The Crims #3 Page 14
Big Nana cuffed Josephine around the head.
Josephine stared at Big Nana, shocked. “Al, darling!” she said. “Are you just going to let your mother treat me like that?”
“Yes,” said Al. “Sorry, dear, but you deserved that.”
And that’s not all! typed the Gull. He disappeared again, and a montage flashed onto the screen. There were the Crims stealing the donation cup from the Punch and Judy show—and there was the Mussel, behind the scenes, operating the Punch and Judy puppets. There were Nick and Nate, buying ice creams on the rainy pier—and there was the Gull, his beak hidden behind a mask, taking their money. And there was Delia, leading the donkey home from the beach. Except it wasn’t a donkey at all—it was the Gull in a pantomime donkey costume.
“You’re Mavis?” Delia was horrified. “How could you treat me like this when I fed you so much delicious hay?”
The Gull reappeared on the screen. I ate hay! he typed.
“I know you did,” said Delia. “That’s what I just said.”
I mean, I HATE hay, typed the Gull. HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE—
“MAKE HIM STOP!” cried Uncle Knuckles. “I GET VERY ANXIOUS WHEN PEOPLE TYPE IN CAPITAL LETTERS!”
The Gull laughed his strange, wheezing laugh. You, Knuckles Crim, are pathetic. And so are you, Josephine Crim. And you, Al Crim. And you, Delia Crim. And you—
“Right, we get the idea. We’ll be here all day if you type every single name out,” said Freddie.
“If you think we’re so pathetic, why did you go to so much effort to lure us to your island?” asked Imogen. “Wait—did you blow up Krukingham Palace just to get our attention?”
Ava groaned from above.
I did indeed. Don Vadrolga made it easy! See, I don’t think you’re all pathetic, wrote the Gull. Just most of you. One of you is an evil genius. One of you is my true nemesis.
Imogen couldn’t be positive—the beak made it hard to tell who the Gull was looking at—but she was pretty sure he must be talking about her. She felt a flush of pride. I’m a superhero’s nemesis! And then a flash of fear. She had been enjoying not having a nemesis. . . .
But then she realized that the Gull was actually looking at . . . Freddie.
Freddie looked as surprised as she felt. “Me?” he asked. “What have I done? I spend most of my time doing the cryptic crossword these days!”
These days, that may be true. But what about in the old days? Before you knew Big Nana was still alive?
“I ran an illegal poker ring. But only about ten people ever played, and everyone was sworn to secrecy— Did Blabbermouth Bill tell you about it? I should have known not to trust a man with a name like that. I’ve never met a Bill who didn’t try to deceive me.”
Guards! Bring him forward! typed the Gull.
The security guards marched up to Freddie, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pushed him toward the screen. Imogen hadn’t noticed before, but the guards were wearing surgical gloves . . . She shivered. What was the Gull going to do to Freddie?
Freddie stumbled to a stop in front of the screen. The Gull smiled down at him. At least, he attempted to smile. It’s hard to smile when you have a beak.
So, typed the Gull. We meet again.
“We really haven’t met before,” said Freddie. “I never forget a face. Particularly not a giant one, covered in feathers.”
Do you recognize me now? asked the Gull—and he pulled off his mask, beak and all.
Josephine sighed with relief. “At least we don’t live in a world where someone would sew a beak onto their face.”
“Shh!” said Delia, pointing at the screen. “Look who it is!”
Imogen stared, openmouthed, at the Gull’s real face. He was scrawny, with messy brown hair and strangely sunken lips. “It’s you!” she whispered.
“That’th right,” said the man on the screen. “It’th me . . . UNFORTUNATE PETE!”
The other Crims gasped.
“Er, excuse me,” said Ava from above their heads. “Can someone please explain to me who Unfortunate Pete is?”
“He—he used to be in my secret poker ring,” said Freddie, his voice shaking. “And he wasn’t very good at poker, so he ended up owing me loads of money. And because he couldn’t pay me back, I made him punch himself in the face. And unfortunately, he knocked all his teeth out. But how could I know that was going to happen?! I didn’t know he had such an effective uppercut! Or such loose teeth!”
Big Nana tutted. “I always knew that poker ring was a bad idea,” she said. “But I was too dead to do anything about it.”
“Hang on,” said Freddie, turning around to look at Big Nana. “How did you know about my secret poker ring?”
“WHO CARETH?” screamed Unfortunate Pete, who was slightly easier to understand without the beak. “Focuth on ME for oneth, Freddie! You ruined my life! And now it’th time for me to get my revenge. I’ve reinvented mythelf ath the Gull, becauth seagullth are the motht terrifying creatureth on Earth, even though they have no teeth!”
“I have to disagree with you there,” said Freddie. “It’s statistically proven that the deep-sea anglerfish is the most terrifying creature on Earth. It’s just that it lives so deep in the ocean that people aren’t terrified by it that often.”
“No one wanth to hear your thupid thahtithicth!” said Unfortunate Pete.
“What did he just say?” Delia whispered to Imogen.
“THUPID THAHTITHICTH!” said Unfortunate Pete, spraying the camera with spit.
“It’s statistically proven that ‘statistics’ is the most difficult word to say if you don’t have any teeth,” said Freddie.
“THUT UP!” cried Unfortunate Pete. And then he smiled. “Actually, don’t. Becauthe it’th time for me to make you thut up. . . .”
Josephine ran toward the screen and fell to her knees. “Please!” she wept. “Spare us! We have done no wrong! Take Freddie, if you must—he never does his share of vacuuming—but let the rest of us live!”
“Oh, I don’t care about the reth of you,” Unfortunate Pete said dismissively. “You’re free to go. The cruithe thip ith waiting downthairth. There’th a round of piña coladath waiting for you in the bar area.”
“THAT’S VERY THOUGHTFUL OF YOU,” shouted Uncle Knuckles as Uncle Clyde ran past him to the exit, “BUT HAVE YOU PROVIDED NONALCOHOLIC OPTIONS FOR THOSE OF US WHO ARE TEETOTALERS OR UNDER THE LEGAL DRINKING AGE?”
Imogen watched her family push and shove one another out of the way in their hurry to get out of the auditorium/dungeon.
“Save me a lounger!” Nick called to Nate, who was closest to the door.
“The Jacuzzi is mine!” shouted Big Nana.
But Imogen didn’t move. “Wait!” she called.
Everyone waited.
“We can’t just abandon Freddie,” she said.
“We definitely can,” said Delia, who already had her hand on the door. “That’s exactly what we’re about to do.”
“But how would you feel if you were in his position?” Imogen asked her.
“Uncomfortable, probably,” said Delia, looking at the way the security guards had folded Freddie’s arm behind his back.
Imogen turned to the Gull. “What are you planning to do to him?”
“You’re about to find out,” said the Gull, and he laughed an evil laugh. Except he wasn’t actually evil, so really it was just a laugh. “Guardth!” shouted the Gull. “Put Freddie into . . . THE THUIT!”
“The chute?” asked one of the security guards, pointing at a water slide.
“NO! THUIT!”
“You want us to shoot him?” asked the other security guard, cocking his pistol.
“NO!” shrieked Unfortunate Pete. “Dreth him in the thuit with the teeth!”
“The suit with the teas?”
“TEETH!” shouted Unfortunate Pete, trying to bare his teeth to show them what he was talking about, but he didn’t have any teeth, so it didn’t really work.
; Freddie rolled his eyes. “I think he wants you to dress me in that suit over there,” said Freddie, pointing to a pink jumpsuit that was laid out in a corner of the stage. It was covered with mechanical fake teeth.
“Why didn’t he just say so?” asked the guard, patting Freddie on the back. “Thanks! You’re a real gent!”
“Any time,” said Freddie.
The security guards picked up the suit and handed it to Freddie. “Do you just want to go ahead and put this on yourself? It’s probably easiest that way.”
“Sure,” said Freddie. He zipped the jumpsuit up and stared down at the plastic teeth.
He looked ridiculous, but looking ridiculous wasn’t much of a punishment for Freddie—he owned more than one Hawaiian shirt.
“Are those teeth suppose to . . . do something?” Imogen asked the Gull.
The Gull shook his head. “Don’t tell me the thuit’s out of batterieth. . . .”
“Don’t worry!” said the security guard. “I picked some up at the supermarket this morning! They were on special.” He loaded them into the battery pack that was sewn into the waistline of the jumpsuit and flicked the switch to “CHEW.”
Immediately, the plastic teeth started opening and closing, trying to chew Freddie.
Freddie wriggled and started laughing. “It tickles!” he said.
“That looks mildly annoying,” Big Nana whispered to Imogen. “But really nothing that Freddie doesn’t deserve.”
Ava laughed so hard that her cage rattled. “You call THAT a punishment?!” she asked.
“Yeth,” said the Gull, looking a bit put out.
“Ha!” said Ava. “You’re not a superhero. You’re not even a hero. You’re just a weirdo who can’t even eat solid foods.”
“Yeah!” said Henry.
“QUIET!” shouted the Gull. He turned to the Crims. “Why are you all thtill here?”
“We’re not leaving till you let Freddie go,” said Imogen. “And Ava, too.”
“You can take Ava. I’ve had enough of her,” said the Gull. “Guardth! Releathe the prithoner!” he cried.
The guards opened Ava’s cage—and she jumped down to the floor and ran straight out of the dungeon/auditorium without looking back. “So long, suckers!” she called over her shoulder.
“Freddie too,” insisted Imogen.
“Freddie ithn’t going anywhere,” said the Gull. “And becauthe you all thought hith punithment wath tho pathetic, I’ll try a different one.” He smiled and turned to Freddie. “Which of your relativeth would you like to be killed firth?”
“I’ve actually thought a lot about this,” said Freddie without hesitation.
“All right, never mind,” said Big Nana. “We’re leaving. What is it I always tell you, children? ‘Never overstay your welcome. Unless you’re at an all-inclusive resort.’” And she ushered the other Crims out of the auditorium.
Imogen was the last to leave. She looked at Freddie, still laughing and writhing around in the stupid jumpsuit, like an extremely toothy worm. She didn’t want to leave him alone. But if this was the worst punishment the Gull could come up with, then he was going to be fine . . . wasn’t he?
The Crims were unusually quiet as they walked back to the cruise ship.
“What if Unfortunate Pete actually kills Freddie?” Imogen whispered to Big Nana.
“He won’t,” Big Nana said. “Unfortunate Pete isn’t a supervillain. He’ll just irritate Freddie a bit and then let him go. We should just let the poor guy have his fun—after all, he can’t even eat a sandwich without putting it into a blender.”
“Okay,” said Imogen. “And we’ll swing by tomorrow to pick Freddie up?”
“Exactly, my single-use toothpick,” said Big Nana.
“And we should track down Ava, too,” said Imogen. “Who knows what she’ll be plotting next. . . .”
Imogen boarded the cruise ship and collected her piña colada from the bar area. She walked to the upper deck and lay back on her favorite lounger. It was strange, being back here without Ava. But also quite relaxing, she had to admit. Delia walked past her, a copy of Goodbye! magazine in her hand. Imogen patted the empty lounger next to her.
“Come and sit with me,” she said.
But Delia just huffed and walked to a lounger on the other side of the pool.
Imogen sighed. There was a reason “holding a grudge” was listed in the special skills section of her cousin’s résumé.
Imogen settled back, closed her eyes, and listened to the relaxing birdcalls. But then her eyes snapped open again. Because she had just heard a very unrelaxing birdcall indeed.
A horrible ARRRK . . . ARRRK was coming from the sky above her. Imogen looked up and saw the Gull, clutching Freddie in his prosthetic talons, flapping his impressive wings, flying her cousin to a strange-looking structure on top of the castle.
“Is that . . . a catapult?” Delia asked.
Imogen nodded. “I just assumed that was how he launched himself into the sky to fly. . . .”
The Gull strapped Freddie into the catapult. Then he programmed a digital timer on the side. Imogen recognized it—she’d stolen the exact same model during the Mega Deals heist.
The timer flashed: “30 MINUTES.” And then the countdown began. . . .
“Is it me,” said Delia, pointing off to the right, “or is that catapult aimed at that tall, spiky island?”
“It’s not you,” said Imogen.
“That tooth is the canine in the dental archipelago,” said Aunt Bets, who was swimming laps in the pool; she knew a lot about teeth.
“THWEDDIE LMIVED BMY THME THMOOTH, THMO HME’LL DMIE BMY THME TMOOTH!” screamed the Gull, who was wearing his ridiculous beak again.
“None of us have any idea what you’re talking about,” yelled Delia.
“I think he’s trying to say that I lived by the tooth, so I’ll die by the tooth,” called Freddie.
“Thmank myou,” said the Gull.
“You’re welcome,” said Freddie.
The digital timer flashed “29 MINUTES.”
“I have a horrible feeling that this punishment is going to be slightly worse than the strange, toothy jumpsuit,” said Imogen. “We have to help him.”
“But how?” said Delia. “We either need a jet pack or some wings. Or, like, a time machine, but I don’t think we’re going to find one of those in the sports equipment store, even though it is unusually well stocked.”
“I don’t know,” said Imogen. “But we have to figure it out, fast. Or Freddie is going to be impaled on an island.”
17
IMOGEN CALLED THE other Crims to the pool deck. “We need a plan,” she said.
“I need earplugs,” said Sam as the Gull circled above the ship, AAARRRKing in victory.
“Well, I need a new piña colada,” moaned Josephine. “The ice in this one has melted. Honestly, the service on this boat has absolutely nothing on the Pitz.” (The Pitz was a luxury hotel in Blandington, which Josephine enjoyed being thrown out of.)
Uncle Clyde raised his hand.
“Yes?” said Imogen.
“I have a plan!” he said. “First we need to find out how to turn water into gold. Then—”
Imogen held up her hand to stop him from speaking. “Sorry,” she said. “I should have been clearer. We need a plan that will actually work.”
“Oh,” said Uncle Clyde, disappointed.
The timer on the catapult flashed “25 MINUTES.”
“Duh,” said Delia, hands on her hips. “It’s obvious what we need to do. We have to shoot the Gull out of the sky. So, what are we waiting for? There are loads of weapons on this ship!”
“NMOT ANY MNORE!” shrieked the Gull. “I CONFITHCATED THEM ALL! HA! HA! HA!”
Freddie waved at them from the top of the catapult. “Sorry to butt in,” he yelled across at them, “but would you mind hurrying up? There are only twenty-four minutes left on the timer. Plus, the Gull’s screeching is really hurting my ears.”
“What have you got?” Imogen said hopefully. “The cannon? An anti-aircraft gun?”
“No,” said Big Nana. “This.” She ran to the kitchen and came back with one of the pineapples from the Golden Bounty. It was rotten now, and flies were buzzing around it like planets circling a revolting sun. “We just need to find a way to fire these at the Gull, and we can shoot him out of the sky.”
“I have an idea,” said Al, running to his cabin. He came back with the telescope he used to study the stars. (Apart from accountancy, astronomy was Al’s biggest passion in life. He liked lots of other things beginning with A, too, including apples, the aristocracy, and Alabama.) He pointed the telescope at the Gull’s catapult and studied how it was put together. “I think we could build our own catapult out of things we have on this ship,” he said. He snapped his telescope shut and started giving orders, the way he had during the pirate attack. “Henry,” he said, “you’re good at finding matches, even when I’ve confiscated them. I want you to find every single flammable thing on board this ship.”
“Aye-aye, Captain,” said Henry.
“Nick and Nate,” said Al, “go and get the chairs from the dining room. Knuckles, you bring me the karaoke machine. But DON’T USE IT! Sam, help Isabella bite all the elastic out of the fitted sheets. And Delia, bring me the individual chocolates from everyone’s pillows. I could use a snack.”
The Crims rushed around, bringing the things Al had asked for to the pool deck. Most of the Crims that is; Uncle Clyde and Josephine had drunk so many piña coladas that they were now snoozing on their loungers, as if a grisly murder involving a giant tooth wasn’t about to take place before their very eyes.
“Honestly,” said Big Nana, shaking her head. “I would disown them, if I didn’t like owning things so much.”
Imogen, Delia, and Big Nana went to the bar area and picked up armfuls of rotting pineapples. By the time they had piled them all up on the deck, Al and the others had managed to build something that actually looked like a catapult. “It’s a Crimacle!” said Big Nana, standing back to admire it. (A Crimacle is the Crims’ equivalent of a miracle—it’s when something that the Crims try to do actually works. A very unusual occurrence.)