Beginning, Section II
Jump to new as of January 13, 2000
What Goes Up.....
An odd sight, if any of the city's denizens had gazed upward, would meet their curious eyes and cause alternate bouts of shock and laughter. For floating above the rooftops was a rather large, attractive, human shaped balloon and three just as lifelike human figures below it. Very animated, they appeared as well!
Arms and legs were waving, voices screaming and one figure kept pointing in various directions as they slowly turned in a circle, their path determined by the capricious wind.
"I'm going to pop that thing!" Laura threatened. "I HATE heights! Where's a dart when you need it?" She craned her neck to peer up at Teg. "Don't you have any darts in your pockets?"
"No I don't!" Teg replied huffily. "Those were in Marks' pockets! And I'm not letting you pop this balloon to send us hurtling down to our deaths!" She rubbed her shoulder where the hook attached to the cord attached to the waist of the Jennifer Ehle balloon was chafing. "I don't fly well," she moaned, and her hand moved to her stomach.
Laura's eyes widened in horror. "Good Lord, no! Leonore, quick! Get us down somehow."
Leonore rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Why can't you two just relax and enjoy the ride. The balloon will go down when it's ready. Look at all the beautiful sights you're missing!" She pointed to a large building framed against the backdrop of the setting sun.
"Sights? SIGHTS??" Laura screeched in disbelief. "We're flying who know how high above the city, with no safety harnesses. We could fall to our deaths at any time. Teg is about to ... well, I don't really want to contemplate it, and you say we should enjoy the sights???" She shook her head rapidly to and fro and closed her eyes. "No, nooooooo. I can't take this. I want down NOW!"
"Oh, quit your whining!" Leonore reached into her DWGDP pouch and withdrew a pen. Not your average, everyday BIC variety, no sirree! After all, the Dwiggies admire, respect and aspire to the talents of their inspiration: Jane Austen.
This was a quill pen.
Leonore took the pen and held it between her thumb and forefinger. She sighted the line, squinting one eye, and sent the pen hurtling through the air.
"Two points!" Leonore cheered as the point of the quill sank into its target. Jennifer Ehle began to slowly resemble Gwyneth Paltrow more and more.
They were all sinking closer to earth again, as well.
Laura put her hands over her eyes. "I can't look. We're going to land somewhere dreadful like the middle of a busy highway!"
Teg gazed up at Jennifer - er, Gwyneth. "I hope the air in that thing lasts long enough to get us safely to the ground."
Leonore pooh-poohed them. "You worry warts. I think this is great!"
Slowly they drifted downward.......
Art and John examined the small wrapped packet. It was very well sealed under layers of tape.
"I think some sort of tool is in order. A knife perhaps?" Bill suggested, pointing toward the doors that led back inside. "I'm sure we can find something in the kitchen."
Art nodded and the men set off toward the front doors.
"Hey!" called Shawn. "You're not leaving me out of this!" He dodged another assault by several wild blue marbles, stooping low to surreptitiously snag the six flimsy undergarments of Florentine leather and ran after the other men.
Spring was still in the upper window. "Hmmm," she said. "If that packet contains anything like the previous two I think the ladies might be wanting to see these." She drew back from the window and whistled loudly to gain the attention of the crowd.
The ladies reluctantly tore their hands - er- eyes away from their Marks balloons and muttered a collective "Yes?"
Spring gestured toward the doors from which emanated the sound of many feet tramping up the staircase. "More balloons on the way, ladies!"
With a loud squeal, those ladies not already possessing a prized inflatable stampeded for the doorway just as the first of the men graced the stoop.
"Excuse me!" exclaimed Art as he collided with Lisa Hope.
Bill and John, close on Art's heels, ran into the back of him, causing all three men to lose their balance. Arms flailed as the gentlemen clutched at anything to help them stay upright. As a result, a number of skirts and shapely calves were turned topsy turvy as the whole lot of them crashed to the floor in a heap.
Shawn stood in the doorway, blinking. He started to chuckle at the sight, and brought a hand up to his mouth to stifle the laughter. Unfortunately it was the hand that held the flimsy undergarments of Florentine leather.
"My, my!" cried a bug-eyed Tamsin as she stared at the dangling leather bits. "What are those, I SAID, WHAT ARE THOSE?"
Her raised voice drew the attention of everyone else in the room. Shawn hurriedly put his hand behind his back while casting a sheepish look over at his wife. Spring was torn between scolding him and getting a better look at those leather bits. Several of the other ladies came forward eagerly.
"Shawn," asked Lise in a musical voice. "Could I see just one of those?"
Shawn's eyes darted from Lise to Spring to the other predatory faces before him. "All right," he said slowly.
Before he could untangle one of the garments (excuse me, UNDERgarments) from the others, the ladies pounced.
Meanwhile, Marks was still outside gathering up some of the assorted flotsam he'd extracted from Teg's apron.
"Must keep these," he muttered as he tucked the hand weights into one of his own pockets. "And the beer. Can't waste that." He examined one of the Jackie Collins books before screwing up his face in distaste. "No thanks." Marks tossed the book aside and grabbed the bottles of wine. "Hmmm. Australian, Canadian, French, Italian.... I think these will complement my collection quite admirably! Oh, and the pudding basins. You can never have too many of these." Stuffing them into another pocket, Marks looked around him, slightly puzzled. "I could have sworn there were some rather interesting leather items in this pile. I wonder where they went to? Teg won't be happy if I lose her stuff." He looked a little alarmed at the prospect, then shrugged off all concern. "If she is, I'll just remind her who's holding the 'manuscripts' now." Marks smiled as he patted his pocket.
At this reminder of the written works contained in his apron recesses, Marks glanced around to make sure no-one was looking and then sought out a spot in a secluded corner where he promptly sat down. Pulling out the sheaf of papers, he glanced at the uppermost one to see what it was about.
"Darcy, Darcy, Darcy," Marks mumbled as he flipped through the pages. "These people are obsessed! Ahh! Here it is!" he exclaimed as he brought one sheet out to lay it on the top of the pile. He settled his back against the wall and prepared to read.
A shadow fell across the paper.
Marks looked up.
"Marks, have you seen Teg?" Frewen frowned.
"Um, Teg?" Marks gulped.
"Yes, Teg. My wife. You remember her, don't you?" Frewen looked up at the open window above where all sorts of strange noises were issuing. "Is she up there?"
"Up there...." Marks repeated, trying to shake the image of the Jennifer Ehle balloon floating away with its attachments. "I'm not sure," he finally said. "I think I saw them - I mean her- heading over the - I mean- over to the city."
"Oh." Frewen tried to peer at the pages in Marks' hand. "What are you reading?"
Marks resisted the urge to cram the papers back into his pocket. "Just some Jane Austen stuff," he said airily. "Nothing you'd be interested in."
Frewen snorted. "Too true, there. I can't understand what all those women see in that sappy stuff."
A shrill cry from the open window caused both men to look up quickly.
"That sounds interesting!" Frewen grinned. "I think I'll take a look upstairs." He made a beeline for the front doors.
Marks watched him go, looked back up at the window, then at the pages he was holding. He hemmed, he hawed, he puzzled over what to do. He looked at the top page again.
There was only one thing that could make the day more perfect in Elizabeth Bennet's eyes. That would be to have the company of a nice young man, a suitor if you will, on her rambles along the paths near Longbourn.
He just knew this was the story he had been looking for.
YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS! (OR CAN YOU)?
"There was only one thing that could make the day more perfect in Elizabeth Bennet's eyes. That would be to have the company of a nice young man, a suitor if you will, on her rambles along the paths near Longbourn. "
Marks turned the page. This sounded like an interesting start. As his eyes focussed on what Teg had written on the next page, his eyes bulged and his heart started thumping. Then he sighed in relief. "Whew, Teg must have put her shopping list in here by mistake! I was worried for a minute."
(For those unaware of the Puddingmasters' art, it is enough to know that their shopping lists are fearsome documents indeed!)
He took Teg's shopping list out and put it in his pocket. Trouble is, in doing so he lost his place, and with a sigh, he started to leaf through the stories yet again to find the story.
"A Candlestein Correspondence? Nup!"
"A Difference Tart? Nup!"
"Darcy's Dairy? Nup!"
"As Fast & Odious as You Are? Nup!"
"Sick? Distemper? Try Anise! Nup!"
"A Doily in the Post? Nup!"
"AH! Here it is!" Said Marks with a sigh as he started to read again.
"There was only one thing that could make the day more perfect in Elizabeth Bennet's eyes. That would be to have the company of a nice young man, a suitor if you will, on her rambles along the paths near Longbourn. She had taken to walking several miles on these fine Summer's days and was heading toward the property of Netherfield. It had been vacant for some time now, so Elizabeth was eager to grasp the opportunity to explore its pathways.
She always found that the exercise stirred pleasant thoughts and speculations about the opposite sex, and yet being on her own, was fortunately not required to put up with their sometimes tiresome habits. A perfect arrangement, was her usual thought.
Today her mind had wandered to her own future, and to speculation about whether she would marry, and whom. She tried to form in her mind a picture of what her true love would be like, and wondered where he was right at that moment.
'What is he doing right at this moment, my future husband, lover, friend, companion, the father of my children to be?'
Suddenly, as she gained the crest overlooking Netherfield, she felt as she had never felt before, the need to have someone special by her side, to know her future.
'Where is he?' She thought.
As she shook herself out of her reverie, and laughed at herself for such foolishness, she gave only a fleeting glance to the two young gentlemen racing on horseback across the fields toward Netherfield Park."
Author's Note: My apologies if any authors are offended by my mangling of their titles in the above.
Surprise!
"At last!" Laura sighed as the Bakeoff Hall came into sight. "I thought we'd walked the entire length of the country by now! I mean, I like to walk but let's not be ridiculous!"
"Here, Teg. You take this now." Leonore handed over a duffel bag.
Teg took the article and shook her head in amusement. "I don't see why you had to insist on us getting this duffel bag merely to put the Jennifer Ehle balloon in."
"Because," Leonore said in exasperation. "I wasn't about to go traipsing all over town with a life size blowup doll slung over my shoulder. Even if it is deflated!"
Teg snickered. I bet she wouldn't have had an objection if it had been one of the Colin Firth or Marks inflatables.
But as they neared the hall, Teg's eyes began to rove the pavement, taking in the assorted books, presses and other paraphernalia that had lately comprised the contents of her pockets and were now strewn all over the sidewalk. Her eyes narrowed as she discerned that a goodly number of the objects were missing.
"What on earth is going on?" cried Laura.
The other two ladies followed the direction of her gaze to the upper window of the building. A great deal of noise was heard, among the sounds..... screams, laughter, snapping, popping and then two figures appeared in the open window. They leaned out, almost to the point of falling, then were snatched back inside by a pair of anonymous hands.
"Was that....?" Laura asked hesitantly.
Leonore nodded. "I think so. Teg, I think we could use some of those whisks of yours. We'd better head upstairs to whip that unruly mob into shape! The Dot Police are on patrol!"
"Well, I'd love to oblige you," Teg said, looking a little peeved. "But someone took all of my whisks!" She started to scan the surrounding area with a narrowed gaze. Suddenly she spied Marks sitting in the shade against a wall. He appeared to be rather absorbed in reading something.
The three ladies advanced on him.
Marks was indeed absorbed in the story before him. He had sought long and hard for this particular tale. He only wished he knew who had penned it, since it was in the same type as all the other pages in the pile. His eyes ran rapidly over the words.
Elizabeth drew in a sharp breath and posed her question. "Who are you? What is your name?"
The man's eyes nearly melted her soul. "My name is....."
"Marks!"
Marks nearly jumped out of skin and hurriedly stuffed the papers into his pocket. Red faced, he blinked up at the three ladies standing over him.
"Er.. yes?"
Teg held out her hand. "My whisks, please."
Marks licked his lips and quickly produced the utensils. "I was keeping them safe for you."
"Safe? For me?" Teg looked at him sceptically. Then she held out her other hand. "Okay, all the rest of the stuff, too."
Leonore and Laura took the whisks from Teg and excused themselves to attend to their DP duties. Up the stairs they charged.... they simply had to see what was going on!
Brandishing the whisks a la Teg, the two DP officers raced through the doorway to come to a screaming halt amidst the hullaballoon...er... hullabaloo.
There were balloons everywhere! Floating near the ceiling were all of the inflated characters; B. Bunny, M-k-y M-se, M-nn- M-se, Colin Firth and the assorted Marks representations.
Leonore squinted closely. Yes, some of the balloons were wearing Florentine Leather Undergarments. Not necessarily accurately placed.
There was a commotion on the far side of the room that caused both Laura and Leonore to perk up their ears and point their whisks. An excited crowd of Dwiggies had gathered around John and Bill as the men had finally managed to procure a tool to open the securely wrapped packet. As the tape sprung free at last, and the wrapping popped open, the packet shot up into the air (due to the fact that the contents were under pressure) and despite the frantic waving of many arms, hands, fingers and toes, a great moan went up as the desperate assembly watched it fly over their heads, out of reach.... and out the window.
"What the....?"
Marks looked at Teg. Teg looked at Marks. They both looked at the items scattered around them.
"Oh, I don't think we have much time before they come down for these!"
Duffel Delight
Teg shouted at Marks. "Quick, stuff all of this stuff into the duffel bag!"
Marks took up the duffel bag and shot a sly look inside. He was rewarded for his nosiness by a whack across the left earlobe from a Tegeirian whisk (you can't have too many of those).
"Youch!" He said.
"Just keep your eyes where they're supposed to be Buster, or you'll get a whisking on the other ear! Start filling."
Marks started filling, and soon the duffel bag was bulging with...oh well, never mind.
"Let's go! I'll carry the duffel bag if you like Teg!" Offered Marks in his best William Collins voice.
"The heck you will!" Said Teg and snatched it from him. The smirk on his face should have warned her that Marks was in mischief mode, but she was too rushed to notice.
"There she is! It's all in that duffel bag!" Came a cry from the portals of Bakeoff Hall. Suddenly a horde of men and women came streaming out headed for Teg and the duffel bag. Marks smirked and stood back as the Dwiggies came down like a wolf on the fold. Teg cast a baleful look at Marks, hitched her skirts up and ran as fast as was wise to prevent Florentine Leather Undergarment Chafing.
Marks looked at the retreating multitudes in hot pursuit of Teg and thought, "I really hate myself sometimes...but I suppose it will pass in a minute or so."
He moved to a hammock slung between two trees and lay down. He fished in his puddingmeister apron pockets, and out came the sheaf of papers that he had started to read before the latest interruption.
"Who are you? What is your name?"
The man's eyes nearly melted her soul. "My name is....."
Marks turned the page.
"Tim! Tim the Enchanter!"
'Darn!' Thought Marks, 'Wrong story!!! I've lost my place again!!!! Spit!'
"Oh well!" He sighed, and started leafing through the titles again
"Areas of Arrogance" by Megan G Pugh-Chinni. "Nup!"
"Andy Berg's Diary" by Theresa "Nup!"
"Homer Runs the Fireworks" From the cutting room of "The Simpsons" "Nup!"
"Timon the Pieman of Athens" "Nup!"
"Monty Python's Fliegender Zirkus" "Nup!"
"Principles of Hydraulics" VT Chow "Hmm, Maybe!"
"Aaaahh! Here we are!" Marks lay back in the hammock and started to read. I say started to read, for no sooner had he commenced when: TIP!!! The hammock swung over and Marks was dumped onto the ground.
He looked up to see a panting Teg over him. She did NOT look amused. However, the sound of running Dwiggies made time of the essence.
She hung the duffel bag on him and said: "Right, now YOU run!"
"Er but aren't you worried about me looking in the bag?" said Marks nervously.
Teg cocked an eye at the advancing Dwiggies, and replied with a Caroline Bingley smirk: "You won't have time to look in the bag! And besides, if you open that duffel bag, you will end up with a mess all over you, or my name's not Teg. Now, get along with you! Remember, I'm writing the next installment."
As if to emphasise the point, she took out her whisk (you can never have too many of those) and whacked Marks behind the right earlobe.
With that Marks took off at a lope...
Ribfest
Teg laughed as she watched Marks' retreating figure. She was nearly bowled over by the horde of women pursuing him.
"Oh, this sort of entertainment calls for a snack!" Reaching into a pocket, Teg pulled out a chocolate and nibbled on it. "Mmm, buttercream!" she said appreciatively and popped it into her mouth. She was still enjoying the view when a voice spoke over her shoulder.
"Ah, here you are, then."
Teg turned around to see Frewen frowning at her.
"I thought you'd gone shopping, and here I find you whisking around the countryside with Marks again." He pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow.
"Well," Teg began. "I know you are perfectly aware that the art of pudding production requires a delicate hand. Acquiring this skill takes more than one night's hard work. It means hours upon hours of practice and repetition. As Masters of our craft, Marks and I naturally need to hone our skills as often as we can. Thus our repeated forays into Bakeoffs and competitions. I swear we must have travelled nearly halfway round the world in our endeavours, leaving a veritable 'pudding trail' behind us!" She laughed. "And of course the honour of the Derbyshire Writers Guild was at stake in the Sachertorte Bakeoff. You couldn't expect me to abandon all of my responsibilities as a member, now could you?" She smiled at him in a charming manner.
Frewen's gaze drifted over her shoulder to the racing form of Marks, and the passel of women on his heels. He chuckled. "Just what are they after?"
Teg grinned. "You don't know?"
Frewen looked at her again. "I could guess, I'm sure." Then he grinned, too. "What's in the duffle bag he's clutching for dear life?"
Teg cleared her throat. "It's... um... my shopping.... amongst other things."
"Really?" Frewen watched the distant figures with renewed interest. He knew what sorts of things were on Teg's shopping list. You couldn't live with a Pudding Mistress and not know! "I think I should offer my assistance to the poor man," he said in mock concern. "We men should stick together in these kinds of situations."
With that, Frewen set off in pursuit of the mob, calling to Art, Bill, Shawn and John, who were shaking their heads while watching from the sidewalk, to join in on Marks' defence.
Meanwhile Marks was running out of space to run. The ladies were hot on his heels, he could almost feel their panting breaths on his back. His eyes darted around the surrounding landscape, searching for someplace to escape this group of rabid females.
Unfortunately, his intent gaze did not take in the small rock in his path, and so his feet did not avoid it. With a surprised grunt, he fell on his face, sliding forward until he rolled over and came to a halt another ten feet ahead of the pack.
The pack was equally surprised. The first few ladies stumbled past Marks' prostrate form, but the next seven didn't see him, and therefore could not avoid him. Down they went on top of him. OOOF!! OOOF!!! GROAN!!!
"Oh, I'm so sorry!"
"Oh, dear, are you all right?"
"My! What's this? Oh....."
Marks didn't know which was worse; the crushing weight of all of these women laying on his body, or the duffle bag parked just under his backside. And the ladies, at least, didn't seem to be in any hurry to get off! In fact they didn't seem to mind the situation at all.
When the men arrived on the scene they sized it up in a glance.
"Right," said Bill. "The duffle bag will take some delicate work to extricate."
"I have an idea," said John.
But before he could elaborate, the pile on top of Marks shifted, and Marks let out a grunting chuckle as a well-placed hand dug into his ribs.
"Did you hear that?" whispered Arlene to Jimmy. Jimmy nodded, her eyes lighting up with mischief.
The whispers spread like wildfire and suddenly several pairs of hands were launched into Marks' ribcage. Merciless they were, and Marks, being trapped as he was under the pressure of so many ladies' bodies, could barely squirm as they delightedly sunk themselves into their task of tickling. Between his deep laughter, and the giggling of the Dwiggies, no-one noticed the men creeping forward, reaching for the duffle bag which was now becoming more exposed as a result of the wriggling, giggling tickle fight ensuing above it.
The bag was nearly free, nearly in Shawn's hot little hand, when a shrill, ear-splitting whistle broke the air.
Everyone froze.
"What is going on here?" Ann stood with hands on her hips, a frown creasing her brow. "I can't leave you people for ten minutes without all hell breaking loose! All of you! Get off that poor man!"
The ladies quietly disentangled themselves from each other and rolled off of Marks, but not before each one got a last dig in at his ribs. His eyes bulged briefly and he gave a relieved sigh when the last one was removed.
Ann gazed at him in sympathy. She looked at the assembled women. "I thought you liked Marks? Something about a number 81 something or other?"
"Oh, yes we do," sighed a number of the Dwiggies.
"And actually, he's risen in our estimation," Rebecca TH added. "We've given him a number 103 now." There was a murmured agreement from the crowd.
Ann spied the men lurking in the background, suspiciously tugging at something. "Hey! What are you up to?"
"Us?" said a wide-eyed Shawn. "Nothing. Nothing at all." He shook his head rapidly.
Marks by now was getting to his feet, one hand still holding firmly onto the duffle bag strap. He glanced at Shawn, and then at the duffle bag. A wicked grin started to form on his face.
"I'll take that." Ann pointed to the bag.
Marks' smile disappeared.
"You people obviously cannot be trusted to behave yourselves. I'll just hang onto that controversial item until such a time as it is safe to open it." Ann held out her hand for the bag.
Just Dessert
"You people obviously cannot be trusted to behave yourselves. I'll just hang onto that controversial item until such a time as it is safe to open it." Ann held out her hand for the bag.
Marks started to pass it to her.....
Unfortunately with all the excitement of the chase (and not to mention the totally uncalled for tickling of Marks), one minor detail had been overlooked. That detail was the guarding of George Wickham. This oversight was now to cause a teensy weensy problem. George suddenly appeared out of the blue (slightly the worse for wear) armed with a nasty looking knife. "Come off it George!" Said Ann, "There are so many of us here, you'd never get away with it!"
With an evil leer on his face, he lunged for Ann, and pinning her arms with one hand, he held the knife to her neck. "We'll see about that! I doubt that all these Dwiggies would risk losing the Dwiggy board! You are my safe passage out of here, my pretty! While I have you in my power, those Dwiggies won't do anything."
The assembled company gasped in horror as George started to drag the lovely Ann (I am NOT a groveller: author) away for his nefarious ends.
Marks quickly opened the duffle bag, took a small package out and flicked another to Teg.
As they had been taught in Puddingmaster school, they ripped off the tops of the packets, screamed "PUD-DING!!!" and hurled them toward Wickham. In accordance with the drill, they observed the flight of the packets, Teg's to the torso, and Marks' to the head.
Then came the scream. "DOWN!" from both, and everybody hit the deck.
Everbody except Wickham that is. Teg's packet of instant pudding had exploded on impact with Wickham's chest to form a thick pearly white blancmange which pinned his arm to his sides and glued his knife well out of harm's way.
Marks' package however, didn't seem to have the same effect. Where his instant pudding packet had hit, it seemed that George's hair was coming off in clumps and the skin was going rather red.
Teg picked up the packages. "Whoops Marks, you should have thrown the L1A3 BLANCmange flavour instant pud, but it looks like you threw the L1A5 MANGE flavour instead. That won't do much for his future success with the ladies."
"As if we care about that!" Chorused the assembled men.
Leareth ran up to Teg. "WOW! How did you do that? I didn't know you were a mistress of the martial arts!"
"Oh yes little Locust..." Began Teg.
"Erm, that's Grasshopper, puddingmistress." Said Leareth shyly.
"Teg fixed her with a stern Lady Cat eye. "Do not interrupt please! As I was beginning to say, all pudding masters and mistresses have to learn the ancient marital art of POO DING."
"You mean it is like the training for the Jedi Knights?" Said Leareth excitedly.
"Red-eye nights is more like it!" Whispered Marks.
"Will you tell me all about it Teg?" Trilled Leareth.
"Weeelllll......." Said Teg a little uncertainly.
"We do take American Express." Smirked Marks.
As Teg settled down to tell the story, the obligatory fire lit up a scene of massed Dwiggies doing a war dance around the big mangy blancmange that once was George Wickham.
"Underground, overground wombling free,
The Dwiggies of Wimbledon Common are we." Sang they.
Icky, Sticky, and Whicky
The flickering firelight lent some strange effects to the wombling mass of Blancmange that was George Wickham. Despite the loss of hair, and the inability to move, he continued his attempts to threaten the assembled Dwiggies; albeit ineffectively.
"I'll mmffbbttt agghhhlllpp," he mumbled into the pud under his chin, the entire blob all a-quiver with his frustrated attempts at escape.
"Oh, be quiet!" Marks muttered, then grinned. "Or I'll find another packet in this bag and send it your way. Let's see... there's quite an assortment in here." He rummaged around in the duffle bag eagerly. "My goodness, Teg! I see you got the I.P Kit #71A. One might think you were expecting something just like this to happen. That's a pretty thorough selection of pud-bombs."
Teg looked up from her seat near the fire, where she was roasting marshmallows (odd.... they were shaped suspiciously like....No, that's not possible). "Well, between Wickham and John Thorpe, we needed to be prepared for anything." She tossed a toasty marshmallow in Marks' direction. "Besides, it saves me a trip back to...." She looked over her shoulder and continued in a quiet voice. "You know. To get more, later."
Marks nodded, being too polite to speak with his mouth full of marshmallow.
"Teg?"
Teg looked up into the wide enquiring eyes of Leareth.
"You were going to tell us a bit about your training." Leareth sat herself down at Teg's feet.
"I was?" Teg glanced over at Marks, who was trying to nonchalantly whistle (not easy to do with sticky marshmallowy lips). She frowned at him in annoyance, then her face lit up with a cunning smile. "Oh, but really... it's Marks who should be telling you all about this. He received his black belt loooong ago! I've only recently acquired mine, thanks to his excellent tutelage I might add."
Several faces turned in Marks' direction. He hemmed.. he hawed... he turned an interesting shade of crimson.
He was saved.
"Aha!" cried an unpleasantly familiar voice.
"JOHN THORPE!" cried the assemblage. "OH, NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!"
"Oh, YES!" crowed the evil man, leaping forward faster than anyone's eyes could follow. His object was none other than ......
Marks!
Under normal circumstances, the Puddingmeister would have had no difficulty in overcoming such a worthless opponent. However, after his recent race, and subsequent victimization at the fingers of the eager Dwiggies, not to mention the several Pudding Mistress Specialty Marshmallows that he had surreptitiously scoffed, quick reflexes were not at the top of his list.
John Thorpe had him.
"Now, Dwiggies! Hand over those manuscripts!" He tightened his arm around Marks' neck. "Or this guy gets it!"
The Dwiggies gasped, and they all narrowed their eyes, glaring at Thorpe.
"We must do something," hissed Spring to Shawn. "And quickly!"
Shawn looked at the other men, equally unconcerned with the turn of events. After all, once Marks was out of the way, that would only leave the fictional characters for their ladies to admire.
"What's this manuscript nonsense?" Teg was saying. "Thorpe, you've had a few too many bumps on the noggin. We left that subject a few chapters back!"
"What?" Thorpe relaxed his hold slightly. "Then... what is it I'm supposed to be stealing?"
"THIS!" came a cry from behind him.
Thorpe quickly turned to see what 'this' was, just in time to hear cry of "PUD-DING", and see Leareth hurl something toward him. There was a small explosive 'POOF', and John Thorpe stood licking his lips, his face covered in a green substance with brown spots in it.
"Mmm," he said. "Pistachio."
Teg groaned. "That was my lunch, Leareth." Now, perhaps, they'll see why training in the Pudding Arts is necessary. She scrambled over the duffle bag before anyone else could move. Reaching inside, Teg grabbed a clearly marked packet (clearly, that is, to one familiar with the Pudding Master Code) and sighted her target.
"PUD-DING!"
'WHOOF!'
And
"Ooof!" cried John Thorpe. He was now covered in a sticky, gooey, toffee mess. Complete with sauce.
Unfortunately, so was Marks who was caught in the blast.
Teg snickered at the sight, then quickly rearranged her features into a concerned frown. "Oh, dear! What have I done?" she asked innocently.
The sorrowfully dripping mess that was Marks fixed her with an icy stare. He carefully stepped away from Thorpe, his shoes making dreadful sucking noises as he pulled them free from the toffee sauce. He took a few steps toward Teg.
The Dwiggie crowd was silent, watching and waiting.... grins on all of their faces.
CHARLOTTE CREAM SURPRISE
As Marks staggered forward, the deadly instant toffee pudding hurled at him by Teg was doing its work well. Too well! It foamed and grew and expanded and hardened, until all that stood in front of the Dwiggies assembled was a giant mass of toffee - and trapped somewhere inside was Marks.
"Oh gosh!" Breathed Teg! "I must have put a leeetle too much egg and sugar in the mix."
"A little!" Snorted Dawn. "Looks like you emptied a truckload in it."
"Er, I wonder if Marks can breathe in there?" Asked DanielleL.
Shawn and Frewen looked at each other with a grin. "Hey, we'll have to blast him out. I know where to get some fertiliser and some..."
"OI! You two!!!!!" Ann hissed. "I'll have no bomb making lessons on this site, if you please!"
Shawn and Frewen looked a little disappointed at not being able to make explosives.
Chris smirked and said. "Power tools!" The other men perked up at the magic words.
"Of course! We can use a Kango hammer and those new drills we got for our wives on our last anniversaries." At this the men went off to get busy.
"Well," said Teg. "I suppose we could just break bits off and eat it away."
"Will that open the thing enough to get Marks out before he suffocates?" Asked Shemmelle.
"No." Said ErinH, "But we shouldn't let Teg's cooking go to waste."
With that, the ladies tucked into the toffee.
About an hour or so later, the gentlemen returned with all manner of power tools.
They hammered and ground and drilled and routed until finally they broke through with a tiny air hole.
"Helloo in there." Shouted Bill.
"Cooee!" Came the reply.
"Hey! How come you're still alive?" Shouted Lise, who was already planning to use the deceased Pudding Master as a swimming buoy.
"No problem." Came a shout from within the toffee mountain. "When the toffee was setting, I just kept moving my arms and legs, and expanded my chest to make an air hole. In fact there is quite a large room here inside this toffee mountain."
Sure enough, as the men broke through with the power tools, it was as though they had broken into a cavern.
There was Marks the Pudding Master, clad in full Pudding Master Regalia with a grin on his face from ear to ear.
"What are you so happy about?" asked Teg. "You don't look as though you suffered one little bit." :(
"Of course not! One does not become a pudding master without taking this in one's stride." :p
(The other men gag at this blatant bragging in front of the ladies).
"So that means..." Said DanielleL. :9
"Yes indeedy!" Was the reply. "I have baked a special pudding while trapped in the toffee mountain, and here it is!"
With a dramatic flourish, Marks pulls out a large pudding dish and takes off the golden cover.
"What is it?" Asked Sara.
"I call it my 'Charlotte Cream Surprise'!" Said Marks with a wicked glance at DanielleL.
"A What?" Said Ann suspiciously.
"Well, it's actually a 'Charlotte Russe', but I changed the lady fingers to something else." Replied Marks with a look on his face that was almost virtuous.
"Here, try some DanielleL." He said holding out a portion.
"Mwmpf, mwmpf" She gobbled it all down, then daintily wiped her mouth with a handkerchief.
"And what about Spring and Teg?" Another couple of portions went on offer.
At this, Frewen and Shawn made a grab for the ladies pudding pieces, and they all went down on the floor.
"Mwmpf, mwmpf, mwmpf" was all that could be heard.
Marks looked on at the mayhem with a little smirk.
Lise (not a pudding fancier because of her strict swimming regime) had not been saying much. but she had been thinking. Lots. Because all of a sudden she lunged for the pudding master's head and grabbed his hair.
"Aha!" She cried. "A fake! Look at this ladies." She started to pull at Marks' hair, and suddenly there was a ripping sound as something gave way.
Yes folks it was a mask and wig that the pudding master had on. And who, you ask was it under the false hair and mask? None other than Marks' evil twin brother Skram!!!!!!!!
"Hehe! fooled you all!" He shouted.........
Author's note; A 'Charlotte Russe' is normally a charlotte mould (what else) lined with sponge 'fingers' and filled with 'cream chantilly' - hence "mwmpf" and the need for a hanky to clean up.
Leather and Lace
But Skram's enjoyment of the situation was short lived as Joanna had gathered up a dragon boat oar and was hefting it with the obvious intent of applying it forcefully in Skram's particular direction!
He ducked, but unfortunately that did him no good. Joanna was strong, but the swiftness of her movements and the weight of the oar combined to make lifting it to such a height as to whack Skram in the noggin just wasn't possible. So she settled for someplace else, and ... well... Skram's duck put his head right in the way.
THWACK!!
CRACK!!
Skram doubled over and fell to the ground. Dwiggies materialized from the darkness surrounding the firelit area ready to take him down again if need be.
WHHH- CH!
"What was that?" came an assortment of cries from the confused Dwiggies.
WHHH-CH!
"Back! Back from him I say!"
Those surrounding the hapless Skram now turned their backs toward him to face this newcomer. A shape was gradually taking form as it emerged from the shadows. At first the ladies felt the impulse to laugh.. uproariously and prolonged! But at another crack of the bullwhip in the hands of this leather-clad Lady Catherine DeBourgh, they had second thoughts!
"Hey, watch where you aim that thing!" yelled an indignant Leareth as the dust at her feet rose at the touch of the tip of leather. Her fingers curled and uncurled as she thought of, and tossed aside, various plans that would result in her getting that leather outfit for herself.
"Go on! I said to get back. Nobody messes with Mama Cat!" Mama Cat moved forward, nose in the air and head held high, her stiletto heels tip-tapping on the pebbles surrounding the firepit. "Such company you're keeping these days, Skram. One hardly knows where any of them have been!" she added, raising a delicately lace trimmed hanky to her nose. Then she waved her hand at them, but it was the one carrying the whip and it snapped out at the ladies, who jumped back in alarm.
Mama Cat looked down at her protege and shook her head dismally. "Skram, my dear, what am I to do with you?" Her mind toyed with some ideas, but she laughingly shrugged them off.
Then she noticed the mess of pudding on the ground at their feet. "What is this Skram? Why, it's that scrumptious pudding that Mrs. Collins baked for me! How could you?" Her gaze pierced him where he stood. "There will be punishment for this, let me tell you. Just wait until we get home!" Her feline smile had a hardened edge to it.
Skram got to his feet and flashed a contemptuous grin at the assembly. Ah, escape was guaranteed now! He moved to stand beside his benefactor, leaning close enough to hear her whispered instructions.
"It's all in place. When I give the word, follow me back the way I came."
A few of the Dwiggies were getting restless, wondering what was going to happen next. MariaV was eyeing the duffle bag with an intent, longing expression. She slowly sidled sideways toward it.
"Mwmmm... Mwmmmmm!"
Mama Cat stared around at the crowd accusingly. "What is that?"
Teg shrugged. "One hears many things under the cover of night."
"MWMMMM!!! MWMMMMM!!" The sound was definitely coming from directly behind the two potential escapees.
Mama Cat whirled around and stared at the large lump of Blancmange.
"Mmmessss, Immmsssmmmeeee!"
She took a few steps forward and then began to laugh, an unpleasant and harsh sound. "Why if it isn't George Wickham! You old reprobate, you! Well, I can see you were no match even for a couple of Pudding Fairies. That's what you get for dropping out of my tutelage." Mama C motioned to Skram. "Come, Skram. Enough of this worthless rabble. Let's go have some fun!"
Cracking her whip to keep the Dwiggies at bay, she took Skram's hand with her free one and they began to back away into the darkness. As they disappeared her maniacal laughter could be heard echoing through the trees.
"We must do something!" everyone cried at once when they were gone.
Chris picked up the power nailer dejectedly. "Didn't even get the chance to use this," he muttered.
The others were running around in circles trying to decide what to do next. Teg merely leaned against a tree and watched, stifling a yawn.
"We can't let Mama Cat and Skram get away with this! They must be stopped!" shouted Marika.
"Of course, but without Marks here, what chance have we got?" pouted Jeannette.
"HEY!" objected several voices. The men all looked at one another and nodded their heads. Then they turned back to the ladies, chests thrust out proudly. "Never fear! Why on earth would you need Marks when you've got us?"
There was silence as the ladies looked at the men for a moment. Facing one another once more they repeated, "What chance have we got?"
Teg by now had had enough. Pushing herself from the tree she hefted the duffle bag and shook her head impatiently. "You lot are pathetic. You think that Marks is the only one who can do anything around here?"
Surprised, the ladies said simply, "Yes."
Teg rolled her eyes heavenward. "Give me strength!" Narrowing her eyes, she hugged the duffle bag to her chest and marched past the sceptical women, off into the darkness of the forest. Her voice floated back to them in the night air. "I'll be back."
Quiet descended upon the group for several minutes.
"Maybe someone should have gone with her," whispered Tineke.
"Nah," scoffed Spring. "She took the duffle bag with her."
"YES!" came a voice from the darkness. "She did, didn't she?" An evil laugh followed this pronouncement.
"Not again..." grumbled Bill. "Who is it this time?"
"Oh, no!" everyone cried as a man stepped into the light and struck a pose. "Not Willoughby!"
The man looked affronted. "What sort of reception is that? Women are supposed to fall at my feet. It's written in the Book!!"
"Would you just look at that guy?" Shawn spat on the ground. "What say we take care of this one, boys?" He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
But before the men could advance on Willoughby there came a laugh from MariaV! What was the young lady holding aloft? Why, it looked suspiciously like one of those little packets from Teg's duffle bag!
"Teg may have taken the bag with her," MariaV cackled. "But I have one of the pudding bombs!!" She waved it back and forth threateningly. "Who wants to find out what's in this one? Eh?"
Everyone scattered, leaving poor Willoughby stuck out in the open... a ripe target for MariaV's overexcited state of mind. She brought her arm back, aimed and with an incredibly accurate attempt at mimicking the cries of the Pudding Master and Mistress, called out "PUD-DING!" and let it fly!
SPLOOOOOFFFF!!
POP! POP! POP!
SPLIFF
dribble dribble dribble
Willoughby blinked. He couldn't move. His entire body was encrusted with tiny profiteroles, only his eyes and nose protruding from the mass of pastry and custard cream filling.
"Wow!" sighed MariaV. "Can I cook, or can't I?" She stared lovingly at the award winning conical shape before her.
Ann appeared at her elbow. Surveying the large desserts in the little clearing, she grinned. "Hmmm... blancmange, sticky toffee pudding and a ... a... I think that's a Croquembouche!" She looked more closely at the cream fillings oozing out of the profiteroles. "Oh, yes. Definitely a Croquembouche." She turned to MariaV. "Well, if Marks and Teg don't come back, I know who's going to representing the Derbyshire Writer's Guild at next month's Olympic Bakeoff Trials!"
Before MariaV could even sigh her appreciation of Ann's confidence in her, there was a loud bang and the sound of an engine approaching the clearing at high throttle.........
Author's note: The classic Croquembouche is made by arranging tiny custard-filled profiteroles (usually around a metal croquembouche cone or flower pot) one on top of the other until they form a conical shaped tower. The little cream puffs are first quickly dipped into caramelized sugar before being set in place. The sugar hardens almost instantly, holding the cream puffs in place... or effectively immobilizing rebellious young rakes until they can be firmly disciplined. ;)