Teacups & Tentacles | ONC 2022

12. What's the Plan?

Godwin sat in a wing chair in the cosy smoking salon of the Mastermind Society in what Alistair called his "wet doormat" pose: slumped down, legs splayed out over the carpet, face arranged in a thoughtful pout.

The laughter and clinking of glass from the saloon bar, the slaps, cheers and howled accusations from the games room, the whirr and hum of the automaton waiters and the drilling and bangs in the basement laboratories that sometimes shook the walls and dislodged torrents of soot from the chimneys all provided a soothing background for his self-recriminations.

The show had been an unmitigated disaster.

Thinking that the name guessing bit wouldn't be believable enough with an audience that didn't quite number thirty, they'd switched that portion out for some card tricks at the last moment. 

Unfortunately, Godwin hadn't practised in a while --quite a long while--  card tricks not being part of their current act. He'd dropped the ace hidden in his cuff into a gentleman's lap and couldn't remember how to get the eight of hearts to the top of the deck, mistakenly drawing the three of clubs instead.

If it hadn't been for Alistair's witty banter distracting the paltry crowd, they'd have had hecklers by the time the curtain closed and been dodging flying pieces of Yorkshire Pudding.

Godwin wasn't sure he could take many more nights like it.

A hand waved in front of his face. "I said hullo Godwin. Haven't seen you in ages." 

Godwin's blurry gaze focused onto Amelia Tooting-Spurgrinning at him in that slightly deranged fashion of hers. "Amelia, sorry! My mind was elsewhere."

"Looked it." Unbidden, Amelia dropped herself into the next wing chair over and peered round for the automaton waiter on wheels. "I could murder a gin. What about you?"

Godwin shook his head, pointing to the pint of ale on the table next to his elbow. He didn't much feel like a chat, especially not with the notoriously steamrolling Amelia, but he was nothing if not well-mannered, and so said, "I hear you have been staying with family since your release. That must be a welcome change."

"Don't be fooled, they didn't have a choice. I'm to be under observation by a responsible member of society for eight months. Just in case I blow a fuse and rob a postal bus with a pair of duelling carrots."

The automaton waiter rolled into the salon on its three padded wheels and discreetly dinged the little copper bell around its neck as a sign it was ready to take orders. 

"Back in a jiff," said Amelia and scampered off only to return moments later, order chit in hand.

"What about this octopus, eh?" she said, slamming the round token onto the table while making the sound of a splatting tomato. Godwin wondered why he'd never thought to introduce her to Shirley, the ventriloquist at Royston's. They'd have loads to talk about.

"My sister dragged me out to see it a fortnight ago -- part of her individualised rehabilitation programme, I gather," Amelia continued. "Now it's not the talk of the town, but the terror of the town!" She giggled. "Did you have the chance see it, too?"

"Yes," Godwin answered, truthfully. "Too much of it for my liking."

"Really?" Amelia raised her eyebrows,  lowered her voice and leaned in. "How so?"

Godwin shrugged in what he hoped was a non-committal fashion. Amelia leaned further in and whispered, "Do you know what I think? I think there's something fishy about it. If you'll pardon the pun. I don't know exactly what, but I can feel it in my bones. Fishy. Very. And you got the same notion, didn't you?"

She fixed Godwin with a stare like a ramrod.

A ramrod he was only capable of withstanding for the amount of time it took him to take a swig from his pint, then he leaned in, too, and gave her a sanitised version of what he'd surmised in the underwater room. It was a relief to be able to talk about it tosomeone else again and he felt himself relaxing as he spoke.

"How exciting," Amelia said when Godwin had finished his tale, her face flushed and eyes glowing with interest. "Do you think the police have an inkling?"

"I bloody well hope so, otherwise it might spell the end of The Amazing Godwin. No ticket sales, no show," he explained. "If people stay away too long due to this menace, then Alistair and I will be selling pencil sharpeners in the shape of Big Ben to tourists and no doubt about it."

"Poppycock. You've got a name, and you aren't simply an excellent faker or they wouldn't have allowed you in here," she said, nipping at the small tumbler of gin and soda which had arrived in the meantime. 

"Thank you for the vote of confidence."

"Very welcome. Which means you have genuine abilities. Probably certain ones the rest of us don't know about. I know I do. Secret abilities, in a manner of speaking. Besides mind read, what else do you have in your repertoire?"

Godwin ran down the list of his stage and acting abilities. Card tricks he thought wise to leave out for the time being.

"Hm. We could use some of those, " Amelia said, tapping a finger to her chin. "Hypnotism and beginner karate sound especially useful."

"Useful how?" Godwin asked, interest rising. "Do you know of a theatre looking for acts by any chance? There's a particular pig I'd be quite delighted not to share a stage with anymore. I am  open to acting in musical plays, if necessary."

Amelia gave him a look not wholly unlike one a teacher might inflict on a particularly stupid child. "What are you talking about? No, Godwin, when we locate and capture the octopus, of course!"

"Of course. When we do what?" Godwin said, his voice going up an octave and his eyes going as round as a cogs.

"Look, I've been thinking about this, and it's clear from how the Metropolitans are talking that they haven't got a clue where the beast is nor how to apprehend it. And they obviously don't think it's important enough to send the dogs out after, or they would have done it by now. It's ruining your show and, quite frankly, Rose is boring me into an early grave. We both need something to get our blood flowing and a marauding octopus with nefarious intentions is just the thing."

Amelia snapped her fingers, leaned back in her chair and grinned. "Tell me you don't want your name in lights and articles about you in every talking hoarding in London. Go on, tell me."

Images of an insanely jealous Edwin and a moping Susie galivanted through Godwin's mind, followed by a beaming, adoring Alistair getting down on one knee and proposing. 

He took another few pensive sips of ale.

Then setting down the glass carefully on the side table, he said, "What's the plan?"