Part 8 (1/2)

'If the Pirate Captain had a theme, how do you think it would go?' said the albino pirate.

'Oh, it would be lilting,' said the pirate in green, 'but at the same time have drums and things, because you'd have to show his myriad depths.'

'This is definitely our most cultural adventure yet,' said the pirate with gout.

'Right, tell us what's going on, you rogue, or I'll slice your gizzard open,' said the Pirate Captain, deciding to take the more direct approach, and waggling his cutla.s.s at Wagner's wilful chin. 'Bear in mind that I don't even know what a gizzard is so it would be a pretty messy exercise while I tried to find out.' The Captain did his best piratical glower. 'We were discussing the subject earlier, and Marx still thinks this is all something to do with his beard; whereas I'm convinced you're his long-lost brother gone evil. So which is it?'

Wagner sighed. 'Please, Pirate Captain, I am an innocent party in all of this. You must believe me. There is something unnatural here. I am beset by a demon! Something not of this world.'

'Piffle!' exclaimed Marx. 'You're not scaring us off with ghost stories.'

Wagner looked miserably at his shoes. 'It all started some months ago,' he explained. 'I received a strange anonymous letter from somebody who claimed to be my biggest fan. He offered to become my benefactor. At first I was delighted. He asked for a private box at wherever we should be touring to, but nothing more. I thought it was maybe a little odd that he would only communicate by leaving me notes, but I didn't pay it too much mind I simply a.s.sumed he wanted to preserve his anonymity. But the notes became more and more demanding. He brought in his own staff. He wanted changes made to my work. The truth is, I've grown tired of goblins and magic swords. It all seems rather childish now. My real ambition is to write light-hearted comedies, ones where people fall out of cupboards and vicars are always coming round for tea at awkward moments. But he was having none of it. And I fear that now my whole opera is being used for devilish purposes.'

'So you've never even seen this benefactor of yours?'

'Just once. But it was dark.' Wagner looked momentarily terrified. 'And he had such a countenance as I cannot describe.'

'A countenance like a wolf?' suggested Marx.

'No, not really like a wolf.'

'A countenance like a zombie?' suggested Jennifer.

'No, not much like a zombie either.'

'A countenance like a fish?' suggested the Pirate Captain.

'Well, s.h.i.+ny like a fish. So, yes, that's probably closest. But bigger, a veritable giant. And shrouded in smoke, with the glowing eyes of a demon. That's not just me using poetic language, he really looked like that.'

They stopped outside the entrance to an opera box. 'Here it is,' said Wagner, dabbing some sweat from his temple with a handkerchief. 'The phantom's secret box.'

'You know,' said the Captain, 'I keep a box in my office onboard the pirate boat. I wrote ”Top Secret!” on the side, and I warn the men to never go near it. In actual fact, all that's in the thing is a pepper pot I made at school and a couple of nice pebbles I found on Brighton beach. But it drives the lads crazy. This glowing-eyed demon fellow is probably up to the same thing, but on a slightly bigger scale. Trying to give himself an enigmatic air of mystery.'

'I suppose that might be all there is to it,' said Wagner doubtfully. He looked at his pocket watch and gasped. 'I must return to the performance, or he will know something is amiss.' He cast a desperate gaze at the Pirate Captain. 'Do you think you can rid me of this demon?'

'Well, as something of an expert on this kind of phenomena, I have to say it all depends on the type of demon,' said the Captain, with a shrug. 'For instance, if it turns out that the opera house was built on the sight of an old Indian burial ground, then that could spell trouble. They're the worst kind of ghostly phantasm, Red Indians, because when they kill you they don't let any part of your anatomy go to waste, on account of them caring so much about their environment. I don't fancy eldritch spirits using my hands as bookends or something. But we'll do our best.'

Wagner shook his hand gratefully, bowed to Marx and Jennifer and then hared off down the corridor.

The trio crept inside. It was quite cluttered for an opera box there was a wardrobe, and a table, and piles of books, as if somebody very untidy had been living there. It certainly lacked a woman's touch. Some flickering candles cast spooky shadows across the walls, which were made even more spooky by the Pirate Captain doing shadow shapes of dinosaurs with his hands.

'That's really not helping,' said Jennifer.

'Sorry. Bit on the creepy side, all this.'

'You don't actually believe the culprit to be some kind of beast from the netherworld?' asked Marx. 'It's balderdash. Superst.i.tious mumbo-jumbo. There's no such thing as giant glowering-eyed demons. What Wagner saw was probably just a trick of the light, or a weather balloon.'

'Well, talking about it isn't going to help,' said Jennifer briskly. 'We should search for clues.'

'Yes, I suppose you're right,' said Marx, looking around. He frowned. 'What does a clue look like?'

'Hard to say. That's the trouble with clues. They can be all sorts. Hastily scrawled notes. A tell-tale piece of fabric left on a rusty nail. In this case it's probably a file marked top secret, or some sort of plan.'

'Where would you keep a plan?' asked Marx, still at a bit of a loss.

'Probably in a special drawer, or a nice new lever-arch file, something like that. We once had an adventure with a city council who wanted to build over protected fenland, and their plan was tattooed on the backs of a pair of twins who had been separated at birth.'

'Have you found any twins who have been separated at birth yet?' said Marx hopefully.

'Not yet,' said the Pirate Captain.

'A secret diary would be good too. They're a fantastic source of clues. Except of course you shouldn't really read other people's diaries, because it's extremely impolite.'

All of a sudden Marx froze. 'Look there!' he hissed, the blood draining from his face. 'There's somebody watching us from that wardrobe!'

He pointed to the corner of the opera box where a huge wooden wardrobe stood, its door slightly ajar. In the gloom it was just possible to see a pair of gimlet eyes peering out at them.

'What are they doing?' asked Jennifer.

'They're just . . . staring. Staring with cold, dead eyes,' whispered Marx.

'Psychotic eyes! The kind of eyes that wouldn't blink as they sliced you open!' added the Pirate Captain, ducking behind him.

'Oh, for goodness' sakes!' said Jennifer. She pushed past them, marched up to the wardrobe door and smartly yanked the door open. 'Get out of there,' she commanded.

The Crowned Head of Spain fell out on to the floor with a waxy thud.

'Aha,' said Marx, wiping his brow in relief. 'So that's what's happened to the waxworks.' Sure enough, the wardrobe was piled high with all the stolen crowned heads of Europe.

'Well done, Jennifer,' said the Pirate Captain, trying to make it look like he'd actually been tying his shoelace rather than ducking in fright. 'That was admirably feisty.'

'Not really,' said Jennifer, giving him a bit of a look. 'I've spent enough time on the pirate boat to get used to dealing with peeping Toms.'

The Pirate Captain stared guiltily at the floor, whistled a little tune and went back to busying himself with fascinating clue-hunting.

'How about this?' Marx indicated a big model town sat atop a desk. 'Do you think this could be a clue?'

'Yes, that's almost certainly a clue, though I'm not sure what it means,' said Jennifer.

'Oh, this is brilliant,' said the Pirate Captain happily. 'You see, this is what I like about those villainous ne'er-do-well types. They always have stuff like this. Before I was going to be a pirate, I was going to be an architect. Mainly because I really, really like these kinds of models. I wonder if it lights up? Oh, look! They've even done little people doing marches. Fantastic.'

'If you stand right next to it, it makes you look enormous!' grinned Marx.

'I'm King Kong!' said the Pirate Captain.

'I'm Gulliver!' said Marx.