Giggleswick: The Docket of Deceit (Book 2): Giggleswick, #2

It was that time of year again. Time to keep up with the times as Wally Noodle liked to call it. He hopped from the little boat affectionately named Olive Juice and landed squarely upon a wooden dock. His traveling companion and sea captain, Lefty Scrum, then cut off the noisy engine and tossed Wally a rope with which to secure the boat to a nearby post.

What d’ya call this place again? asked Wally politely. It was a foggy, overcast morning, and he had to squint to make out the surrounding boat masts and church steeples poking through the mist.

The map says Newport, Rhode Island, Lefty grunted, although Lefty’s voice was so deep and booming that nearly everything he ever said came out as a grunt. Was shootin’ fer Maine, but the storm blew us a bit off course.

The previous night had involved a storm of biblical proportions across the Atlantic. Wally had taken shelter under a large blanket and clung for dear life to the sides of the boat with his slippery fingers. Adding to his discomfort, Lefty’s bird, a blue parrot named Evol, had joined him under the blanket, digging his sharp claws into Wally’s shoulder while squawking things like Holy Giggleswick! and My poor feathers! every time the boat was tossed about by a rogue wave or rattled by a crack of thunder.

Evol was an unusually verbose parrot, but his exclamations came as no surprise to Wally, nor to Lefty. In fact, he was rather well known throughout Giggleswick for his lovely singing voice, which had opened many a parade with the Giggleswickian national anthem and had graced many a wedding with love songs and of course Ave Maria. But he was perhaps most noted for his slow ballads on country and western nights at the Sappy Maple pub in town, and it was widely acknowledged that no man or bird had ever sung Danny Boy with greater conviction.

Now, rubbing his sore shoulder, Wally remembered the last time he’d heard Evol sing that particular song — it’d been a few weeks prior at a memorial service for two men who’d been lost at sea. This was putting it kindly, however. Surely, many much nicer people had gotten themselves lost at sea before. In reality, George Detweiler and Martin Fenderbang (otherwise known as Killer) had tried to steal a very important map, one that could have endangered Giggleswick and its citizens forever if it had found its way into the wrong hands. Had it not been for Wally’s daughter, Eliza, and her best friend Elliot Bisby’s quick detective work, George and Killer might have gotten away with it too. At the last minute, the Offices of Tranquility had swapped the real map for a fake one called The Amadán Map, and the real map was destroyed before any harm could come from it. But by then, George and Killer had made off thinking they’d had the real map all along, and, as with anyone who’d tried to navigate the enormous wall of fog that encircled Giggleswick, they were now most certainly dead. Alas!

Shame about poor old Agnes, isn’t it? said Wally conversationally, walking alongside his much taller friend as they made their way off the dock and into town. Was never quite right to begin with, poor thing, but now in light of George’s betrayal … well, one can only imagine.

Ayuh, said Lefty in agreement. Suppose the school’ll be needin’ a new drama teacher now, what with ’er being in the loony bin and all.

Come now, Lefty, we mustn’t be insensitive, Wally chided. She may not have been the most pleasant woman ever — heaven knows the only person she ever smiled upon was George — but after all, her son and only living relation turned traitor for Basil Donovan! I’d be dribbling applesauce down my chin at the Sissiboo Center too!

To be sure, it was George’s betrayal that had driven his mother to madness, and she now spent her days in the Sissiboo Center for Serious Sickness and Acne Treatment, poking nurses with her walking stick and holding entire conversations with dead actors whom she claimed often visited to thank her for all the drama lessons she’d given them years ago. Allegedly, the night of her son’s memorial service, Bing Crosby came to offer his well-wishes and then promptly helped himself to her Beef Wellington before she’d even gotten to take a bite. The nurses had been rather understanding under the circumstances, however, and had brought her a new dinner tray, despite the tell-tale signs of steak sauce down her nightgown.

Perhaps this year’s Perfect Person will be particularly prone to dramatics, said Wally, giggling in afterthought at his unintentional alliteration.

Lefty was unamused but nodded in agreement.

Somebody has to fill the position of drama teacher, Wally continued, so we might as well kill two birds with one feather as the Americans say.

Evol squawked indignantly and flew off for a day of sightseeing, and Lefty squinted and scratched his chin, which was covered with its usual patch of salt and pepper stubble. He was almost certain the Americans never said such an insensible thing, but there was rarely any use in arguing Americanisms with Wally, for he rather fancied himself an expert.

What’s that building up ahead? The one with all the bright flashing lightbulbs? asked Wally, pointing.

It was a moment or two before they got close enough to read the sign, and then Lefty muttered, The Port Royal Theater.

Splendid! cried Wally, quickening his step. We’ll start there. We’re sure to find someone who knows a thing or two about drama.

If there wasn’t any drama in the Port Royal Theater before Wally interrupted a rehearsal of The Boyfriend, there surely was afterwards. The gentleman running the rehearsal bent over the end of the stage to glower at Wally, who’d politely tapped on a music stand with a pencil so as to be noticed standing in the darkened theater.

The actors appeared relieved at this momentary lapse in procedure and scrambled to locate their scripts, at once rehearsing lines under their breath and wildly flipping pages. However, the stage lights shone down upon the long hooked nose and thick dark eyebrows of the director, who did not look as though he found the interruption the least bit advantageous.

After a period of uncomfortable silence, the man gave a grunt which may or may not have been followed by a question mark.

"Ehem, yes, well, I’d like to make an inquiry, Wally began, clearing his throat more times than was necessary for proper elocution. I wonder, sir … might you have any particularly dramatic persons about you?"

The director made a sucking noise through his teeth. Who’s askin’? he spat, his eyebrows pinched together in a look of suspicion.

Wally scowled. It seemed to him an overly nosy question, but he answered nevertheless. "Somebody in need of one," he replied stiffly. He wasn’t about to tell the man what he and Lefty were really up to. He was certain America must have its own centers for seriously sick people, and he didn’t fancy applesauce and Beef Wellington for dinner.

Lefty saw it coming and grabbed Wally by the arm — a thick script, flying through the air straight for Wally’s head.

AAAAHHHH!!! shouted the director, grabbing at his hair. If just ONE more idiot interrupts my rehearsal— he threatened, and he spun on his heels to face the group of now frightened looking thespians huddled together upon the stage.

Lefty hurried Wally out of the theater and through the door, sending him tumbling onto the sidewalk.

How RUDE! bellowed Wally, uprighting himself and straightening his bow tie.

Lefty groaned. Perhaps a more subtle approach next time, he suggested.

Wally shot him a dirty look. Come along! he barked, and he began marching up the street and away from the theater. Under his breath, he could be heard grumbling, "Never in all my life! Not what we’re looking for at all … not at all what we’re looking for," and other such variations.

Lefty paid him no mind and merely whistled tunefully as he followed the lead. For several blocks, his whistling was all that could be heard besides the occasional roar of a motor vehicle passing them along the windy streets. Then, suddenly, another melody met their ears.

"Ah-ah-ahhhh, ah-ah-ahhhhh, ah-ah-ahh-ahh, ah-ah-ahhhh," came the sound, floating through the air like a warm breeze. It was a voice — quite fair, and rather lovely.

Wally whipped his head around and eyed Lefty from head to toe. Was that you? he snapped, still a bit ill-tempered from his run-in with the theater director.

You bloody well know it wasn’t! Lefty stammered. "That there was a lady, plain as day."

Well, I just thought maybe—

Shhh! Lefty hissed. There she goes again! he said, bending his ear to the right where a door on the side of a little brownstone building stood ajar.

It’s coming from in there! said Wally.

They inched their way slowly toward the door, finally poking their heads one atop the other through the crack. It was an auditorium, and the voice was coming from a pretty red-headed girl on the stage dressed as a mermaid. What looked to be another dozen or so children were scattered around her wearing boldly colored costumes of various sea creatures. One rather large child was even clad in an awfully menacing octopus outfit. There were blue streamers hanging from every solid surface and paper mâché rocks dotting the stage.

Wally and Lefty found themselves in a trance until the mermaid’s voice was silenced by the sound of clapping somewhere offstage. But it wasn’t the sort of clapping heard during applause, rather the sort used to gain attention.

No no no, my dear, said a chipper voice, and a figure stepped out of a shadowy corner and joined the girl on stage. He was a thin man with floppy limbs and a pouf of wavy blond hair. Every surface of his body was reflective, from his shiny brown loafers to his sunny yellow shirt and equally sunny tie, and to his dazzling set of pearly white teeth. He sat very primly down beside the girl on her rock and took a dinner fork from her hand. She’d been running it through her hair like a comb while she sang, but apparently not to the man’s liking. More like this, darling, he said, and he ran the fork through a lock of his own hair with a graceful flourish and a girlish giggle. See? He handed her back the fork. Give it another go, love.

The girl sang her pretty melody once again and was significantly more dramatic in twirling her hair with the fork, much to the teacher’s pleasure and sizable enthusiasm. He burst into applause as soon as she’d finished.

Well done! Well done! Wasn’t she fabulous, children?! he beamed, still clapping sporadically when the mood struck him.

There was some murmuring from the other cast members, but nothing to match the teacher’s buoyancy. He bounded up onto the stage once more, herding the sea creatures into a different formation.

Okay, kids, who wants to sing ‘Under the Sea’ one more time before we go?! he shouted gleefully, humming the opening bars of the song as he flitted back off the stage. Ignoring the ho-hum response from his students, he snapped his fingers together and cried A-one, a-two, a-one, two, three, four! and threw his hands up into the air, eliciting a slightly delayed and somewhat underwhelming rendition of the Disney classic.

It appeared nothing could deflate his spirit — not the mermaid getting the fork stuck in her hair, nor the flounder repeatedly hitting one of the lobsters over the head with a thingamabob.

Then, after a quick glance at his watch, the teacher called out, That’s all for now, children! Peace out! and he wiggled his fingers at the students as they grabbed their knapsacks and practically dashed for the exit.

Wally was very impressed, as was Lefty when Wally told him he ought to be. "This just may be the quickest we’ve ever found the Perfect Person yet! said Wally, slipping through the door of the auditorium and beckoning Lefty to follow. Of course we’ll never be able to top finding the Bisbys last year! Got lucky there, didn’t we? Lovely people, but we were days looking for them … This fellow, though — I think he may be just what we’re looking for! He’d make a wonderful new drama teacher, don’t you think? Hurry along, now! I want to catch him before he can disappear."

Lefty clenched his fists and muttered something inaudible, but trudged along behind.

… and don’t go saying anything that might put him off, Wally continued. "I’ll never forget the year you offended that poor organ grinder with your joke about the monkey who swallowed a squeeze-box. I mean, really!"

How was I supposed ter know ’e’d—

Oh, that’s enough of that! Wally interjected. I say, man, you do go on at times …

Lefty seethed. I beg your—

But what exactly he was about to beg was quickly dismissed as Wally had just spotted the teacher up on the stage tossing various maracas, finger cymbals, and tambourines into a box labeled Mr. C’s Musical Menagerie. Please don’t touch!

Hello there! Um, HELLO! cried Wally genially with an outstretched hand.

The acquaintance that ensued in the following minutes was with that of a Mr. D. W. Clappers of West Warwick, Rhode Island, though the gentleman in question had immediately insisted upon Wally and Lefty using his first name, Derek.

Not only was it the quickest they’d ever found the Perfect Person (they’d only been looking for a little over an hour!), but it was also the quickest they’d ever gotten a yes from a perspective Perfect Person too. Wally couldn’t believe their luck. Derek Clappers was not in the least alarmed by the invitation to Giggleswick — an otherwise unheard-of, undiscovered nation — and he even eluded to having felt all his life that he was destined for something quite exactly as such. Wally’d had only to agree to Derek’s being given the title of Senior Director of Performing Arts, and the matter was settled.

But what about the show yer puttin’ on? asked Lefty. The Tiny Mermaid, or whatever it’s called.

Little, corrected Derek kindly. "The Little Mermaid."

Yeah, what about ’er? Won’t yeh be lettin’ folks down if yeh leave now? said Lefty, ignoring the shooting pain in his foot when Wally stomped on his toes.

Not at all, my dear gentlemen! sang Derek. Not at all. What you see here is the children’s summer theater, and tonight is our very last performance of the season! Your timing is impeccable! That is, as long as you don’t mind waiting till the morning to leave for this uh—Gigglespick.

—’wick, Wally corrected.

Derek grinned happily, and a whirly titter escaped his lips. How quaint!

We won’t mind at all, will we, Lefty? said Wally.

Well—

And we’ll even come to the show, won’t we?! he added.

But—

"Lefty just loves the theater, said Wally. Don’t you, Lefty? But I’m sure he can manage to contain his excitement till this evening. We’ll be off then! You must have loads to do, and of course you’ll have to pack—"

OUCH! yelped Wally as Lefty began dragging him by the arm out of the building. Lefty waved only half politely to Derek with one hand while Wally tried rather unsuccessfully to wriggle free from the other.

Unhand me, you fool! cried Wally in anguish once Derek was no longer within earshot. Lefty then released his grip, and once again Wally was sent tumbling onto the sidewalk where he landed atop a bundle of newspapers just outside a little tea shop. I’ll have you know this vest is pure lambswool! I won’t have you manhandling — wait, what ARE you doing?!

Lefty wasn’t listening to a word Wally was saying. Instead of helping him up off the ground, he was shoving him aside and grabbing desperately for the bundle of newspapers Wally’d landed upon not a moment ago.

With his pocket knife, Lefty slashed at the piece of cord entwined around the papers and held onto the top copy as the rest fell in a pile to the ground.

Honestly, Lefty! What’s gotten into you? Wally growled, collecting himself and massaging his nearly crippled arm.

Lefty said nothing, and with a shaky hand he held out the newspaper for Wally to see.

Staring back at him, in full color, was a photograph of the most evil man in Giggleswickian history: Ex-Constable Basil Donovan. The last Wally had ever seen of him was nearly a decade prior when the man had been exiled to the United States on charges of high treason. But despite the years that’d passed, there was no mistaking the jet black hair or eyes as blue as the icy waters of the Atlantic. It was several moments before Wally could bring himself to read the headline:

LEADER OF THE LOST WORLD

The discovery of the newspaper dispelled the rift that surely would have occurred between Lefty and Wally. The hurt feelings once inflicted by Wally’s failure to consult his friend in deciding on a Perfect Person and the physical pains later incurred by Lefty’s vengeful manhandling were all quickly forgotten. Now, all thoughts were on Basil Donovan, and on how he’d managed to make the front page of the newspaper in America. Had he told all of Giggleswick’s secrets? Lefty and Wally sped through the article, their eyes shooting back and forth as they read each word, fearful at what they might find. It read:

You’ve never heard of him — here in the United States he leads a quiet life with his goldfish in a simple one-room apartment. If you recognize his face, it’s probably only because he’s given you a friendly greeting and a smiley face sticker when you’ve popped into Walmart for a bit of shopping. Here, he’s known as Basil Donovan, age 45, or more affectionately Bazz by his friends at work, but in a recent interview with Belinda Marshall of the Newport Weekly News, he tells of a time not too long ago when he was Constable Basil Donovan, ruler of all Giggleswick, a small nation he says can be found in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

Why then have we never heard of this Giggleswick? Why have we never heard of Constable Basil Donovan? Mr. Donovan says it’s because a fivemile thick fog surrounds the nation at all times. Unlikely? Spokespersons from the National Meteorological Center declined to comment on the possibility of such a universal oversight, stating that The time and cost of investigating such claims would be astronomical. However, Newport’s own TV weather girl, Sophie Lu, assures us there is no reason to suspect any validity in the matter.

What then can be said of Basil Donovan’s story? Are these simply the ravings of a lonely, middle-aged man looking for attention? He says not. I want to return to my country, and to my people. My followers are loyal; they need me and I worry for their well being, he says. He told reporters that the tragic separation from his homeland occurred during a peace expedition to the United States nearly a decade ago, a trip which he explains was meant to reveal Giggleswick to the world and to plant the seeds of friendship among its neighboring countries. However, the ill-fated trip ended with the betrayal of his shipmates, whom he says left him stranded in North America with only the shirt to his back and a fanciful tale which no one would ever believe.

But a handful of recent character references have led some to wonder whether there might be more to Donovan’s story than meets the eye. For example, fellow Walmart greeter, Angie Consuelos, says, I’m behind Bazz one-hundred percent. Whenever one of us needs someone to cover our shift, he’s got our back. My cousin Angelo just bought a speed boat, and he says he’ll take Bazz out looking for his home if only we come up with the money for the gas. We all think Bazz is the real deal, so we’ve started up a collection to help raise the money.

When asked what he would say to his royal subjects in Giggleswick if he could speak to them now, he smiled and folded his hands calmly in his lap and then said, I would tell them that I will not waver in my search, and that rest assured I shall one day return. Upon such a happy occasion, I will repay each and every one of them for all they have done.

For now, it is up to readers to decide whether Basil Donovan is truly the powerful leader of a lost and uncharted nation, or merely an attention-seeking crackpot. As for Donovan himself, he remains steadfast in the belief that one day all the world will know his story.

‘Royal subjects’?! said Wally, quoting the paper in disbelief.

‘Peace expedition’?! Lefty added. That power-hungry mongrel. ’e durn near terrorized all of Giggleswick!

And he clearly fancies himself some sort of monarch, the braggart! Wally huffed.

I shutter to think ’ow he plans to ‘repay’ all of us, Lefty growled, folding up the newspaper and stuffing it under his arm.

Let’s hope we never find out! said Wally. We’ve got to get that paper back to Constable Humphrey immediately! Giggleswick could be in real danger! What if the military gets involved?!

What’s that? said Lefty.

I’ve no idea, said Wally. I was hoping you would know.

Why mention it then?

Well, said Wally thoughtfully, I heard once that they fly these really fancy airplanes, and have special boats called subsandwiches — at least I think that’s what they’re called — that can travel completely underwater. What if that Walmart lady’s cousin has one of those too?

Come now, we’ve nothin’ to worry about! said Lefty rather unconvincingly. No one ’cept fer me and Pops — well, and Godfrey Gallagher o’course, but that was pure luck — have ever made it through the Wailing Wanda Waters alive! Nobody’s going to find Giggleswick without our permission, he assured Wally. But he wasn’t quite able to disguise the look of panic that momentarily flickered across his dark brown eyes.

Wally and Lefty could barely sit still during the performance that night. Then, when they returned to their hotel room later that evening, Lefty had to down two cups of Zelda Toffee’s Very Sleepy Tea before he was able to nod off. Wally