'Sounds like a distinct case of 'methinks he doth protest too much'. Never mind this ripping yarn, let's get into the closet before the dynamic duo return. There's only so much greenery they can consume at one sitting without sprouting floppy ears.'
As if to punctuate his statement, a familiar voice called out from beyond the porthole.
'Oh, look Will! A myriad of thtars!'
Swiftly, Harry snapped off the lamp and the cabin reverted to inky darkness. I remembered Boris the spider and gritted my teeth.
'We'd better make a run for it, sweetie. We're only next door, we can get there before they reach this end of the corridor.'
'Nope. I want some answers, Jaybird. Get under the bed.'
'Dream on! There's a whopping great arachnid lurking under there!'
Two large hands grasped my trembling body and thrust me to the floor. One grabbed me by the seat of my pants, the other pushed my face down on the carpet. I squealed in horror as my husband unceremoniously shoved me underneath the bed. There was just enough space for me, although I felt like the filling in a sandwich. There was a brief hiatus, then I heard the closet door open and slowly close. Seconds later, a key turned in the cabin door and the Boner-Drippits returned.
'Someone's been playing with my muse!'
Boner's aggrieved tones reminded me that I had flung the skull on the bed instead of carefully replacing it on the manuscript. Talking of the manuscript…
'Someoneth been pwying into my manuthcript!'
I wondered if there was anything else we had disturbed, but that seemed to be it.
'Must be the bloody maid. I'll complain to the Purser first thing in the morning. I left explicit instructions that nothing on that table was to be touched.'
There was a sound as of manuscript and skull being replaced in their proper positions. Yes, there was something else we disturbed…
'Where's Hermione? Hermione! Here girl! Here girl!'
The next sound was chairs, cushions and pillows being shoved around in the search for Hermione – who, a pound to a penny, was lurking under the bed in chummy comradeship with Miss Lawrence.
'Hermione dear, there you are! What a leap! You must be ready for your grasshoppers.'
From this, and without the benefit of the sense of sight, I gathered that Miss Lawrence must have expelled Hermione with some vigor into the arms of her master.
'Will! Put the horrible monthter away! I told you not to let it out! Ughy ughy icky icky!!!'
I remembered that last expression from my brief marriage to la Drippit. Anything not sealed in zip lock bags or Saran film was a candidate for ickihood. Frippery had no time for anything icky, including the exchange or donation of bodily fluids. A large hairy spider, though in fact they feel quite dry and rarely slaver from bared fangs, was a dead cert for ickiness.
'Now, now, Hermione darling. Ignore the nice lady. Let's get you some nice din-dins. Here we go…'
A click as of the lid of a spider tank closing was followed by the crunching demise of a startled grasshopper – or the latter could have been my imagination, overworked in the rather cramped closet.
It was at this point that the inevitable desire to sneeze began its insidious assault on my nasal nerves. Inevitable? What do you expect, put the hero in a dusty cupboard and what better way is there to give him away in flagrante? Or her. I imagined it was even dustier under the bed. I carefully raised a hand and wiped my nose.
There was a slightly squelchy sound.
'Will, what are you doing now? Why are you thquithing up that nathty Raoul?'
'Raoul no longer concerns us, lambikins. Someone with a pistol got there before Mother Voodoo finished her work. She would have though. He would have died in agony and quite inexplicably…'
There was a note of sadistic satisfaction in Boner's voice that created a resolve in me to rearrange his nose before the voyage was over. That aside, what we were hearing from our hiding places sounded much to me like an admission of conspiracy to murder – even if the weapon might puzzle prosecuting counsel at the Old Bailey. And why did Frippery apparently have it in for the late lamented Raoul?
'Good,' came Frippery's voice with a vicious twist I had only heard from her before when mentioning socialists or compost. It looked like her hatred for anything not matching her world-view had vented itself on the deceased dago. Not to mention through the writings of Domina Dark.
'He laughed,' snarled Frippery. 'He laughed when he should have begged and cried. He deserved everything he got.'
Under the impetus of her fury her sibilants had come back. I knew that only happened when she was about to throw a milk bottle through the neighbor's window for parking in the wrong spot. Someone was in for it.
'Now with a little remodeling – a slightly bigger head, I think – yes – altogether bigger – it'll take all I have – that's it – now the hair – perfect!'
'Wonderful, darling! You are tho talented!'
The sibilants disappeared again with the satisfaction of a job well done.
'It'th him to a T! Big and ugly and nathty! Put him in!'
I wasn't sure what the last meant, but it was followed by a wooden click and the clack of something being laid on the table.
'I want to do it! Give me the thpear!'
There was silence for a moment, then a searing pain shot through my back. I was too shocked even to cry out, if a cry could have found its way between my gritted teeth. My body went rigid, all feeling focused around the red-hot pain eviscerating me.
I twisted in silent agony, trying to reach behind me to remove whatever was driving me toward insanity. The closet was dark but I felt a deeper darkness approaching.
I dimly heard the light switch click off and the cabin door close. I was caught in the clothes hanging from the rail, now strangling as well as dying of that terrible wound.
'Harry! What are you up to? The Watusi? There is a time and place, you know!'
I fell out of the closet onto the floor, my wife nimbly sidestepping rather than being squashed herself.
'Harry! What is it? Are you having a heart attack?'
Jay's concerned gaze hovered above me, dimly visible through the mists of pain. I turned my head to the table and saw a box with a steel needle sticking out of it. I struggled to my knees and started to crawl toward it.
Jay put her arms around me and helped me half upright.
'The box!' I managed. 'The needle – take it out…'
Give Jay credit, she didn't waste any time with stupid questions. The pain suddenly disappeared and I fell back to the floor. When I opened my eyes Jay was kneeling over me with a small coffin-shaped wooden box in one hand and a glistening six-inch steel spike in the other.
I staggered to the sofa and sat back with my eyes closed. The residual pain was receding and I started to feel almost half a Neptune again.
'Give me the box…'
It was fashioned as a crude miniature coffin, the lid held in place with a piece of rough string. I slipped the string off and tipped back the lid.
'It's just like you! How clever!'
I looked warningly at my wife.
'Don't say that – you'll only make it believe itself and become even more dangerous. And be careful with that spike.'
I took the spike from her and gently rubbed the wax effigy's arm with it. I felt cold steel and the hairs on my arm ruffled. Jay's eyes went wide.
'Ooer!'
'Ooer indeed. I wonder where Boner got this stuff from? It's ancient. This kind of wax hasn't been made
