heavens!” Spunkleford gasped, still chewing upon his food. I watched patiently as my grizzly news was processed by Spunkleford’s rather sluggish brain. His eyes widened in horror. “Then that means…”
I nodded. Spunkleford grimaced, then spun around and proceeded to be violently sick all over a nearby table. I left Spunkleford to empty the contents of his stomach in peace, while I went to apprehend Mrs. Bapps.
“As for you, m’dear,” I said, as Mrs. Bapps continued about her work. “I am afraid you shall have to accompany me to the police-station…”
“And what if I refuse?” purred Mrs. Bapps.
“Then I shall have to take you by force!”
“I rather like the sound of that,” whispered Mrs. Bapps.
“Fine!” I snapped striding back over to Spunkleford who had, by now, managed to regain his composure. “Spunkleford, your handcuffs, if I may.”
Spunkleford nodded and groggily handed me the handcuffs. I muttered a ‘thank you’ and marched back over to Mrs. Bapps.
“That’s it, Likely! Handcuff that harlot at once!” Spunkleford cheered as he watched me go about my duty. “Yes, yes, chain her to the stove – capital idea! Oh yes, you had better frisk her as well, check she has no weapons about her person, eh? Good show! Yes…yes…I must say, you are doing a rather thorough job there, Likely….Good God, man! I don’t think she will be hiding any weapons up there! My word! Now what are you doing? Is that your pistol you have taken out of your trousers, there? Wait a moment! That is not a pistol at all! Why, that’s your…goddammit, Likely! Stop that! Don’t put it in there! Stop it! Stop it at once!”
Naturally, I ignored Spunkleford’s demands and continued thrusting wildly at Mrs. Bapps’ hindquarters, until I came to an explosive climax which nearly wrenched the very stove from the wall. Thus relieved, I was able to think with a slightly clearer mind, and could refocus on the case in hand.
“Right then, my dear, while you are manacled to the stove in such a fashion, I think you might be able to answer some questions pertaining to the…great big knockers!“
“Sorry?”
“This cake!” I continued, pointing out a cake which was cooling on a tray on the counter beside me. “It looks exactly like a pair of breasts!”
“Oh, yes,” said Mrs. Bapps. “I made it for you, your lordship. Thought you might like it! Go on, have a taste! I promise there are no feet in that particular cake.”
“Hmmm…I shall just have a nipple,” I answered, breaking off a piece and putting it in my mouth. “Mmmm. yes, very delicious indeeed, I must say. Now, where was I? Ah, yes, your crrrrime. Crime. Oh my, I do feel peculiar…” I said, as my vision began to blur.
“Oh, silly me,” Mrs. Bapps smiled. “I forgot to tell you! While there are indeed no feet in that cake, there were rather a lot of sleeping pills baked into it. How stupid of me! It must have slipped my mind, sir…”
“You whorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-” I began, before I completely blacked out, and crashed to the floor.
- Lord Likely.
What Should Lord Likely Do Now?
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Toodle-pip!
