19 October 2009
Evan Help Us
~ Lord Likely and the Bloody Nuisance: Part Seven ~
For the previous chapter, do please click here.
“LOOKS LIKE I got here just in the nick of time, gentlemen,” Evan Hellsinger said, kicking aside the charred, molten remains of the late Doctor Whelkbladder. “Had I been a second late, this guy woulda been ripping your faces off and chowing down on your eyeballs.”
“Really,” I sighed, finding myself less-than-impressed by this brash, American ‘vampire slayer.’ “I think you will find we had the matter well in hand, sir.”
“Really?” smirked Hellsinger. “‘Cos it looked like you two were crappin’ your pants from where I was standin’.”
“How dare you sir!” I replied, my face reddening with rage.
“I must say, he really is rather spot-on. I am afraid I may well have soiled myself,” Inspector Spunkleford lamented, thus deftly puncturing any last vestige of dignity we may have had in the American’s eyes.
“Anyway, which one of you two is Lightly? Lord Lightly?” drawled our brash acquaintance.
“It’s Likely,” I replied through teeth so tightly gritted, I feared they may crack and splinter apart at any moment.
“Yeah?” answered Hellsinger. “It’s likely to be who, exactly?”
“LIKELY,” I repeated. “Lord LIKELY!”
“Ha! What a funny name! What’s your first name – Not Very? Haha! Not-Very Likely-To-Know-How-To-Defeat-Vampires?”
“Now listen here, you puffed-up, preening, prancing, poncey piss-pot, I – ”
“Hey, calm down, ya lordship! I’m jus’ kiddin’ with ya! Geez, you’re so tightly clenched it’s a wonder you can take a shit in the mornin’.”
“Why you…” I began, and then, deciding that words would be incredibly insufficient with which to express my great displeasure, I punched Hellsinger right in his perfectly-toothed mouth. Hellsinger recoiled, pausing to momentarily wipe a drop of blood from his broken lip, before charging back at me. And thus we found ourselves locked in a spectacularly vicious bout of fisticuffs, exchanging punches with all the frenzied fervour of two schoolboys swapping lewd pictographs in the playground.
“Stop, stop this at once!” barked Spunkleford, as Hellsinger and I crashed to the floor, blood streaming from both of our faces. “This is a police-station, gentlemen – we shall have no violence here!”
Hellsinger and I duly separated, cautiously eyeing one another in case the other should make a further attempt at violence.
“I gotta admit…you fight pretty good,” Hellsinger said, trying to stem the flow of blood gushing from his broken nose.
“You fight pretty well,” I corrected.
“Why thanks,” Hellsinger replied, my attempt at grammatical enlightenment soaring straight over his square head. “But listen, let’s get down to business, alright? I’ve been tracking these goddamn vampires across the goddamn globe, from Pennsylvania to Transylvania, and lots of other places in between that don’t fit with the ‘vania’ rhyme scheme. Anyway,” Hellsinger continued, lighting a big, fat cigar. “They came to London, England a few weeks ago, and suddenly – POOF!”
I paused at this unusual outburst. “You met a homosexual?”
“No, ‘poof!’ They vanished. Lost sight of ‘em…darned if I know where they went. So I’m snooping round the city – lovely place, by the way, so quaint! Everything’s so much smaller over here!”
“Not everything,” I interjected with a wry smile.
“So, yeah…I’m snooping around, trying to find these damn vamps, when I get wind that some fellah called Lord Likely is on the case too, hear talk that he’s gonna bring down the big bad guy…”
“Which I did,” I bristled, recalling my encounter with the now thoroughly re-dead Mr. Stryx.
“Uh-uh,” the American replied, shaking his head. “No you didn’t.”
“He was a pile of smouldering bones by the time I finished with him, sir – I’d say that was pretty ruddy dead, wouldn’t you?”
“Oh, you killed A vampire, no doubtin’ that sir. But you didn’t kill the head vamp. You see this guy?” Hellsinger indicated to Whelkbladder’s remains. “He wouldn’t have been tryin’ to snack on your Limey throats if you’d killed the head honcho. Once you defeat the boss, the curse is lifted, y’see? Nope, the main blood-sucker is still out there, y’lordship.”
“Bollocks,” I sighed. “That’s a bloody pain in the neck.”
“Ha! Frightfully witty, Likely!” snorted Spunkleford.
“Shut up,” I snapped. “So, Mr. Hellsinger, where might you suggest we go to find this fiend? Are we to track him to his imposing, Gothic castle in eastern Europe?”
“Who says it’s a he?” Hellsinger asked, drawing on his cigar.
“By Jove!” I exclaimed, grasping Spunkleford’s arm. “It could be Mrs. Spunkleford! She’s trying to bleed you dry with these divorce proceedings!”
“I…I think I’d have remembered if Agnes was prone to turning into a bat and flying off in the middle of the night to feast on people’s blood, Likely.”
“Never trust a woman, Spunkleford,” I warned.
“Relax, it ain’t this Spunkyflood woman. No, the dame we’re after goes by many names, but not that one. Sometimes she’s called Raven, sometimes Lilith, sometimes Helena, sometimes Mrs. Drinksblood…not very subtle, that one…”
“HELENA!” I cried. “Heavens, I almost forgot! I am to be married shortly!”
“Shortly?” exclaimed Spunkleford. “But ’tis nearly evening!”
“Yes, well, Helena wanted us to get wed rather promptly. Said something about a lovely moon-lit ceremony, as I recall. Anyway, I’d best be off, chaps – I can’t be late for my own wedding!!”
I got up and strode out of the room, whistling as I went. Before long, however, I was back, something niggling away at the back of my mind.
“This Helena you mentioned, Hellsinger,” I said, as I walked back into the room. “She…she is the same Helena as the one I am to wed, isn’t she?”
Hellsinger nodded in agreement.
“So she is, in fact, a vampire, is she not?”
“And so…we are going to have to kill her.”
“Yup,” Hellsinger confirmed, pulling a large, wooden box out of his bag. He flipped open the lid, to reveal a veritable smorgasbord of vampire-slaying instruments. “Luckily, I came prepared,” Hellsinger winked.
“Bugger,” I said. “‘Tis a terrible shame. She had the most fantastic tits, you know.”
- Lord Likely.
Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Wedding HELLS!
AN ANNOUNCEMENT! My scribe (Mr. A.D Fanton) and I would like to express our deepest gratitude to all of you who donated to our emergency appeal last week. Mr. Fanton ran into some financial difficulties, but thanks to our loyal and terribly generous readers, he was swiftly helped out of his predicament! HUZZAH! Special thanks must be given to dear MeiLin Miranda, Irk and Char of The Peacock King and the wonderful community at weblit.us – you are all truly marvellous souls, so thank you muchly!
And thank YOU too, dear, shilling-spending reader! I shall invite you all to my Member’s Lounge soon, and promise to repay you all with bigger and better adventures than e’er before – no mean feat, considering how spectacular they are already!
If anyone else wishes to help out with our sorry state of affairs, feel free to go HITHER to read how you might support this web-site, or simply click the button below to fling a farthing or two this way. It is all gratefully appreciated, and we simply cannot continue without you!