by Ben Hammott
"But that's my special limited edition butler toothbrush!"
"I can't see the problem. You can have it back when he's finished with it. You'll just have to share until we can buy a new one for him."
Butler shivered with revulsion at the thought of something entering his mouth after it had been in Furtive's. He almost gagged. It was bad enough something of his was being held in the burglar's germ encrusted fingers; God knows what foul areas of the man's body they had previously probed. He sighed.
"Furtive, I want you to take your toothbrush…"
"My toothbrush!"
Ebenezer ignored Butler. "…and go to the washroom beside the kitchen, give your teeth a good scrub and afterwards rinse your mouth a few times with lavender water you'll find…"
"…it's okay, I know where it is; I saw it earlier when I was having a nose about."
"Then directions to the washroom are also obsolete!
Furtive smiled as he stood. "They most certainly are."
"By the time you return the fourth member of our gang should be here."
"Okay. He must be the muscle."
Ebenezer raised his unruly eyebrows. "How did you know?"
"Easy, you're the client, Butler's the brains and I'm the specialist. Only thing that's missing is the muscle."
"You are not half as stupid as you seem, Furtive!"
"Why thank you, Mr. Ebenezer, Sir." He headed toward the door.
Ebenezer and Butler watched him leave.
"What do you think of him, Sir?"
"I think he is perfect for what we have planned and he comes at a fraction of the price I expected to pay."
"Yes, about that, Sir. It's not really fair is it, you know, considering what he has to do."
"Life isn't fair, Butler. You of all people should know that; you work for me."
"Of course, Sir. How silly of me to forget."
"Anyway, if Furtive does as well as I believe he will, I'll give him a bonus."
Butler clutched his heart in mock pain. "Sir, I really wish you'd warn me when you are going to say something so out of character. I nearly had a heart attack."
"Very droll, Butler, you always paint me in a bad light, except for that one time," he smiled at the memory, "but it's not true."
"Once again, Sir, I must apologize. It must be something to do with knowing you for more years than I care to count and never, ever, hearing you mention the bonus word in such a context."
"Apology accepted. Yes, if a bonus is deserved he shall have one; I'll let him keep your toothbrush."
"How extremely generous of you, Sir, to give away something you neither own nor want."
"I know, I think I'm mellowing as I get older. Now, pass me the speaking tube so I can tell Lurch to come down and meet the new addition to our team."
Butler walked to the wall, unhooked the end of a tube from a bracket and stretched it over to Ebenezer.
Ebenezer removed the cap and put it to his ear. "I can't hear him snoring so maybe for once he hasn't fallen asleep."
"I find that doubtful, Sir."
Ebenezer held the tube out. Butler leaned toward it and blew a shrill whistle into the pipe. Ebenezer returned it to his ear and giggled. "He just cursed. Now his moving about. Footsteps getting closer." He suddenly ripped the speaking tube from his ear and replaced it a few moments later. "How many times do I have to tell you, YOU DON'T NEED TO SHOUT!… What do you mean you don't know?… What? Four or five? No, that's not the answer; the question was rhetorical… oh, never mind." He shook his head in dismay. "Just get down here. We are in the dining room."
Butler replaced the listening tube.
"If that man had one more brain cell it would still be lonely."
"Yes, Sir, but he means well. I suppose, when Furtive returns, we'll have to tell him about the disguise."
"Oh, goody, a disguise. What, like a wig and a moustache? I always fancied one of those big long ones." He mimicked stroking a long moustache. Not too keen on a beard though, made me all scratchy when I tried to grow one before, but if the job calls for it, I'll grin and bear it."
Ebenezer and Butler stared at Furtive sitting at the table with a glass of brandy in his hand. They looked at the firmly closed door and then at the decanter directly between them.
"How did you do that?" asked Butler.
Furtive shrugged. "I'm a burglar, I burgle!"
"But we didn't hear the door open or anything. Not a sound!"
"I don't know why yer so surprised. I wouldn't be a very good burglar if I stomped around whistling, would I?"
Butler shook his head. "No, I suppose not."
Booming footsteps echoed throughout the house. The chandelier swung. The crystal lid of the decanter clinked. The loud footsteps approached the door and suddenly the door swung open with such force it slammed against the wall, causing a painting to crash to the floor.
Furtive cocked a finger toward the large man filling the doorway. "Now, he could never be a burglar."
Lurch guiltily bent his broad shoulders to peer around the doorframe at the broken picture and then looked at Ebenezer. "Sorry, Boss."
"I'll deduct it from your wages, now shut the door and come here."
Butler noticed the look of dilemma appear on Lurch's face. "Come in, shut the door gently and then come here, Lurch."
The big man did as requested and stood near Furtive.
Butler introduced the two men. "Lurch, this is Furtive."
Furtive stuck out an arm. "Nice to meet you, Lurch."
"That's not advisable if you want to retain the use of your hand," Butler warned quickly.
By the speed at which Furtive snatched his hand away it was obvious he did.
"Hello, Mr. Furtive. It is nice to meet you also."
Ebenezer looked at Furtive, paying particular attention to his mouth. "Did you give them a good clean and rinse?"
Furtive smiled in reply and dragged back his lips.
"Well, they do look slightly less grubby. Lurch, lean down toward Furtive."
Lurch did as ordered.
Furtive, please exhale a deep breath in his face."
"Sir," protested Butler. "Are you sure that's wise?"
"Would you rather carry out the test? I'm sure Lurch won't mind."
Butler remained silent.
"Furtive, please continue."
Butler grimaced and turned his head slightly to one side.
Ebenezer smiled, held a corner of a blanket over his nose and watched to see what Lurch's reaction would be; he expected the worst.
Furtive breathed out a long huff of air strong enough to ruffle Lurch's rebellious sideburns.
Whereas Butler was surprised by Lurch's lack of reaction, Ebenezer was a little disappointed.
With his voice muffled by the blanket, Ebenezer said, "Lurch, bend closer and Furtive, repeat the process with a bit more oomph."
Lurch, confused by the strange request, nevertheless did as ordered and placed his face close to Furtive's.
Furtive huffed in the big man's face with such force Lurch's fringe stood up.
Again Lurch showed no reaction. He turned his head and looked at his employer for instruction.
Ebenezer cautiously removed the blanket. "Do you smell anything, Lurch?"
Lurch shook his head.
"Are you sure?"
Lurch nodded.
Ebenezer smiled. "I must admit I am more than a little surprised. You must have given them a really good scrub, Furtive."
"That I did, Ebenezer, Sir, a right good scrub and a thorough rinse with that there lavender water."
"Lurch, you can stand up now," said Butler.
The creak of wicker accompanied Ebenezer's journey around to the other side of the table. He halted beside Furtive. "Breathe on me, just a little mind."
Furtive breathed.
Ebenezer's eyes rolled into the back of his head. His lips curled back in a grimace not thought possible by a human until that moment. His nose tried to wrench itself
from its face and leap into the fire. His body, keen to put as much distance between itself and the offending fumes, slammed into the back of the wheelchair; the force sent it rolling across the room until it was halted by the wall.
Butler leapt into action, no, that was a lie; he grinned, almost snickered even, casually poured a shot of brandy into a glass and whistling a merry tune, strolled over to the comatose form of his employer. He waved the brandy under the man's nose, tipped a little into his gaping mouth and stood back.
Ebenezer shot upright and screamed loud enough to be heard in three counties. "Arrghhhhhh! Hands swiped at his lips. His nose twitched so violently everyone who saw it thought it would fly off. "Kill me, please someone kill me and bury me so deep the foulness that covers me can never seep out. My body feels like it has been violated by the foulest creatures ever to be spawned in the deepest, darkest depths of hell where even demons fear to tread. He spat and he spat and he spat in an effort to free himself of the putrid taste. He grabbed the brandy Butler held out, poured it into his mouth, swished, gurgled and spat it out. His hand shot out. "More, much more! He glared at Furtive. "What in hell's name just happened? Why wasn't Lurch affected?"
Furtive shrugged. "Maybe you have a sensitive nose."
"Not no more it isn't. It's so fouled I don't think I'll be able to smell anything pleasant again." He took the replenished glass from Butler and turned his attention to Lurch. "You sure you didn't smell anything?"
"I smelt nothing, honest Boss." Then, as if he had remembered something, a guilty look swept over his face.
"Lurch! What is it Lurch! Tell me!"
"Sorry Boss, I forgot."
"What exactly did you forget?"
Lurch's fingers went to his nose and pulled out two balls of candle wax. "I was told it stops you from snoring. I know how you hate my snores, because they're so loud and thundering, so I thought I'd try it." He smiled. "I think it worked. That's good, ain't it Boss?"
Ebenezer fumed.
"Lurch!" said Butler. "Return to your post, now!"
Lurch quickly lurched across the room and slammed the door behind him. Another picture fell to the floor and smashed. "Sorry boss."
Without seeming to have moved from his seat, Furtive had a full glass of brandy and the decanter was empty.
Ebenezer tilted his head back and screamed.
Butler sighed and wished he'd chosen another profession.
FURTIVE'S DISGUISE
Twenty minutes later, Butler entered the lounge to find the burglar waiting for his return. It was obvious by his relaxed position in one of the comfortable easy chairs and his feet resting on the antique coffee table, the man had made himself at home. If any additional evidence was needed, it was provided by the full glass of brandy held in one hand and the smoking cigar in the other. Butler's gaze shot to the cabinet where the aforementioned luxuries were stored under lock and key. The small door showed no sign of damage. He fished a key ring from his pocket and searched among them, the cabinet key was present.
Furtive glanced over at him and shook his head. "I don't need keys. I'm a burglar."
Butler returned the keys to his pocket and approached the liberty-taking thief. "Yes, something that is very apparent, but while you are in this house there has to be rules, you can't…" His finger shot towards Furtive like a dagger. "You're wearing my dressing gown!"
"Oh, it's yours is it? I found it. Discarded it was. Just lying there, so I didn't think anyone would mind."
"You were wrong, someone does mind. Me!" Butler screwed up his eyes suspiciously. "By 'discarded' and 'just lying there,' do you mean it was in my bedroom hanging on a coat-hanger in my wardrobe?"
Furtive nodded. "Yeah, I suppose I do."
"This has to stop! You have to stop helping yourself to things that don't belong to you while you are in this house, but especially my personal things."
Furtive shook his head adamantly, dislodging an inch long wad of ash from the cigar that rolled down the dressing gown. "Sorry, no can do. It's against the Code."
Butler snatched up an ash tray and placed it on the arm of the chair Furtive occupied like he was the lord of the manor. "What code?"
"The burglar's code of course: Pay fer nothing! Steal everything!"
"Yeah, well butler's have their own code: You touch anything what don't belong to you in this house again and Lurch will pull your arms off."
Furtive snorted. "That ain't no code, yer just made it up ter fit this 'ere situation. A code has got ter be catchy like. Short but meaningful. Pay fer nothing! Steal everything! That's a real genuine code, that is."
"You'll find out just how meaningful my code is if you dare lay your grubby hands on my stuff again."
"Okay, okay, I get yer message, don't touch yer stuff." He took another puff of the cigar, dislodging more ash.
"And use the damn ashtray!"
Furtive exaggeratedly flicked ash in the ashtray. "I'm using it. I'm using it. Jesus! Yer gotta learn ter relax a bit."
"I was until you set foot in the house."
"Plonk yerself down on the sofa. I poured yer a brandy."
Butler looked at the glass of brandy on the coffee table, sat down on the sofa and took a sip.
"Look, I ain't promising nothink, but I'll try to behave a bit better." He fished a hand under his coat, pulled out a magazine and threw it on the coffee table. "There's yer Busty Maids back."
Red faced, Butler grabbed the magazine with an image of a scantily dressed, large breasted maid on the cover and stuffed it under the chair cushion.
"Where's the old man?" Furtive asked. "Alright is he?"
"I'm not sure he will ever be alright again. He felt so soiled after you breathed on him he's taking a bath hot enough to make a pot of tea."
Furtive smiled. "That were right funny though, weren't it?"
Butler smiled. "I must admit it did bring me a certain amount of amusement."
They laughed.
"Is his bathroom the one with the big enamel bath at the top of the stairs?"
Butler nodded.
Furtive smirked. "I thought it was… now, Butler, tell me about this disguise I haf to wear!"
"It's not just a disguise; you also have to impersonate someone."
"Look like me then does this fella I'm ter impersonate?"
"I wouldn't say there is much of a resemblance, though you are both of a similar height, sort of."
"That's the reason for the disguise, ter make me look like him?"
Butler nodded.
"Must be a damn good disguise if yer think it'll make me look like someone who looks nothink like I do."
"Oh, believe me, it is. No expense has been spared."
"What this fella look like?"
Butler fished a hand into his pocket and pulled out a photograph. "Better I show you." He slid the photograph across the table.
Furtive picked it up and studied the sepia image. His eyebrows rose so high they nearly disappeared over the back of his head. "Oh man that's some ugly creature. You sure it's even human? And what's it got on its back and that hair, man, I've seen brooms with better style."
"Oh, he's human sure enough. That thing on his back is part of him; he's a hunchback."
"And you have a disguise that'll turn someone as handsome as me into that?"
"Yes, with a few alterations I don't foresee a problem. You still want the job?"
Furtive dropped the photograph on the table. "If yer think it's important to the plan, then count me in. For a thousand pounds I'd dress up as the arse end of a donkey, cover meself in blood and walk into a lion's den shouting dinner's ready."
Butler smiled at the image that appeared. The man's foul breath would certainly help convince the lions it was the rear end of a donkey calling out to them. "The disguise is perhaps the most essential part of the plan, because it will allow you to gain entry to Sebastian's castle with his blessing."
"I take it this hunchback is something special if Sebastian has hired him. Wh
o is he?"
"His name is Craaketaaat Murrrrrderrrsinnnn!"
Furtive stared at Butler. "Why'd yer say his name all spooky like?"
Butler shrugged. "Just setting the tone. By all accounts Crakett Murdersin has an evil personality and I thought you might know him."
"Oh, I've heard of him. It's right what yer've heard, he's an evil bastard true enough; mad, bad and dangerous to know. Definitely not a man yer want to meet if yer can avoid it. I heard he murders people just for fun if there's even a hint of an excuse to do so. I was told this story a while ago, if you want to hear it?"
Butler nodded he did.
"Crakett did a job for Four Finger Finnigan; the vicious boss of a gang of murderous cutthroats, thieves and ne'er-do-wells, but when Finnigan welches on his end of the deal and refuses to pay him, Crakett breaks in ter his place the same night and steals from the man's stashed hoard of ill-gotten valuables to the cost of his fee, plus a bit extra for the inconvenience like, quite a bit extra I believe. Of course Finnigan ain't at all happy about this and plonks a reward on his head. Crakett hears about this and he also ain't happy. Bold as brass he strolls into Finnigan's lair, an old abandoned factory down by the docks and straight to his face like, he tells Finnigan he either drops the reward or the only head to be taken would be Finnigan's own and anyone else's who tries to stop him. Yer haft to picture this, Butler, Crakett is in the man's place, Finnigan is sitting on his throne atop a pile of packing cases like the king of the manor, which he was, and Crakett is surrounded by his gang men, armed to the teeth. And yer ain't gonna believe this, but the only weapon Crakett has was a fruit-knife. A damn tiddily little fruit-knife, and apparently not all that sharp."
"Seems a rather strange choice of weapon under the circumstances," said Butler.
"He was making a point, yer see. The boss's men had knives, big uns mind, swords, clubs wit nasty long spikes, pistols and blunderbusses. Crakett shouldn't have stood a chance in hell of surviving."
Butler, so engrossed in the story, almost leaned nearer to its orator, but remembering what an unwise move that would be, remained with his back firmly pressed against the sofa. "Did Finnigan do as Crakett asked and rescind the reward?"