Fiction: The Game

"Her!"

At that one word, he collapsed into a dead faint. Marie quickly caught him, and Gardiner rushed to support her. So they stood, trembling, holding each other up, while the shadow reached for the handle. The door creaked open...

To their astonished and frightened eyes, she never looked taller, never looker whiter and more beautiful. The reign of the White Witch of Narnia was back! This evil witch, was back to rule London! Her eyes flashed fire, as she said, "slave!....How long am I to wait for my chariot?"

She did that funny action that was supposed to reduce obstacles into piles of dust, but.....

...luckily for the three stunned persons before her, nothing happened.

"Wife," exclaimed Bordeaux as he recovered from the faint, "what is the meaning of this?"

"Same thing I was going to ask you," snarled the White Witch, casting a withering glance at Marie.

Bordeaux bit the inside of his cheek, trying to repress his anger.

"...With your masquerades again, Lucy," he said in a low tone, so only she understood.

"Yes," said the White Witch with some degree of impatience, "though I must wonder where yours are. Where is your paleness, your whiteness..." - ignoring the fact that Bordeaux was at that moment just as pale as when he had the powder on - "...where is the old man? It seems you have quite forgotten everything. At least tell me you have not sold the donkey."

Bordeaux was silent.

"YOU HAVE NOT SOLD THE DONKEY!" roared the Witch.

Bordeaux lifted his eyes slowly, seeing the rage which possessed her, and said coolly, "I have."

There was a short, blaring silence. Their very ears were deafened by it. Then the Witch demanded...

slowly, growing whiter and angrier, " To who did you sell it to? Surely you wouldn't dare to sell it to my one enemy that...that..." And the words died on her lips. She dared not utter the name.

Her eyes flashed, she made an action to...

...snatch the blue cheese out of Bordeaux's hand, but didn't, as he moved too quickly for her.

"Yes," he answered, with a mischievous smile playing at his lips, "I did sell it to her."

"Nooooooo!" gasped the White Witch, herself in turn almost fainting. "How could you?"

"Very easily, ma'am," said Bordeaux with mock courtesy.

The first person who began to realise the ludicrousness of the situation was Gardiner. He realised it was Madame de Bordeaux, Bordeaux's hated wife and enemy, in person, who had so recently been a White Witch asking for a chariot - he saw right through her, as more and more she grew into herself; he realised that Bordeaux was still holding the blue cheese he had never had time to give to Marie; he realised that Marie herself was looking more beautiful than Madame herself, though her beauty was a more earthy, solid, brunette one; and finally, he realised that Bordeaux and Marie loved one another, though perhaps even they did not realise this, and that nothing, not even Madame herself in her might and power, could seperate them.

It would mean divorce.

He began to smile. Finally it would be like old times, the manor would be cheerful and colourful once again. Finally Bordeaux would again be a happy young man, with none of the melancholy that had possessed him for so many years. Finally he could go to Missus and reply "Yes," to the daily, "Anything good yet?" And finally, he could retire, with a comfortable pension and young Ralph in his place.

Wasn't life wonderful.

Sadly, he was aroused from his pleasant reverie. What happened was...

A screaming police car drove up, the old driveway. Three burly policemen jumped out of the car, pistols aimed. Simultaneously, they yelled, "surrender! you are surrounded, and you will never escape alive if you move!"

Cautiously, very cautiously, Bordeaux....

...moved. He moved. He actually moved. The funny thing about it was, he moved. He moved stealthily, he moved cautiously, he moved sneakily, he moved carefully; but the point, gentlement, is that he moved.

And the policemen stood, transfixed. They didn't dare lift a finger, let alone three. The pistols - hanging limply from their hands. They were frozen on the spot.

What was even more strange, was, Bordeaux was moving TOWARDS them. With his white hair steadily blowing in the wind, he, still walking in the same direction, drew his hand to his head and....

pulled out his white hair! It was a wig! Without his wig, he actually looked much younger. His fiery red hair gave him the change in the complexion, which white hair had made him look old and weird.

His action startled the policemen, so that on of the gasped and fainted, and the other two....

...dropped their guns in shock. They stood, staring, staring at the suddenly young man.

Bordeaux had not altered his pace. He was soon looming up before the policemen. He stopped abruptly, and very deliberately and agily stooped to the ground, picked up the three pistols, held them in the air for a moment, right under the noses of the stupefied policemen, and then dropped them again. Equally deliberately, he crushed them with his heel.

High-pitched, semi-maniacal laughter could be heard. Bordeaux whirled around. It was his wife.

"Now, now, my dear," she said - "my dear" rasping with unpleasant irony. "Where is your spirit of adventure. You are so tolerant."

If looks can strangle, Bordeaux strangled her at that moment.

Marie had been gazing at the scene with a strange mix of astonishment, horror, amusement, sentimentality, and happiness. She now stepped forward...

to intervene. She wanted no unnecessary bloodshed. They were husband and wife. She had to leave.

Seeing the look of resolution on her pale face, Bordeaux immediately turned around to hold her close to him, but she was too quick for him. She managed to...

...slip away from him and run into the house. Bordeaux followed her hurriedly, but she slammed the door quickly and he heard the lock turn twice.

More maniacal laughter. The foremost of the many things he despised about his wife.

Turning despairingly, he let his shoulders slump down, and then, ran madly around the corner, where he began climbing up the light green drainpipe. All would have been well had not...

...a bird of unfamiliar sight appeared from nowhere and started tugging at his sleeves and hair. Poor Bordeaux tried in vain to push it away as he tried to keep his balance. Alas! No avail! The bird would not leave. It pulled and tugged as it screeched until...

...it succeeded in tearing off yet another wig (yes, the barber was certainly getting a pretty good boost in finances out of this man) and shredding the black suit, leaving the poor man the way he had been born (but considerably taller). He scurried off behind a bush only to find...

a fish-net and some hooks. he quickly made up an odd cloak and put it on, covering the three scars which ran down under his left arm to his waist. he also found a boomerang and threw it at his horrible wife and the grounds keeper who were racing towards him.
by some misfortune he misses his target and instead the boomerang crashed through one of the windows in the great mansion. a loud yelp was heard a moment after the crash of the wondow and everyone immediately hurried inside the house.
Bordeaux reached the top steps first, and came to a halt before the room with the broken window. he stared. clothes: dresses, pantyhose, and socks were flung everywhere. some papers were scttered on the floor... but that was all irrelevant as amidst the mess lay poor little Marie - unconcious yet again. the maid had a nasty gash on her forhead, and blood was drooping out, her skirt was lifted above her knees reveling shocking-hot-pink stockings. the boomerang was rigth beside her. then a rabbit jumped out of nowhere...

...and said, "you miserable monster, Bordeaux! You've just broken a marvellous piece of porcelain, old rogue! Collector's edition!"
Bordeaux thought for a moment the rabbit was simply being poetic and calling Marie porcelain - for she did look very much like a piece of porcelain at that very moment, if a very blood-stained piece of porcelain - but then he realised that a piece of porcelain just behind Marie was indeed broken.
"What the deuce do I care about porcelain!" He groaned. "Help her someone please!"
"Help the porcelain?" asked the white rabbit curiously. "My dear fellow, are you feeling alright?"
"No, help Marie...Marie...my darling..."
A chill of cold, hard, pointed laughter - if laughter had shapes then right now it would have been an icicle.
"It's your fault, my dear husband," said the Witch.
"Someone get water! And some linen!" Bordeaux's eyes darted around the room distractedly.
"What sir?" said Gardiner. "I don't think we have..."
"Oh, never mind," scowled Bordeaux, ripping up his white shirt.
Meanwhile...