Interactive Storytime - Season 3

You stand in the doorway of your own home, a ragged and filthy mess. Your gaudy backpack is literally overflowing with precious loot and vital evidence in the case of Ellen ‘Despicable Hag’ Gertie’s theft of church funds. You have discovered that the vicar who hired you also had a set of thieves’ tools stored in his display cabinet, and was hiding a pack of financial documents in the church safe, alongside a mysterious CD. He also struggled to pronounce the word chicken, which renders him all the less trustworthy.
 Equally worryingly, The Elderly Woman remains at large, but her network of spies and other malign agents operates a shadowy secret police that haunts your every move.
 Behind you, in the porch, Drainpipe Von Staffen is holding a polite silence to allow you your reunion with your wife, who you definitely remembered having for this whole time.
 “Yes, yes we do have a case. And it’s a real doozy.” You say, swinging the backpack off and placing it carefully next to the coat rack.
“It must be, given that Drainpipe Von Staffen has been drafted in to help.” Answers your wife, Ashley.  “Hello Drainpipe!”
“Hello there Ashley. Wonderful to see you again. I hope I’ll be no bother waiting here in your porch.” Drainpipe replies in its trademark consistent accent.
“Never a bother!” Ashley beams back. “Now, Lucy. Tell me how the case is going.”
 You don’t even hesitate.

1. “I slept secretly in a church toilet!”
2. “I bested the elderly woman in single lipstick combat!”
3. “I tore the pockets of my trousers to shreds! To absolute shreds!”
4. “I invented the most practical type of footwear known to humankind!”

  
>> “I bested The Elderly Woman in single lipstick combat!”

 “I bested The Elderly Woman in single lipstick combat!” You declare proudly, flexing with one arm and swiping the other around as if swashbuckling with your lip-targeting weapon of choice.
 Ashley is obviously impressed, as anyone would be. She looks at you with admiration in her eyes and raises a hand to the side of her face.
 “Gosh! Tremendous work, my love! She’ll certainly think twice before messing with you again.”
 Your face drops. Not far enough to leave your head, but certainly far enough to demonstrate to Ashley that all is not well.
 “I’m afraid she’s not been put off by the thorough making up I gave her. In fact, it was immediately after her defeat that she dealt me the cruellest blow of all.” You tell your wife. If you can confide the depth of your hurt in anyone, it’s her.
 “No, she didn’t… she didn’t leave you hanging? Surely not even someone as depraved as this Elderly Woman presumably is would do something so heinous?” Ashley pleads, already in denial at the horror of such actions.
 Numbly you nod your head.
 “Oh Luce, I’m so sorry! We’ll get her. We’ll get her good.” Ashley says, placing an arm around your shoulder and giving you a short squeeze. “I take it she’s the target of the case?”
 Feeling a little comforted by the display of affection and by someone finally realising how disgusting The Elderly Woman’s behaviour was, you continue speaking.
 “No, she’s just a thorn in my side. The case involves an entirely different embodiment of evil masquerading as an elderly woman.” You explain, wondering in the back of your mind whether you have some prejudices to work through. Immediately you disregard the notion; you’re a well-documented defender of all that is honourable, good and right in the world. “Ellen Gertie has stolen a large sum of money from the Greater Washburn church, and the vicar wants us to track down evidence of her crimes. Then, when we have it, we’re to make sure she can never harm another parish. By any means necessary.” You embellish for gravitas, fixing Ashley with a knowing look.
 “Sounds like it could be dangerous. Too dangerous to let you go out there with battle-scars from someone as sick as The Elderly Woman distracting you. But you know what? We can make up for that crime right here and now.”
 Ashley confidently grabs your arm, lifts it into the air and opens your palm. She looks you dead in the eye, winks, and then delivers an unstoppable flurry of high fives. The force and volume of the high fives takes you by surprise, but a grin spreads across your face as you see the concentration and dedication of your wife. After ten minutes of palm-to-palm impacts, an emptiness that you’d almost stopped noticing is filled. All the colour in the world feels a little brighter again. After all this time and all this heartache, you finally feel like you’ve healed.
 
Not Hanging Anymore: +1 Self-Confidence, +1 Charisma

1. Thank Ashley for Saving your Soul, then Investigate CD
2. Thank Ashley for Reviving your Spirit, then Investigate Financial Documents
3. Thank Ashley for Healing your Heart, then have a Shower
4. Thank Ashley for Ameliorating your Being, then Offer her Curly Wurly Wrapper

 
>> Thank Ashley for Ameliorating your Being, then Offer her Curly Wurly Wrapper
 
As suddenly as it started, the high-fiving stops. Ashley is panting heavily but despite her exhaustion there’s a beaming, happy smile, as if she could see the wounds stitching themselves back together.
 “Thank you, Ashley, for ameliorating my being!” You say, in one of the more contrived choices of wording you’ve made in a while. Choosing not to dwell on that, however, you elect to make sure that nothing about this case, not even the slightest detail, is withheld from she who had mended that which you thought would lie broken for eternity.
 “Here!” You say, bending over your backpack and rustling through for the first previous piece of evidence. “Take this!” You thrust one arm up towards Ashley and present her with the item that set of all these events in motion, the one thing which led you to be standing outside of a supermarket on a moderately busy street at just the right time for the elderly woman to cross your path. In your open palm lies the distinctly crumpled, slightly grassy Curly Wurly wrapper.
 “Oh, yes of course. You always did hate littering.” Ashley says, quickly swiping the wrapper from your hand and dropping into a nearby bin. “Good show holding onto that all night, Lucy. Did you manage to pick up the batteries, by the way?”
 You’re in shock. Ashley always did have a knack for telling the truly vital evidence from the other detritus of a crime scene, but you were so sure that the Curly Wurly Wrapper had a deeper relevance. It takes you a few seconds to come to terms with the loss, but ultimately you know that it will allow you to focus your attention on what really matters.
 “I guess we were wrong about the wrapper, Drainpipe.” You call to your friend in the porch.
 “I’m just as surprised as you are, old bean.” Drainpipe replies. Something in its voice also sounds healed by Ashley’s high fiving. What a miracle worker she is. You realise that you need to reply to your wife’s question before she grows suspicious about the battery situation.
 “Yeah, I got them. I had to use a few for vitally important matters of case investigation.” You explain, warming her up to the idea of having fewer than 18 batteries available.
 “Oh?”
 “Drainpipe Von Staffen’s crown need some, naturally, and there was a speaker inside the vicar’s chair! I found it with my famous secateurs-sleuthing technique. It said something about meek people before burning out completely. It’s in the pack somewhere.”
 “Goodness! That sounds important. Well hand me the batteries we have left and then we can investigate the speaker.”
 Feeling a little uneasy about giving Ashley anything after the fate of the Curly Wurly wrapper, you hand her the remaining batteries in the packet, keeping the 3 exhausted AAs in the backpack for emergencies.
 “Thanks.” Ashley says, slipping the batteries into her own Inventory and peering down into the bag. “What else do you have in that backpack, anyway? Evidence relating to the case? Where did you even get it?”
 
Item Lost: Curly Wurly Wrapper
Item Lost: Pack of 13 AA batteries

1. Pour Inventory onto Floor and Gesture Vaguely
2. Squat Over Backpack and Toss Items out in a Cascade of Treasure
3. Remove Unreasonably Practical Wellingtons, and have a Shower
4. Explain the Nature and Origin of each Inventory Item One by One

 
>> Squat Over Backpack and Toss Items out in a Cascade of Treasure
>> [Bonus Action] Pour Inventory onto Floor and Gesture Vaguely
 
“Evidence the likes of which you could scarcely imagine!” You tell Ashley, accidentally stumbling into the truth for what feels like the first time in forever. You know that this moment deserves all the theatre and gravitas that can be mustered by mortal hands, and there’s only one way to truly command respect with one’s body language alone.
 You give your knees a few test bounces and Ashley looks on in patient but concerned silence, possibly suspicious that you’re about to have a lavatory accident.
 “Behold!” You bellow, dropping down into the lowest squat of the day, since your ruined, shredded pockets are no longer able to arrest the motion of your thighs. Plunging both hands into the backpack, you take a firm grasp on the first thing to reach your palm and snatch it upwards. Torn free from the tangle within is a spring from a train carriage seat, glinting in the light of your hallway. Continuing the one smooth motion of your arm, you fling the spring upwards into a graceful arc. No sooner has it bounced noisily against your hitherto cleanly plastered and painted ceiling than you grab a silver crucifix with your left hand and toss that upwards. The shimmering artefact of faith cuts a smooth parabola through the air and then bounces off a wall.
 Ashley gasps in surprise.
 To the soundtrack of a spring thumping onto a freshly vacuumed carpet you send a second crucifix into the air, followed by a heavily damaged mantelpiece clock, and then another spring.
 “Oh my goodness gracious!” Ashley exclaims. You laugh and continue hurling your Inventory into the air, like a geyser of unquestionably valuable objects erupting from the gaudiest backpack with which the church’s lost and found was able to furnish you.
 “Oh yeah!” You say, as the thoughts click into place. “I got this from the vicar! He gave it to me after I utterly annihilated my pockets with a bunch of springs from a train!” You shout, struggling to be heard over the sound of many heavy and expensive objects slamming onto the floor.
 Ashley can only look on in wonder, occasionally clapping her hands together in delight when another high-resale-value looted item from the church comes into view.
 The cascade of treasure cannot last for long, despite your best efforts at looting the world, and you finally throw the final item into the air. As you, Ashley and Drainpipe Von Staffen all watch one final shoelace flutter its way to the ground, you stand back up and smile proudly at Ashley.
 “There you have it. I have…” you gesture vaguely at the carnage around you “… this in the backpack. And it’s all either critical evidence, or a valuable tool in the fight to bring Ellen “Foe of the Righteous” Gertie to justice.”
 
Inventory
Lint (30)
Phone (Battery: 0)
1 Set of Keys
61p
1 receipt for 1 pack of 18 AA batteries & a curly wurly
1 set of dog-tags
1 packet of hollandaise sauce
Previously Soggy But Now Rather Dry Newspaper Half (2)
1 Dry Newspaper, With Eyeholes Cut Out
1 scarf - equipped by Drainpipe
1 pair of broken headphones
Seat Spring (26)
Shoelaces (34)
singed spring crown - equipped by Drainpipe
Exhausted AA batteries (3)
spring crown - equipped
Gaudy backpack
Folded Note (5)
Biro (3)
Coloured, Engraved Plastic Objects (4)
Paperclip (5)
Burned-out Plastic Speaker
Gold & silver crucifixes (6)
Silver saucers (8)
Ceremonial dagger
Thieves’ Tools
Broken Mantle Clock
Unreasonably Practical Wellingtons - equipped

1. Guide Ashley Around the Collection, Like a Museum Curator [Erudition Check]
2. Do a Backflip [Serendipity Check]
3. Take a Shower, and Actually Wash Yourself [Insolubility Check]
4. Squat, and Attempt to Swallow Dog-Tags [Self-Confidence Check]

 
>> Guide Ashley Around the Collection, Like a Museum Curator [Erudition Check - Success]
 
As anyone patron of the fine arts surely would be, Ashley is blown away by your collection. You can tell by the lack of speech that she is speechless, and by the lack of wings that she is wingless. Firmly rooted to the ground she stands in silence and allows her gaze to pass from one object to the next, hopefully not considering how much damage any of them have done to the plastering or paintwork. You wonder if she perhaps needs some guidance.
 “Would you care for the audio-tour, ma’am?” You ask.
 “Why yes certainly. That sounds delightful.” Ashley smirks.
 Holding yourself up straight, almost the polar opposite of a squat, you wobble across the minefield of precious items on your unreasonably practical wellingtons to stand by Ashley. You’re fairly sure that you can feel the springs catching on the carpet and tearing small pieces out, but that’s the price of a well-curated tour.
 “We start here with one of the simpler items in our gallery, the honestly-acquired shoelace. Made from a weave of polyester and silk, probably, historians are over forty percent sure that its original purpose was to secure springs together and fill pockets.” You explain, passing an open palm in the general direction of a shoelace that lies limp across a collection of springs.
 “Might it have other utilities? Perhaps in closing a shoe onto one’s foot?” Your tourist asks. You chuckle softly.
 “Preposterous. I’ve certainly never made use of an honestly-acquired shoelace in that regard. Interestingly, this shoelace is one of only 34 examples in our repository. See if you can spot any others as we go around! Now, we must move on to our next piece. Cunningly disguised as run-of-the-mill display spring, this coil of metal is in fact part of a dastardly trap laid by none other than The Elderly Woman!” You point at one of the springs beneath the honestly-acquired shoelace. Ashley gasps in shock that such a foul instrument would be on display in an institution such as your own. And her own, considering the joint ownership of the home.
 “Surely that must be locked away before it can harm someone!”
 “Fret not, mon petit boulangerie. These traps have been thoroughly disarmed. Using agents of her criminally evil and disastrously ugly network, The Elderly Woman planted one of these in every seat of the train I got to Greater Washburn yesterday. Only with quick thinking and a variable respect for the property rights of train companies was I able to keep myself and the rest of the carriage safe. She also left some trapped biscuits underneath a seat, which I was forced to disarm by ingestion.”
 Ashley pats you on the shoulder, grateful to know someone so noble.
 “Are there any other instruments of danger here?” She asks, hooked on adrenaline from the spring and shoelace.
 “Why of course! Feast your eyes from a safe distance on this broken mantelpiece clock. This very clock was used to smash my way to entry to the Vicar’s writing desk. Note the subtle fracture lines in the wooden exterior from the under-desk batten.” You point out, really giving Ashley her money’s worth in terms of raw detail.
 “Moving swiftly along, there is the ceremonial dagger. Another prize from the vestry of Greater Washburn’s most looted church, this dagger was personally wielded by myself when Drainpipe Von Staffen and I cut our way onto the railway tracks at Greater Washburn station.”
 Ashley spins on her heel to face you.
 “Why on Earth?”
 “The Elderly Woman’s agents were all over the ticket barriers. We would never have made it through.” You explain. For some reason, Ashley doesn’t seem terribly happy with your news.
 “You could have been killed! Do you know how dangerous that is!”
 “I do recall that someone had left their collection of warning signs on that same fence, but I presumed it was just coincidence.”
 “For goodness sake Lucy I don’t know what I’d do if you got hit by a train. Please, promise me you’ll never do something like that again!”
 
[Duplicity Check - Fail]
 
This feels like a loss of liberty. No-one has ever given you a direct instruction and had it respected. But looking into the worry on Ashley’s face even you have found a limit to your willingness to deceive or disobey. You can’t bring yourself to disappoint her.
 “I promise.” You say, sincerely.
 “Thank you.” She says, still a little frosty, but she gives you a hug all the same. Her nose wrinkles.
 “You haven’t found anywhere to shower in your adventure, have you?”
 You blush. It’s true that your aroma is novel after a supermarket rampage, rummaging through garden waste, and sleeping in a church lavatory.
 “No, but I will in a bit. There’s the rest of the tour to get to yet.”
 Ashley nods, but stands out of sniffing distance.
 “Our next exhibits are grouped as holy relics; the keys, depleted phone, dog tags, lint, receipt and hollandaise sauce. Known by many as the Vestments of Eternity, these objects are the original sins, as it were, of my pockets. It is known that 36p of the fortune scattered around us also belonged to the Vestments at some stage, but no-one knows which exact coins made up that elite cadre.”
 “It can all go in the rainy day pot, though.” Ashley says, back to her supportive ways.
 Glad that she hasn’t remained angry, you decide to double-down on making her happy with some real A-game loot.
 “Now this is a marvel of ingenuity. Observe me, your cherished wife and all-round recognisable detective. You’d know me anywhere, right?” You ask, standing with your chest puffed out theatrically.
 “By your smell alone, right now.”
 You poke your tongue out.
 “But now, with nothing more than this newspaper…” You say, snatching up a newspaper with eyeholes cut out and raising it in front of your face.
 “Mr Harriot! How did you get in here? Where did Lucy go?” Asks Ashley in a sudden panic. You’ve got her hook, line and sinker.
 “Aha! It was me all along!” You reveal, lowering the paper and laughing. “Together with a disguised Drainpipe in its fetching scarf and crown combo, we call this canny trick the Public Ainsley, Secret Drainpipe.”
 “Oh my gosh! That was brilliant!”
 You take a short bow.
 “Now we move onto the really damning evidence against Ellen Gertie.” You warn. After the ecstasy of Public Ainsley, the increase in tension is palpable. “What you see encircling the springs is a collection of silver saucers, silver crucifixes and yes indeed even gold crucifixes. Valuable objects they are, and they were all stolen from a church! Can you believe the nerve! I suspect, Ellen Gertie, personally. How she managed to sneak them into my Inventory is anyone’s guess, but the main thing is that we both know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I can’t possibly be guilty of breaking into a display cabinet and taking objects of worship.” You tell Ashley, with a ‘we definitely agree on this point so don’t even bother thinking about it at all’ look. She nods feverishly.
 “She really is the worst.” She adds.
 “Agreed. But just as worst as Ellen is the vicar. Not only can he not pronounce the word chicken, probably for legal reasons, but he also had these Thieve’s Tools in his display cabinet. That is not the equipment of an innocent man.”
 Ashley picks up the black pouch of tools and unfolds it, examining the sanctified tools of mischief.
 “Very peculiar…” she says. “but also useful.”
 “Quite so. Less useful are the pieces of trash from his desk. These engraved plastic models and a bunch of half-written sermons. I’m almost annoyed that he wasted my time by telling me that there was nothing of value in his desk and therefore forcing me to have a look and corroborate his claims.” You breathe a heavy sigh, trying to quell your annoyance at the ecumenical menace. “Regardless, we must finally come to the great enigmas of the case.” You say, your throat dry from so much unadulterated dialogue. You point to three items that you didn’t summarise in your mental account of the items you threw from the backpack but were definitely there all along so don’t question it. “This burned out speaker you know about; it was buried deep in the vicar’s armchair. Origin unknown. Next is a note in Ellen Gertie’s handwriting detailing how she would go about stealing a large sum of money from the church during a Sunday service. I feel sure that it’s relevant to the case somehow but really can’t put a finger on how.”
 Ashley scratches her chin. “It’s a real riddle that one.” She agrees.
 “These financial documents were in the vicar’s safe, which was knocked from its place and ended up breaking his floorboards. They accompanied this mysterious CD that I was unable to investigate, since I was too busy sleeping in a toilet and then vandalising a church with a pair of secateurs.”
 “If I had a pound for every time that’s happened to me too.” Ashley says, shaking her head gently.
 “That’s all the evidence available for investigation, I think.” You say. “Those broken headphones were just treasure I found in a train.”
 “This is a lot to work with, nice job Luce!” Ashley says. She moves to hug you, then remembers the stench. “But I think you really should wash and get changed first.
 Terrified of the prospect of distance between you and Ashley being enforced by aromas, you see no need to argue.
 
[Bonus Action - Take a Shower, and Actually Wash Yourself [Insolubility Check - Fail]]
 
You dash for the stairs.
 “Wait! Wellies off!”
 Agreeing that the wellies don’t need a shower, you pull them off and leave them by Drainpipe in the porch.
 “I’ll look after them, chum!” Drainpipe says.
 Up the stairs you run, skidding at the stop and turning a corner into the bathroom. Thanks to the utter ravaging that your pockets took from containing so many sharp springs, you don’t even need to try to take them off. They basically disintegrate. Piling the rest of your clothes gently in the sink in case they leak, you step into the shower and turn on the water.
 As water flows over you, you are overcome by a sense memory. It’s visceral, primal, and speaks directly to the fear-centre of your brain. You remember your very first squat, the excitement of bent knees on a busy street. You bobbed up and down, but too much. In a flood of horror, the memory of bobbing too far and sitting yourself in a puddle wells up. The charisma-destroying sensation of having a wet arse is brought back to the surface by your shower. The water barely has a chance to turn green from washing off the grass stains when you leap back out and run from the bathroom to the top of the stairs, panting.
 “What’s wrong?! “ Ashley asks, with shocked concern.
 “I accidentally sat in a puddle outside of a supermarket! It gave me a wet bottom! Showers are scary!” You cry back.

1. Grab Ceremonial Dagger for Protection, and Attempt to Shower Again
2. Grab Dry Newspaper with Eyeholes Cut Out, and Attempt to Shower Again
3. Comfort Squat and Crabwalk back to Bathroom, and Attempt to Shower Again
4. March Back into Bathroom, Punch Showerhead, and Attempt to Shower Again

 
>> March Back into Bathroom, Punch Showerhead, and Attempt to Shower Again
 
“Lucy, I know you’ve had a big day, but this is something I need you to do for me. You bested the Elderly Woman in lipstick single combat, for goodness sake! You broke this Ellen Gertie case wide open! Are you going to be beaten by some punk shower?” Ashley challenges, hands on her hips.
 “I… no, no I’m not!”  You declare, dripping water over the banister and thus exacting more cruelty on your carpet.
 “That’s right! I believe in you!”
 “Thanks Ash. I’ve got this! That shower won’t know what’s hit it.” You say, alarmingly accurately. Pumped up from your pep talk, you tell yourself that you were the ruddy crab king! You led a revolution in the bakery section! That shower might talk a good game, but you’ll show it hell. You owe it to yourself and to Ashley after surviving the ordeals of Greater Washburn. A memory comes to you.
 “Ashley! Don’t ever dunk buttery crumpets in tea. It’s really horrible and will make you feel sick. Especially if you do it with four in a row!” You shout down the stairs. Not waiting for an answer, you spin on your heel and march purposefully back to the bath room, fists balled and shoulders broad.
 “Thought you could scare me, did you?” You goad the showerhead as you cross the threshold. “Thought you could pour water right down the drain without me in the way?” You step into the shower enclosure. “Well think this!” You bellow, unleashing a devastating right-arm upper cut at the showerhead.
 The blow strikes true, but the enclosure is too cramped for real pugilism, and you were unable to really put your weight behind the punch. Rather than shearing the offending fixture straight off the hose, your strike bends it away to the left. Water continues to flow freely from the showerhead, but it is now directed straight at the wall, running down the cold, tiled wall rather than falling onto you.
 “Yeah, look away!” You gloat, feeling like a pretty big deal. That showerhead will think twice before messing with you again.
 You indulge yourself with a few moments of admiring your handiwork, and then remember that you came in here to actually get yourself cleaned. That glass-jawed showerhead continues to spray at the wall, but you’re an ingenious private detective and you can think your way out of any problem.
 You spend the next twenty minutes pressing yourself against the wet wall of the shower, trying to catch enough water to get a lather going, scrub at the grass and bakery stains, and rinse the suds away. Washing your hair is particularly brutal, and leaves your scalp feeling bruised from being pushed into hard tiles for so long.
 Eventually, you declare yourself to be done. You refuse to speculate on whether that’s by achieving cleanliness or running out of patience, but it’s among the bottom four showers of the month.

1. Punch Showerhead Again, so that it Remembers
2. Ask the Sink if it Wants Some
3. Elbow Drop the Toilet
4. Behave Yourself

 
>> Ask the Sink if it Wants Some
 
Dripping wet but still riding the adrenaline-high of a successful fist-fight you step out of the shower. As the throbbing sensation and deepening red mark on her hand attests, you’re now a stone-cold bruiser with whom no bathroom fixture should dare to mess. Roughly you grab a towel and wrap it around yourself, ready to continue your new-found career of menacing the suite that you and Ashley picked out together.
 Despite your recent aggression, you know that the rest of the bathroom has never had a reason to fear you before. They were able to assert their own will against you with not fear of recourse; from the cistern taking too long to fill, to the tiled floor being cold in the winter, to the shower enclosure requiring an awful lot more cleaning than you think to be reasonable.
 Worst of all offenders, though, is the sink. It insists on having taps that turn on at full force no matter how gently you turn the handle, resulting in many a splashed crotch and embarrassing wet mark. The drain occasionally blocks. The basin is slightly too low to comfortably wash your hands but far too high to easily dampen your calves. It’s had it far too good for far too long. There’s a new alpha in the bathroom, and it’s not confined to a pedestal.
 Glancing back to the shower, you see that the showerhead is still bashfully facing away towards the wall. It has learned a healthy respect and fear for you after your display of force. But the rest of the bathroom suite has not heeded that message of subservience. Everything else continues to look you in the eye, as an equal or, even worse, a peasant. Well no more. You decide that the only way to respect is to take down the ring-leader unequivocally.
 “What are you looking at, basin?” You say, spreading your arms wide to either side. “You think that just because you’ve got taps and a plughole you’re all that? You think that makes you better than me?”
 You take a step forwards, in the manner that you believe to be most threatening to porcelain. Its mouth is still full of the clothes you piled in there.
 “You think you can just spray water at my midriff forever and get away with it? Well look at what happened to the showerhead.” You point at the shower enclosure. The glass is too steamed to really see through. “Do you want some?”
 The sink does not respond.
 Making direct eye contact with the overflow, you ball a fist and throw out a sudden strike, pulling it to a halt mere inches away from the taps and chuckling. To its credit, the sink doesn’t flinch. But you know by the lack of water spraying at your tummy that your message has gone through.
 “That’s what I thought.” You smugly finish, spinning away and walking out of the bathroom, water still dripping from your hair.
 
Bathroom Bigshot: +1 Self-Confidence, +1 Sass, +1 Insolubility, -1 Contrition

1. Boast to Ashley
2. Get Dried and Get Dressed
3. Charge Phone
4. Investigate CD

 
>> Investigate CD
Your victory over the bathroom suite has left you invigorated, and feeling a renewed sense of motivation for the case. Although you headed home specifically to investigate the CD, it fell away from your list of priorities when faced with the opportunity to show off to Ashley. You now seek to right that wrong.
Wasting no time with the acts of getting dry or dressed, you scamper down the stairs to where you had previous distributed your fabulously impressive inventory. It appears that Ashley has tidied it up, presumably for display on the fridge like a proud parent or storage in a safe like a misguided vicar.
“Ashley?” You call out.  Seeking her out manually could take precious seconds that are better spent investigating CDs.
“I’m in the lounge.” She calls back. You deduce from the volume of her voice, the echoes from the staircase, and the timbre of the sound that she must be in the lounge.
Adjusting your towel to prevent it falling, and feeling cold hair-water start to run down your back, you stride through to the lounge. There, just as you spectacularly predicted stands Ashley, but for once she’s not what holds your attention. Standing up next to her, supported by the wife you didn’t think you could come to cherish any more than you already did, is a life-size mannequin made entirely from train-seat springs.
Ashley beams proudly, between fits of giggles.
“I made use of the loot!” She says, grin widening. You stare agape at the artistry and ingenuity. There are more teeth in Ashley’s smile than you remember. “What are you up to?” She challenges. Certainly, you’ll need to do something pretty great to match up to the progress she has just made in the case.
“I came to investigate the CD. It could be a video recording of Ellen “Absolutely-The-Worst” Gertie committing the crime that she made and then stored in the safe to taunt us.” You say, sticking to the facts.
“Good point, let’s get it in the laptop and have a look. The rest of the loot is back in your backpack for now.”
You step past Ashley and her creation to pick the CD out of your backpack. Ashley’s re-packing has left it a lot more organised than before. The laptop gratefully receives your CD sustenance and you hear the drive spin up. After a few moments a file folder opens.
“OK, it’s got files in it. Reckon that’s enough to send Gertie to the gallows?” You ask.
“Probably, but let’s look deeper in case we can get her double-hanged.” Ashley advises, still supporting her spring abomination.
You browse the filenames. Many of them contain dates and what look like the names of businesses. They all seem to be word processor files. Opening one at random, the only selection process you truly know, you find a quotation for replacing the lead of a church roof. Another contains an invoice for pew-maintenance, and a third has a list of available dowdy cushion designs. There’s something familiar about all of the documents.
“What are they?” Ashley asks excitedly.
“They look like backups of the financial documents. But why would the vicar of all people, a known sufferer of poor life choices, want to keep his important documents safe?” You ask. Not even Drainpipe Von Staffen, keeping its vigil in the porch, comes back with a response.
“Open a few more. There might be extra stuff there.”
Willing to continue snooping you look through a few more files. After another tide of the same documents you found in hard copy, there’s a new invoice.
“Oho!” You say, more for the joy of the word than out of much surprise. “This looks like acknowledgement of a sizeable donation to the church.”
“Interesting. How much? From whom?”
“It just says ‘several thousand pounds’ from…” you scan down the page and then gasp. “Gertie and Gertie enterprises!”
Ashley places a hand on your shoulder in shock.
“Then there’s a hugely important question we need to ask ourselves.” She says gravely.
“What’s that?” You answer, taking the bait.
“What do we name this spring monster?”

1. Bruce Springsteen
2. Coil Sagan
3. The Bosscillator
4. Neil DeGrasse Tension

 
>>Bruce Springsteen

“That spring monster is none other than Bruce Springsteen! He’s always hard-rockin’ on account of the oscillatory motion inherent in springs.”  You explain.
“Ha! Excellent. I should have recognised him straight away, but I do find it hard to work out who a person is when they arrive in 34 pieces.” Ashley says.
“True. I remember last time. Took ages to work out that it was the milkman” You agree. “Good times.”
“Anyway, what was that you said you found on the disc? A transaction from Gertie and Gertie enterprises? Who are they”
“Probably a war-crimes promotion company. Or agents of The Elderly Woman.” You say with a shudder. How that old lipstick-obsessed menace was able to spread her tendrils so far and wide you will never know.
“But Ellen Gertie stole the money, right? So someone with connections to her donated a bunch of money to the church and then she stole it?”
“Apparently so. Just the sort of sick trick that the pond-scum Gertie would stoop to. She blew all the money on cardigans and doilies you know?” You tell Ashley, compounding the presumably already intense hatred in her heart for Goaty Gertie.
Ashley barely stops herself from spitting on the carpet in disgust. You’ve seen it happen before, and applaud her newfound impulse control.

1. Head to the Library to Investigate ‘Gertie and Gertie’
2. Charge Phone, Get Dressed, Gather Supplies
3. Investigate Burned-out Speaker
4. Make Sure the Sink Remembers

 
>> Head to the Library to Investigate ‘Gertie and Gertie’

You never were one for recognising the irony in your life. Its subtleties pass you by like an owl’s silent flight over a doomed rodent in the undergrowth. After the grand revelation Gertie and Gertie enterprises making a sizeable donation to the Greater Washburn church, you applauded Ashley on her impulse control. And in the next breath, you leap to your feet and rush for the front door.
“To the library! We must investigate this ‘Gertie and Gertie’ and know their secrets!” You bellow, scrabbling for purchase on the carpet.
“What? Now?” Ashley asks urgently.
“Ow! Of course!” You cry back, after giving the kneeing of a lifetime to the lounge doorframe. You presume that it’ll let the sink know you still mean business. Limping a little on your bruised leg you try to bend and slip on your unreasonably practical wellingtons, because what else would you put on your feet, but find that bending is difficult.
“Erm, Lucy? Were you not planning to get dressed first?” Comes Ashley’s voice from behind you.
Looking down, you recognise that bending was rendered difficult by the towel wrapped tightly around your body. The effort required to keep the towel closed is also impacting on your ability to equip the unreasonably practical wellingtons.
“I never plan for anything! That’s the leading cause of things not going to plan.” You say. Your hair is still dripping onto your hands and making it harder to get purchase on your footwear.
“You don’t seem to be stopping, Luce. If anything, it looks like you’re still trying to leave with nothing but a towel.” Observes your astute partner.
Proud that she’s getting her observational skills sharpened and ready for the investigation you give her a quick thumbs up and then get back to your grand battle with the unreasonably practical wellingtons. You get the impression that it would be easier if you’d not picked up two left boots, but taking the easy route just isn’t your way.
“Let me put this another way, my love. You are not leaving this house dressed in just a towel, still dripping wet, and without your keys or your inventory.” Says Ashley. Unlike a parking fine, it doesn’t sound negotiable.

1. Behave Yourself
2. Run to Bedroom and Equip the First Things you See
3. Ask Ashley to Dress you While you Gather Supplies
4. Get Some Breakfast and Give this Planning Lark a Try

>> Run to Bedroom and Equip the First Things you See
​
Rarely one to act against good sense, you accept Ashley’s ultimatum but do not let go of the urgency which gripped you so tightly. Breaking into a full sprint, insofar as you are able to when wrapped up in a towel, you charge back up the stairs and leave a trail of water behind you. The stairway carpet does a tremendous job of drying your feet off, and you quietly congratulate yourself for being so efficient.
The objective laid down for you by your wife was to get dressed in literally anything but a towel. Knowing that the overwhelming majority of clothing in the house lives in the bedroom, where it lurks in the shadows of the wardrobe, your make a beeline for it. On the way past the bathroom you shoot a quick glance in the direction of the sink, just to make sure that it’s not getting any ideas.
The bedroom door yields to a single stiff blow from your shoulder and unveils to you the resource depot of your dressing operations.
“What was that bang?” Ashley calls up to you. You laugh it off. There are far more important and time-bound tasks afoot than owning up to mistreating your home’s fittings. Since the bedroom is where most of the clothes live, it must be true that nearly everything in the room is clothing, you decide. It is therefore a simple case of grabbing the first items you see and getting them onto your body, such that Gertie and Gertie’s privacy is not allowed to remain unviolated for a moment longer.
The first object to catch your eye is a set of large, gold bangles on your bedside table. In a single fluid motion they’re swept up and slipped over your arm. That’s one garment down. Feeling like accessorising is the key to good detective-work you continue in that vein and grab a hair scrunchie to slip on the opposite wrist.
You look down at yourself, now garbed in a wet towel with two decorated wrists. It’s a good start, but Ashley probably won’t accept your efforts as a job well done. Casting your eyes around again you see, hanging on the outside of the wardrobe, a long black witch’s dress, which you wore to a fancy dress party a handful of weeks earlier. Nothing screams practicality like witchcraft, with its varied toolbox of curses, weather prediction, and animal kinship. Plus, nobody would ever suspect that the witch in the library was in fact a private detective. You fail to contain a smirk when you realise how much of a ruddy genius you are.
Lunging forwards you grab the dress and pull it over your head. It takes a few attempts to thread your arms through the tight-fitting sleeves, but you manage to finally get the dress on without tearing anything.
Stepping across to face the full length mirror, you think that the costume fitted you better last time. But, you console yourself, you hadn’t forced it on over a wet towel last time. Fluffy, absorbent white fabric pokes out from beneath the hem, as well as through the neckline. It feels even more constricting now, but there’s a comfort in it that you wish to hold on to, and Ashley will definitely a have to admit that you technically followed her instruction.

Witching Hour: -1 Serenity, -1 Contrition, +1 Charisma

1. Curse the Sink
2. Cast a Powerful Hex on Ellen Gertie
3. Seek Further Garments
4. Calmly Question Life Choices

>> Calmly Question Life Choices

You pause. Having just wrestled your way into fancy dress without removing your towel after attempting to run to a library with wet hair and bare feet, a pensiveness descends. These were the things you chose to do. ‘What led me here?’ you think to yourself.
It was off the back of upper-cutting the showerhead, itself a consequence of the stresses you endured by squatting in a busy street after the rain. And that was only brought back to haunt you because you elected not to go home or get changed after mashing various baked goods into your trousers, instead deciding to fare-dodge your way into another town and spend the night secretly in a bathroom.
Looking at yourself in the full-length mirror, standing there dressed like a confused toddler, a question that you never thought you would hear comes into your mind: why am I like this?
There’s no distress. There’s no melancholy. You are simply a placid observer asking for the objective truth of what brought you here. You ask yourself whether you can justify doing the things you did.

[Verisimilitude Check - Pass]

Justifying it is tough, but you recognise that not everything is done for a conscious reason. Some actions, like going on a secateur frenzy, are raw instinct. That was something entirely unavoidable and you find no room for guilt. Your mind turns to the vicar’s garden.

[Duplicity Check - Fail]

In your heart of hearts, you know that those grass clippings were the legal property of the vicar, and yet you took them anyway. Whilst not the first to be driven mad by clipping-lust when presented with the future contents of the green waste bags, you recognise that it doesn’t make the actions right.

[Contrition Check - Fail]

That being said, it’s not your place to feel sorry about it. He invited you there, directed you to that spot, and left it piled high with plant detritus. It was on him to make sure that no-one crammed their pockets full and then scratched up his floorboards with broken springs.

[Serenity Check - Fail]

The vicar’s treatment of you starts to make you angry again. Sure you might have blackmailed him into buying you crumpets, but the memory of those damp, buttery, tea-saturated horrors only erodes your calmness further. What rotten luck to have a client like him
[Serendipity Check - Fail]

In fact, you start to come to the conclusion that your whole adventure to date has been plagued by misfortune. From picking up two left boots to stumbling into countless agents of The Elderly Woman, the world has been against you at every turn. You’re a victim of cruel circumstances, and anyone would have robbed a church blind in your position. There was literally no alternative, and it was dumb bad lack that brought you there.

[Insolubility Check - Pass]

But you made it. You slept in a bathroom, the wettest of rooms, and came out whole. You braved the shower and it failed to dissolve you.

[Sass Check - Pass]

In fact, you turned the whole situation around on those jumped-up, holier-than-thou, easy-clean bathroom fixtures. Their reign of terror was shut down by your sharp wit and sharper tongue.

[Erudition Check - Fail]

Following on the heels of such a victory, you can’t work out why this feeling of introspection has come over you. It’s never happened before. It can’t be normal.

[Charisma Check - Fail]

Suddenly you realise that no-one else seemed to recognise you as the crab king, or the world’s greatest private detective, or even the heroic general of the battle of yoghurt slip. You feel like a fool with a damp torso, standing in a bedroom and wondering how anyone could have stuck by her. Even Drainpipe Von Staffen must have had a hard time dealing with your shenanigans, you think.

 [Self-Confidence Check - Pass]

But that doesn’t matter, not really. It’s not about how anyone else sees you. It’s about how you see yourself, and knowing that you were doing what was right. You’re Lucy, the squatting champion of justice. You saw first-hand the crimes of The Elderly Woman. You rescued Drainpipe Von Staffen from wall-incarceration. You discovered the shocking truth behind the origin of Ellen Gertie’s stolen money. And if you stop now, the crusty bin-bag might get away with it. There’s no way you’ll let that happen.
“I’m ready, Ashley!” You shout. “There’s work to be done!”
You spin on your heel, which is still bare of any socks, and march back out of the bedroom. Seeing the open bathroom door again, you stop in the doorway and look at the sink. You can’t just walk away again.

[Bonus Action - Curse the Sink]

You stamp into the bathroom and unspool two, three, four, then five full rotations of the loo-roll. Breaking it off, you wipe the bundle around the wet shower interior until it forms a mouldable mush. You work quickly form your mush into a rough basin shape, which is then dropped onto the floor.
A quick rummage through the bathroom cabinet reveals a line of bath oils and incenses, exactly the components required to ply your newfound magical powers. Grabbing bottles at random you pour lines across the sink-idol you created, muttering incantations to yourself.
“You are a monster, sink! You put the ‘sin’ in ‘basin’. From this day forwards may your taps never open cleanly. May your plughole clog and limescale take your overflow. May toothpaste stain your edges. You will never know peace again as your pipes corrode!”
With a final splash of a perfume that you’ve not worn since Christmas 2013, the curse is complete. You walk silently away.

1. Leave for Library
2. Head Back to the Bedroom for Further Garments
3. Show Ashley the Mess Ellen Gertie Made in the Shower
4. Look for Treasure in the Kitchen

>> Leave for Library

You’ve investigated the ever-loving heck out of the CD, you’ve shown off your collection of precious belongings, you’ve laid down a devastating curse upon the sink that has wronged you for all these years. Clearly, despite there being a wealth of possessions, your phone charger, your inventory, food, sensible shoes, and normal clothing, there is nothing left for you here.
Leaving the sink to the eldritch horrors that await bathroom betrayers, you run down the stairs and back to your unreasonably practical wellingtons.
“Come on Ashley! The library awaits!” You call out.
“Are you dressed this time?” she calls back from the kitchen. It sounds like she could be finding all manner of treasures in there, but without committing time to investigate for yourself it’ll have to remain a mystery.
“Yes! Dressed for the job I want AND the job I have!” You reply cryptically.
“Oho! That you are!” Drainpipe agrees. It’s been doing a good job of holding the fort from its position of power in the porch.
As is tradition, the left unreasonably practical wellington slides on without too much of battle, whereas the right puts up a lot of resistance. However, your brute force solutions have begun to permanently distort the rubber and it yields with only minor trauma to your ankle.
“Alright.” Ashley says from the direction of the kitchen. It sounds like her footsteps are coming towards you now. “So did you want me to drive or…” She stops. You look up from your unreasonably practical wellington successes and see the disbelief on your wife’s face. “… I see. You think that this case requires the powers of the occult? And that taking off your towel was strictly optional.”
Ashley’s face is difficult read, because you’re looking at it through the lens of complete self-assuredness. There is absolutely no way that anyone could find fault with your decision-making.
“You know it!” You say simply, standing up. You wobble slightly, having become accustomed to moving without springs under your soles again, but soon manage to stand without relying on the support of the doorframe. “Now there’s no time to waste!”
Lunging forwards you pull the door-handle down and spill out onto the front path.
“Hang on!” Ashley says, leaning out of the front door. “I need to put my own shoes on. And don’t you want your backpack or anything else?”
You pause for a moment. There were many useful items and pieces of evidence in that backpack. It stirs something.
“Oh my goodness!” You exclaim, as a sudden clarity fills your mind.
“What is it Luce? A clue?”
“No, no. I just realised that I left The Lord’s Secateurs in the church”
“Nevermind. We’ll get some more from the shed if they’re necessary.”

1. “Grab two sets, just in case.”
2. “No time! Grab the car keys and let’s go!”
3. “No time! Grab my inventory and let’s crabwalk there!”
4. “No time! Bring all the bread we have and let’s go!”

 
>> “Grab two sets, just in case.”

“Grab two sets, just in case. I’ll wait for you here.”
Ashely nods curtly and then rushes off to the back door for the critical supplies.
“Well Drainpipe, it looks like we’re about to embark on the next step of this case. Do you need me to fill you in on the details?” You ask your venerable companion, still propped up inside the porch. You note that the scarf has slipped a little, but its crown is still proudly balanced in place.
“No, not at all, old bean. I understand all about Gertie and Gertie enterprises. And your work in the bathroom in cursing that blasted sink was exemplary, might I add.” Says Drainpipe Von Staffen, ever the flatterer. You’re once again blown away by its intuitive understanding of your thoughts and experiences.
“Thank you. It’s been a long time coming.” You say, balling up one fist. The tensing of your forearm makes the witch’s dress sleeve feel tight.
“I’ll say! Its greatest insult against me still sticks vividly in the mind. Do you recall the night when I came over for dinner with you and Ashley, and you cooked up the most delightful curried lasagne wraps on toast? A true masterpiece; you’re a witch in the bathroom but a wizard in the kitchen.” Drainpipe chuckles. “We’d finished the main course and were waiting for dessert to set in the fridge when I was overcome by the urge to answer nature’s call. Being a drainpipe, of course, that can mean quite the volume of fluid so I excused myself immediately. I think it was Ashley’s insistence on topping up my glass of rainwater every time I took so much as a sip!”
You laugh this time. That’s classic Ashley; always making her guests drink pint after pint after pint of rainwater, no matter the occasion.
“Once the necessary biology had been attended to, I naturally crossed to that basest of basins, that sullied sink, and set about washing what I have in place of hands. I was naïve and trusting back then. The taps that had promised me such a gentle flow, suitable for creating a lather, betrayed themselves as duplicitous vents for the torrents of Hades. Their spray went high and wide, soaking not only the mirror on the wall behind but a significant amount of the loo roll stored nearby, and the towels to my other side. That’s not to mention the thorough dousing I had taken on the outside. The outside! That’s exactly the opposite side to where fluids are supposed to flow.” You get the impression that Drainpipe Von Staffen would be shaking its head, if it had one. The space below the crown lacks sufficient articulation to fulfil that requirement.
“Another victim to its cruelty. I had no idea Drainpipe, I’m very sorry.” You say, embarrassed that a guest in your home was subjected to such a fate.
“It’s nothing, old bean. Water under the bridge. And all over the bathroom!” It guffaws. “I spent a good few minutes on what I have instead of hands and knees wiping everything up.”
Ashley reappears in the doorway, clutching two pairs of secateurs.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you and Drainpipe.”
“No, it’s alright. I was just finishing my story anyway.” Drainpipe replies magnanimously.
“Let’s get going then!” Ashley says.

1. Bring Drainpipe Along for the Adventure
2. Leave Drainpipe at Home
3. Ask Drainpipe Whether it Would Like to Come
4. Ask Ashley if Drainpipe Should Come

>> Bring Drainpipe Along for the Adventure

Ashley, as ever, is right; you need to get a move on before the library has a chance to hide, burn or otherwise withhold all evidence of Gertie and Gertie enterprises from you. Although you’re both dressed AND equipped with a set of secateurs, you can’t help but feel that a critical element is missing, rendering you unprepared for a day of hard detecting.
“Come along Drainpipe! You can lean on me!” You say, scooping your venerable companion up. “Do you have keys, Ash?” You ask. Yours, of course, are still in the inventory for which there is nowhere near enough time to go back. Travelling those long few metres could waste precious seconds, seconds that might otherwise be spent on either dithering or vandalising the property of others.
“Yes, and my purse and my phone. Which is more than I can say for you.” She observes, accurately, while locking the door. It is well-documented that there are no pockets in your witch’s dress, and anything you give to Drainpipe seems to somehow fall right down onto the ground at its feet.
“Good to be back out here in the real world! I worry that I might have become slovenly and unfit during my long tenure in the porch.” Drainpipe tells you both. It’s true that you can’t remember the last time Drainpipe left the house of its own accord, and if you’d not forced the issue this time then it could have been years until it finally felt the sun on its PVC face again.
Walking side-by-side with Ashley and Drainpipe, you exit your front garden by the small gate and turn right onto the road. A familiar vehicle is parked nearby.
“Did you want me to drive us there?” Ashley asks, still holding her keys and looking suggestively at the car which you now remember to be your own.
​

1. Accept and Call Shotgun
2. Suggest that You Drive
3. Decline but Get in the Car Anyway
4. Decline and Start Walking Faster

>> Accept and Call Shotgun

“Great idea! There’ll be less time for the evidence to be burned by any of The Elderly Woman’s agents.” You say. “Shotgun!”
“Sorry Drainpipe, you’ll have to sit in the back.” Ashley commiserates, honouring the sacred authority of calling shotgun.
“Not a worry at all! I do like to stretch what would pass for legs if I wasn’t a length of drainpipe.” Says your loyal companion, with a chuckle that sounds an awful lot like someone struggling to open a car door whilst balancing several feet of PVC tubing.
“It’ll help if I unlock it.” Ashley observes, clicking a button on her keys. You feel overawed at her problem solving ability; this case is as good as solved.
Taking care not to wipe old moss on the upholstery you begin to thread Drainpipe Von Staffen into the rear of your small hatchback. It comes as a great shock to you that your vehicle is less than eight feet wide, and Drainpipe therefore does not fit in easily.
“You always were one of my tallest friends, Drainpipe.” You say. Drainpipe gives the impression that it would be nodding knowingly if it had the anatomy to allow it. “I can make this work though.”
The car rocks gently as Ashley climbs into the driver’s seat, apparently perfectly confident in your ability to resolve this problem without causing another, much larger, problem in the near future.
“Could you put the ignition on, Ash?” You ask. Obligingly, Ashley turns the key and you hear the radio start playing. With Drainpipe resting on your shoulder and supported in one hand, you use the other the roll down the window. “Alright Drainpipe, try to work with me here…” you say, as you begin to slowly swing the door closed and angle Drainpipe’s head-end towards the open window.
It takes you a few attempts, and a lot of jamming your friend’s feet roughly into the footwell, but you eventually manage to get the door closed with Drainpipe poking a good three feet out of it at an oblique angle.
“Aha! The old ‘Pedestrian’s Bane’ technique!” Drainpipe recognises immediately, as you consider just how much space you don’t have for manoeuvring around it. With a shrug, you duck underneath and make your way into the passenger seat.
“Alright, we’re set! Let’s rumble!”
Ashley obliges, slamming the car into first gear and tearing away without wasting time with ‘checking her mirrors or blind spot’. You know full well that she considers such actions to be the exclusive remit of cowards.

1. Search Car for Treasure
2. Hang Head From Window Like a Dog
3. Adjust Everything
4. Behave Yourself

>> Search Car for Treasure

Your head is thrown back hard into the seat as Ashley lurches the car forwards, the familiar smell of burning rubber reminding you of many a pleasant Sunday drive for a loaf of bread. Memories of sunny afternoons spent cruising with no destination in mind come back to you, as your shoulder crunches into the door for what must be the ten-thousandth time by now. It surprises you that Ashley is taking things this easy with such an import case on the go, but she must have her reasons, you decide.
With a journey ahead of you that might extend into the severals of minutes, the thought of your inventory sitting on the floor of your lounge plays on your mind. Whilst it’s quite literally an enormous weight off your back, it also reduces your options for devilishly smart investigative techniques. Rubber squeals against the tarmac, screaming in its vain attempt to find purchase, as Ashley brakes hard for a light that had been red for as long as she could see it. As the seatbelt drives itself into the almost permanent gouge that has formed in your clavicle from many a drive with your darling wife, cutting off the air and blood in that uniquely ‘Ash and Luce’s Big Drive’ way, you realise that an empty inventory means an inventory that can be filled again. So many adventures have been had in this car that there must be a whole bounty of treasure scattered around it, just waiting to be found.
Wasting no time, you pull open the glove compartment. The plastic hatch unveils several years’ worth of MOT certificates, half a pack of mints, various leaflets from tourist attractions, and several burned-out headlight bulbs. You reach your hand forwards to grab this priceless booty, but Ashley is pulling away again and the glove compartment accelerates hard away from you. The air is almost forced from your lungs as your inertia crushes you into the seat, but Ash is quickly up to her cruising velocity, a conservative twice-the-speed-limit, and you managed to collect the goods. Once an awful lot of paper and several fragile pieces of glass are crammed into the folds of the sub-dress towel, you begin looking for other nooks.
The cupholders contain no drinking vessels, but do yield a few pounds worth of parking change. Delicately you tuck it into your storage towel, before rummaging in a small cavity next to the radio. You grab something cold and metallic, but before you can take a look at your mystery prize you find yourself fully airborne and headbutt the ceiling. Without looking, you know that you’ve reached the one-way system and its famously large speed bumps.
“I don’t know why people have to go so slowly over these.” Ashley comments, having to shout to be heard over the sound of bodywork crunching into traffic-calming measures.
“They’re just bad drivers, I guess.” You reply, also perplexed.
Once you settle into a rhythm of bouncing, you are able to pull out the single tent-peg that you’ve been grasping; a memento from your last camping holiday. Its hooked end allows it to hang nicely from your neckline.
A loud bang rings out from the rear of the car, like sturdy PVC hitting a human skull, if you had to put a description to it. You spin round and see Drainpipe riding calmly in the back, its scarf billowing violently in the wind and crown-rattling but holding firm. Through the rear window you can see a man hunched over on the pavement on Drainpipe’s side of the car, clutching his head. He must be one of those pavement head-clutchers you’ve not heard anything about, you decide.
The rear footwells are famously a great storage place for miscellaneous goods, but you can’t reach them from your position. However, your position doesn’t necessarily need to be fixed.

[Bonus Action - Adjust Everything]

Without hesitation you reach a hand under your seat and pull the lever, intending to slide your seat backwards gently, calmly and with control. Ashley’s acceleration has other ideas as she tries to beat a pedestrian to the nearby zebra crossing, sending your chair backwards like an ejector seat with a poor sense of direction. With a hollow twang the seat bounces from Drainpipe’s sturdy legs, and Ashley’s braking sends the seat rocketing forwards again. Your knees are crushed against the open glove compartment hatch, but you do notice a phone charging cable lying across the dashboard from your new forward-position. Greedily you snatch it up, before another burst of speed sends you backwards.
You release the lever and the seat jerks to a halt. You reach a hand out to steady yourself, and feel window controls beneath your fingers. Naturally they need a damn good adjusting.
Fresh air billows into the car as you resume your search. The rear footwells are still difficult to access on account of Drainpipe’s long body, but you’re able to liberate an out-of-date road map, and a tyre iron.
Feeling like a newly rich detective, you get back to the great idea of making Ashley more comfortable by adjusting the car’s internal environment. Your left hand grabs at the seat-back adjust of your own chair while the right goes for Ashley’s, sending you both folding forwards aggressively. A loud bang signals your ascent up a kerb, which was presumably built in a ridiculous place close to the road, and your lateral gradient allows a new perspective on how painful it is to have a gearstick pressed into your side.
“Good idea Luce! If I lean further forward then I’ll be able to see better.” Ashely says a little breathlessly, as the heavy seat back compresses her lungs.
Unable to lift yourself off the gearstick, you instead focus on turning both the radio and the fan up to maximum, such that you can get the most benefit from both. A hot gale assaults your face, drying your eyes out as your ears recoil from a police appeal on the news. It seems that some kind of maniac stole a series of items from a shoe shop in Greater Washburn, shortly after intimidating a teen on a train. The trail was lost after the perpetrator assaulted the looted store’s manager with a piece of piping, apparently. You shake your head in disappointment at what the world is coming to.
Taking it upon herself to correct the mistakes of the highways agency, Ashley puts the car’s wheels back on the road, alleviating your gearstick pain. You look down at your assailant, and can’t help but feel that it needs a damn good adjusting. You know from experience the gearstick resists when you try to manipulate it on a journey, so you take a firm two handed grip and, on a mental count of five, heave it backwards with all your might.
Out of nowhere the engine noise spikes, and the car seems to lose power. You’re shocked that such poor fortune could befall you so soon after several MOTs. Quickly you peruse the certificates for any sign that this problem might have been on the way, and discover that you’ve been paying for new tyres and brake pads every year. You decide that there must be some poor craftsmanship on these parts, while you’re once again strangled by a seatbelt. It appears that Ashley has stamped on the brakes to magnanimously allow the parked car in front of her not to be rear-ended.
“Neutral’s not working for me, Luce. Stick it in second.” Ashley asks, busily using both hands to make obscene gestures at some people waiting for a bus. Obligingly you double-arm heave the gearstick into place and the car screams away again in the direction of the library.

Items Gained: MOT Certificates
Half a Pack of Mints
Tourist Leaflets
Burned-out Bulbs
£4.56
Phone Charging Cable
Road Map
Tyre Iron

1. Complain to Ashley About Poor Car Build-Quality
2. Lean from Window and Strike Lampposts with Tyre Iron
3. Eat Mints and Use Menthol Breath Attack on Dashboard
4. Do a Backflip

>> Eat Mints and Use Menthol Breath Attack on Dashboard

As the inertia of your newly laden body holds you in place in your seat, you start to feel a little hungry. Looking back on events, you realise that in the last 24 hours you’ve eaten nothing more than a curly wurly, 2 booby-trapped train biscuits and four tea-sodden crumpets. Having also crab-walked extensively, run from security guards, kangaroo bounced several miles twice, and gone on a frankly legendary secateur frenzy in a church, this quantity of food has not quite filled the calorific void.
The gearstick once again tries to pierce your ribcage as Ashley takes a corner at somewhat of a lower speed than usual. You hear her own head bounce off the window.
At the end of this calm journey awaits some intense research and sleuthing, and it’s vital that you don’t get lightheaded as a result of low blood sugar. From your thorough search for treasure you know that there are no hidden three-course meals in the car, but you did manage to get your hands on a half-pack of mints, and not even reduced sugar ones. They’ll keep you going for a while, you decide.
Reaching down into the damp towel, you pull out the also slightly damp mints. The paper wrapping falls apart slightly in your fingers, and mints start to become visible. Wasting no time, you raise the packet to your mouth and shred the remnants of the wrapper, dropping all of the mints into your gaping maw.
Immediately you recognise the error of your ways. As those sugary discs bounce around on your delicate cheeks and tongue, it is as if a rival witch has cursed you with an arctic gale that blows inward from your own teeth. Like a thousand blades of ice the menthol freshness assaults every part of your mouth. Cold burns begin to form inside your lips and your sinuses start to be forcibly cleared.
“Ugh. Ugh.” You say, explaining the depths of your conundrum to Ashley, but she can’t hear your pained grunts over the deafening radio, which is explaining how the unknown assailant disappeared into the depths of Greater Washburn. A pair of strangers were seen in the vicinity of the church later on, but they were determined on closer investigation to be Ainsley Harriot and a stylish member of some kind of burned royal family, out for a walk together.
Finding no help from your wife and desperate for the blood sugar you decide to endure the minty punishment. Every breath you take is another glacial strike against your teeth. Wherever your tongue rests it burns with a white-cold agony. Your nose has never had such unobstructed airways, and you’re incredibly grateful for the fact that Ashley made you take a shower earlier.
Another set of speed bumps, or possibly some kerbs, shake the car up and down, forcing you to swallow some of the dissolving mints. Your throat, too, is now experiencing a local ice age. The dread cold that will come at the end of all things now has a grasp on your entire respiratory system, with frozen air driving into your lungs.
The pain starts to subside, or possibly your mouth is going numb. It’s hard to tell. But what you do know is that you now have the power of unbearable cold at your disposal, as well as the powerful cursing ability that you demonstrated against the sink. There’s no time to waste in trying out this new ability, and the perfect target is right in front of you.
The dashboard thought it could crush your knees. It took advantage of your compromised position when the seat was sliding freely. Well now, you decide, it should get a taste of its own medicine.
You inhale deeply, opening your mouth and nose for maximum air intake. Every interior surface in your head screams with the arctic hurricane, but you ignore it. When your lungs are filled to brimming, you lean your head close to the dashboard and exhale powerfully, sending a devastating wave of menthol freshness at the plastic panelling.
The dashboard now smells faintly of mint. You get a deeper appreciation of this when Ashley pulls the handbrake suddenly, and you involuntarily headbutt the glovebox.
“We’re here!” Ashley says, switching off the engine.

1. Exit Car Via Passenger-side Window
2. Exit Car Via Driver’s-side Window
3. Combine Tyre Iron with Phone Charging Cable and Bulb
4. Ask Drainpipe for Plan of Action

>> Combine Tyre Iron with Phone Charging Cable and Bulb

For reasons that you cannot even begin to fathom, you arrive at the library feeling a little battered and bruised. Ashley even drove extra calmly, so there’s not even the shadow of a suspicion in your mind that the journey itself had anything to do with it. It must be the pressure of the case, or some kind of witch’s premonition that you might be in for a difficult day.
Blessed as you are with the car treasures, you wonder if that blessing could be enhanced by combining the precious items you found. After all, the whole is often greater than the sum of its parts, and maybe these items made their way into your possession not by dumb luck or expert sleuthing skills, but by the dark forces that you now command. There has to be a link which will unlock greater powers, much like you unlocked the terrifying power of menthol breath.
You fish around in the folds of the sub-dress towel and pull out three objects which call to you. They sing the song of unity. They wish to be together. They speak directly into your mind and guide you into completing the greatest occult work of your life to date.
You draw the tyre iron and lay it tenderly on your lap.
“You think it felt like the wheels were a little loose again?” Asks Ashley, watching you curiously.
“No. Well, maybe a little, but there are great works afoot here, Ash.” You reply, in no way milking it.
Next you carefully cup a light bulb and rest it on a soft patch of fabric. It rolls slightly then comes to rest. You close your eyes and nod sagely. Finally you draw out the phone charging cable, as if charming a cobra from a wicker basket but without as much risk of venomous biting.
“This should be good.” Ashley comments with a grin. She’s seen your masterworks in the past and clearly recognises you for the artisan you are.
Slowly you wrap the cable around the head of the tyre iron and tie it off into a knot. Lifting the tool, its new loose end dangles softly in the stuffy air of the car. You see that it is good, but that there is more work to be done.
Laying the tyre iron back down, you take the loose end of the cable and begin to wrap it round the bottom of the lightbulb. Once, then twice, and then a third time with ever increasing speed you mummify the bulb’s contacts, working with the fervour of a blind oracle atop Mount Olympus through whom the will of the ancient gods flows like a electricity.
Four turns brings the holy wrapping to a close, and your forging is complete. You take the tyre iron’s handle in one hand and hold it as aloft as you can within the modest headroom of your hatchback.
“Behold! The Thresher of Light!” you wail, as Ashley claps for you encouragingly. You have at tyre iron with a cable tied to it, from which hangs a bulb.

Item lost: Tyre Iron
Item lost: Burned-out Bulb (1)
Item lost: Phone charging cable
Item acquired: The Thresher of Light

Master of the Forge: +1 Self-Confidence, -1 Verisimilitude

1. March Like a Conqueror into the Library, Clutching the Thresher of Light
2. Discreetly Pocket The Thresher of Light and Enter Library
3. Hand Ashley the Thresher of Light and Follow her Lead
4. Ask Drainpipe Von Staffen to Bless the Thresher of Light

>> March Like a Conqueror into the Library, Clutching the Thresher of Light

“Nothing can stop us now! We’ll be able to research Gertie and Gertie Enterprises fantastically now that we’re… armed?... with the Thresher of Light.” Ashley says. You applaud her inventive use of punctuation when making a perfectly intuitive statement about your improvised weaponry.
“Exactly! We’ll be like the library conquerors of old! Charge!” You reply, pushing the car door open and leaping out like Alexander the Great Reader. As you slam the door shut, you stare up at the prize you will soon claim; Squatsgood Town Library looms over you with all the intimidating might of a late-fifties budget structure, combining brown exterior panelling with single-glazed windows and a short disabled-access ramp. It thinks it will hold back your mighty army. It’s wrong.
“Grab Drainpipe please, Ash. I think I’ll have my hands full as it is.”
As your wife diligently unthreads Drainpipe Von Staffen from the rear windows of the car you hold The Thresher of Light out to one side, ready to unleash a luminescent whipping at a moment’s notice. With fire in your eyes and a towel stuffed down your dress you march forward to claim your prize like Atilla the Hungry for Reading.
Automatic doors part fearfully as you approach, unveiling the reception desk: the library’s defensive bastion. Standing sentry behind the fibreglass enclosure and wearing a bored expression that’s surely intended to lull you into a false sense of security, the librarian is sorting through a box of returns.
Giving the Thresher a few test swings you stomp purposefully up to the ‘Enquire Here’ sign, flexing your muscles and waiting patiently to be seen. When the librarian finally looks up she sees the bane of all prisons of the written-word: Genghis Khan’t Read But Will Check A Book Out Try Their Best Regardless.
“Can I…” she starts. In what can only be raw intimidation the librarian is forced to pause and drink in the mighty and terrible vision that has invaded her sanctum of freely-lent text. After several seconds of somehow managing to hold back her panic, the librarian continues. “… Can I help?”
“I come here seeking to conquer the lands of knowledge! I must use your facilities to research that savage, that monster, that probable cannibal Ellen Gertie!” You bellow. As war cries go it’s a little verbose but you consider it to be a solid first effort, especially because you’re more of a witch than a general.
“The computers then.” The librarian replies, still somehow resisting the overwhelming urge to sprint away for her life. “Do you have a library card?”

1. “Yes. Yes I totally do. Not a doubt about it. I have it right on me.” [Duplicity Check]
2. “No, but I do have these MOT certificates, and they prove my address.” [Erudition Check]
3. “No, I left it in my other towel-stuffed dress.” [Charisma Check]
4. “I’ll easily pass whatever arcane trial is required to gain one. I’m great at cursing porcelain fittings in particular.” [Self-Confidence Check]

 
>> “I’ll easily pass whatever arcane trial is required to gain one. I’m great at cursing porcelain fittings in particular.” [Self-Confidence Check]

“I’ll easily pass whatever arcane trial is required to gain one. I’m great at cursing porcelain fittings in particular.”  You say, as confidently as you can.

[Self-Confidence Check - Fail]

“Are… are you threatening me?” Asks the receptionist.
You’re shocked. It’s as if some aspect of the way you marched aggressively through the door, your implication that you could curse her, or the way that you’re obviously armed with an improvised weapon, has made her feel defensive. You just can’t wrap your head around her irrationality.
“No! I’m just saying that whatever challenge I must face down in order to earn a library card will crumble beneath my iron heel!” You clarify.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You can’t carry that… whatever it is in here, and you can’t stand there trying to intimidate me.” She replies, starting to scowl at you. “And I resent the implication that I look like I’m made of porcelain.”
“The Thresher of Light is no whatever it is! It’s an instrument of justice to be wielded against the plagues of this world!” You correct her, holding the thresher aloft for all to see. The library appears to be otherwise empty, but it’s the gesture that really counts.
“I’m calling the police. It’ll be better for you if you’re gone before they arrive.”

1. Give the Desk a Damn Good Threshing
2. Fetch Ashley and Drainpipe for Support
3. Retreat and Regroup
4. Apologise to the Librarian

>> Give the Desk a Damn Good Threshing
Against all the odds and all previous experience, your first thought is to apologise to the librarian. You don’t understand it, since contrition is just not something you feel, let alone convey to others. Yet there you are, standing before an angry librarian, considering the possibility of admitting that you had done wrong.
It doesn’t take long for the thought to disappear. It is replaced by a much more comforting and familiar urge to assert dominance, and let the oppressors of this world know that you won’t be pushed around. You’ll carry whatever improvised weapons into whichever public buildings you darn well please, and no amount of civil servants threatening you with police brutality will change that.
The librarian looks you in the eye as she picks up the phone, daring to think that you might not call her bluff. It’s laughable; so laughable in fact that you break out in maniacal cackling. Still holding The Thresher of Light in the air you return the unbroken gaze of the librarian.
She starts to dial, and you note with some alarm that she does indeed only press three buttons.
The sheer nerve of this woman astounds you. To question whether or not you have a library card was low. To deny your right to carry The Thresher of Light was diabolical. To take measures that might prevent you from investigating Ellen ‘Cowbag’ Gertie is beyond redemption. There’s only one reasonable explanation. The librarian must be an agent of The Elderly Woman. All bets are off.
“I’ll not bow to your wickedness! The Thresher of Light shall cut through this darkness!” You scream, as you bring the Thresher down hard with a whip-crack.
A supernova of glass shards and filament pieces erupts in the library doorway, sending a thousand glittering pieces across the desk and floor. The librarian recoils in horror at your display of resoluteness, clearly overawed that you might stand against The Elderly Woman. You show her just how resolute you can be by whipping the desk again. This time there’s a mere metallic crack as the remnant bulb bayonet slams into plastic fascia
“Hello?! Yes police please. Immediately. I’m being assaulted in the Squatsgood Town Library!” She wails urgently into the phone, cowering behind her chair, as you thrash the desk over and over with The Thresher of Light. You stand in a sea of starlight, as each sliver of razor sharp glass catches the daylight that streams through the doors.

A. Ask Politely to be Allowed into the Library
B. Calmly Walk back to the Car
C. Softly Reassure the Librarian that you Mean no Harm
D. Loot Glass Fragments, Whilst Scowling Distrustfully at the Librarian
 
>> Softly Reassure the Librarian that you Mean no Harm
 
After a few more devastating lashes of The Thresher of Light, leaving your heart and your ears pounding, you allow your arm to rest. Your point has been made thoroughly, and you now just need to work out what it is. 
“Please! This woman’s insane! Dressed like a witch and attacking me with a tyre iron!” The librarian shrieks into the phone. You’re deeply embarrassed for her, having misidentified The Thresher of Light as a simple tyre iron, but there’s something else wrong. As hard as it is to believe, the librarian has got the the insane notion into her head that she’s somehow in danger. She seems so taken in by the delusion that you’re assaulting her that’s she’s even involving the police. Once again, you think, it’s time to be the calm and rational influence in an otherwise chaotic world. 
“Ms Librarian? It’s all OK.” You say, softly. It seems even quieter in the absence of desk-cracking lashes of The Thresher of Light. 
“Yes, Squatsgood Town Library. Er… SG1.. uh.. 2BK.” The librarian replies. She must be hysterical with her panic. 
“It’s alright. I mean you absolutely no harm. I just came here to look something up on your computers. You’ll barely know I’m here.” You continue. The librarian’s head pokes out from behind the chair. 
“Get away from me!” She squeals, before ducking back. 
“I’m not coming any closer, it’s all going to be OK. Look, when I whipped seven bells out of your desk I was just trying to demonstrate that I’d be eligible for a library card. I was never intending to put you in any danger or bring peril into your otherwise…” you struggle to think of a word other than ‘squalid’ “… charming library.” 
“Yes, please hurry.” The librarian says. Part of you thinks she’s paying more attention to the phone than to you, which seems rude. Then again, she’s clearly not thinking straight. Even your masterful reassurances have failed to settle her nerves. 
You hear the door swing open behind you, and Ashley walks Drainpipe into the foyer. 
“Why is there glass everywhere?” She asks.

1. Take the Librarian’s Disinterest as Permission to Enter
2. Tell Ashley About the Misunderstanding
3. Ask Drainpipe to Console Librarian
4. Use Secateurs to Cut Phone Line

 
>> Ask Drainpipe to Console Librarian

“Ah! Great, you’re here. There’s no time to explain” you have apparently decided “but I need Drainpipe’s help to calm this librarian down. It seems that she somehow got the idea in her head that I was a threat to her, and I think it requires master negotiator and mediator like Drainpipe to disabuse her of that notion.” You explain. Ashley nods agreeably and helps Drainpipe Von Staffen approach you. 
“I’ve got it, thanks. Right, Drainpipe, this librarian confused The Thresher of Light for a tyre iron and thought that my lashing of the desk was somehow aggressive.” Drainpipe gives the impression that it would be giving you a confused look if it had a face. “I know right, I don’t get it either. But that was her interpretation of events and I don’t think she’ll listen if I try to tell her the truth of the matter. This needs your delicate touch.” 
“Ha! Say no more, friend! I’m on the case.” Drainpipe Von Staffen replies. You lean Drainpipe Von Staffen over the desk and duck out of view, so as not to keep startling the poor woman. 
“Hello there, librarian. My name is Drainpipe Von Staffen and I am here to help. Please do not be alarmed.” Drainpipe starts, sampling over five different accents before settling on its trademark sound. “How are you feeling right now?” 
“She’s trying to talk to me using a… drainpipe. I think there’s something wrong with her. You might need an ambulance here too.” The librarian says, still very rudely ignoring everyone other than the voice on the phone. 
“I’ll take that as a quite worried, by your tone!” Drainpipe von Staffen chuckles, never one to give in that easily. “I understand that the use of The Thresher of Light left you feeling threatened and I just want to tell you that your reaction is perfectly reasonable. No-one here is judging you for it. I remember the first time I witnessed the Thresher itself in use. Oh, it must have been six, seven, maybe even eight years ago. I was hiking through a branch of Poundland in which I’d been locked overnight, and I couldn’t find the KitKat bars. They were to be my supper that evening.” 
Ashley approaches the desk and crouches down next to you. 
“Drainpipe’ll sort this, don’t you worry.” She reassures you, hearing one of its trademark ingratiating stories. 
“Is someone else there?! The woman in the witch dress is dangerous, get out!” The librarian calls out. 
“It’s fine, I know her. We met a long time before the Poundland incident that I’m trying to recount.” Drainpipe Von Staffen says, still trying its best to calm the situation. 
“So do I.” Ashley adds. “She’s my wife and not at all dangerous to you, I promise.” You can’t help but feel that Ashley is treading on Drainpipe’s metaphorical toes a little, but it’s clear that she’s only trying to help. 
“The police are on their way. Get her out of here!”

1. Allow Drainpipe Von Staffen to Continue
2. Ask Ashley to Look up Gertie and Gertie Enterprises
3. Cheese it Before the Police Arrive
4. Check Inventory and Stats While Waiting for Police

 
>> Ask Ashley to Look up Gertie and Gertie Enterprises
 
Sitting with your back to the reception desk and supporting Drainpipe, such that it can continue with its expert negotiating, you start to worry that the librarian might not be a very stable person. With almost no provocation, aside from her own failure to distinguish tools from holy weapons, she has called the police and managed to somehow cover the entire area in tiny shards of glass. While you hold hope that Drainpipe Von Staffen might work enough of a miracle to get through to her, it will certainly take time. 
“Ash, why don’t you research Gertie and Gertie Enterprises on the computers while I keep Drainpipe company?” You suggest. 
“Well… I suppose it’s not a bad idea. I do have our library cards on me, so I should be able to log in just fine.” She replies, smiling contentedly. “See you in a sec, just wait outside for me if you have to leave for any reason.” With a kiss on the cheek she gets up and faces the librarian. 
“Hello! I’m just popping over to use the computers. My wife won’t be any trouble to you, but feel free to stay behind that chair if you feel safer.” Ashley says brightly. “Here are our library cards, by the way.” She adds, showing the plastic writs of access to the gatekeeper of shared knowledge. 
“You can’t be serious?!” You hear the librarian hiss. 
“I can, sometimes. I just choose not to be mostly because why worry with all that solemnity. It’s much better to be cheerful if possible.” Ashley replies, before sauntering off to the computer desks further into the library. 
“You see! No-one here has any ill intentions towards you. Now, I believe I was recounting my night locked in Poundland.” Drainpipe Von Staffen says, now that the other distractions are gone.

1. Allow Drainpipe Von Staffen to Continue
2. Let Drainpipe Distract Librarian, and Crab-walk After Ashley
3. Wait by the Car and Check Inventory and Stats
4. Attempt to Pull Up Flooring

 
>> Let Drainpipe Distract Librarian, and Crab-walk After Ashley
 
Drainpipe is about to launch into its famous Poundland Thresher of Light story, one that you can’t even count the number of times you’ve heard. Such an exciting and enthralling story is it that you’re sure the librarian will be completely unable to tear her attention from it. In fact, a significant part of you believes that she’ll send the police away so that they don’t interrupt.
 “Now where was I? Yes, I was roaming the aisles past signs that said “£1”, “100 pence” and “twice 50p”, in search of the notorious KitKats. A dual-fingered chocolatey snack with a biscuit core? It was the only way I’d keep my pipe sugar high enough to make it through the night.” Recounts Drainpipe. Assuredly, the librarian would be on the hook.
 With your fingers crossed for the police-dismissal outcome, you glance across at Ashley, who has made it to the computers and is swiping her library card against a small scanner in order to sign in. The thought suddenly occurs to you that a computer requires both a keyboard and mouse to operate, meaning that you could double the efficiency of your search by taking one item each. Even with the safety blanket of Drainpipe’s marvellously enrapturing story, the potential police ultimatum means that time is of the essence; the only responsible course of action is to assist Ashley, but subtly so that the librarian doesn’t notice anything. There’s only one way to travel low that you could ever adopt.
 “Navigating by the light of the fire exit signs I found myself standing by the laundry detergent. As I recall the price was £1 for a litre bottle of fabric softener. Like a sailor drawn to the song of a siren, I nearly dashed my own hopes of biscuit salvation against the rocks of enticing detergent offers, I’m ashamed to say. Had I got any closer to the bottle I might have been lost in its promises of easier-ironing all night, until I eventually starved to death or was thrown from the store by the morning staff. Whichever was the sooner.” Drainpipe Von Staffen continues. Its voice sounds like it’s getting further from the desk as you crab-walk along the floor, clacking your claws as softly as possible. “If it hadn’t been for a stock trolley making me stumble, the spell of the fabric softener might never have been broken. As it was, I was afforded an opportunity to look away and press onwards, past the washing-up liquid and beyond the sponges, to the end of the aisle.”
 A quick glance down at the patchy flooring tempts you to see how much you could pull up, and you wonder what treasure might lie beneath those boards and that disgusting carpet. Like Drainpipe’s plight with the fabric softener you find yourself beset by temptation, but the knowledge that Ashley is counting on you keeps you on track. There’ll be other opportunities to break into the library and rip up the floor. 
Ashley turns around, likely also heavily invested in Drainpipe Von Staffen’s story, even though she’s heard it a hundred times before. When she spots you she gives you a happy little wave. 
“I’ve come to help.” You whisper in a handy break in Drainpipe’s story. 
“I rounded the end, consulting my compass in order to establish my bearings. The old soothsayer had warned me that it was easy to lose one’s way in the Poundland plains, so I was obsessively checking for the direction of North. Satisfied that I knew where I was, I looked up and felt what I have in place of a heart leap into what I have in place of mouth; there was an unmistakable red packet that promised me the wafer and chocolate that would surely keep me alive.” 
“I’ll do the mouse, you get on the keyboard. We’ll have this whole search done in no time.” You say, crab-walking up to the computer and pulling the mouse off the desk so that you can reach it. “Direct me where to move it and I’ll handle the rest.” 
You and Ashley high five. This plan is flawless.
 
Teamwork!: +1 Serenity, -1 Duplicity

1. Offer Ashley the Mouse [Verisimilitude Check]
2. Click at Random and Hope for the Best [Serendipity Check]
3. Listen Carefully to Ashley’s Instructions [Erudition Check]
4. Attempt to Search Books with Foot While Operating Mouse [Self-Confidence Check]

 
>> Click at Random and Hope for the Best [Serendipity Check]
 
The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. So says a poster you read on the library wall, hanging behind the computer that you and Ashley are co-piloting. Squatting next to your wife’s chair you clutch a mouse, having literally just suggested a plan of asking her to direct you in its use. In the very next breath, before she could even process the statement you made let alone consider herself betrayed by your lack of adherence to your own plan, you begin clicking completely at random. 
Like the maraca that’s been carelessly discarded in a tumble-dryer, the clicks and rattles come hard and fast. Your crab-claw fingers are a blur of motion as you strive towards ever greater heights of click-rate. Finding one finger to be insufficient you employ a second, and then a third, and then a whole second hand. With the mouse clutched between your teeth, you use every one of your claw digits to slam down the left and right click buttons. 
“Alright, move it slightly left.” Ashley says, trying valiantly to honour her side of the agreement, but your actions have overtaken your intentions.
 
[Serendipity Check - Pass]
 
Using your tongue as a mouse mat, and blessedly ignorant as to how many hands might have handled the mouse, you direct the cursor both blindly and expertly to the left as directed by Ashley, never for a moment allowing the storm of mouse inputs to abate. 
“Nice work! That’s exactly what we wanted!” Ashley says. For reasons you can’t begin to fathom, she sound a little surprised that your mouse technique, and intuitive understanding of where and how many times to click, worked. “We’ve got the whole set of public records relating to Gertie and Gertie Enterprises, plus… plus what looks like some of their leaked internal correspondences.” 
“Gold mine!” You try to say, but your mouth is crammed full of mouse. You notice that Drainpipe Von Staffen’s story is also sounding muffled; perhaps it’s trying to same technique to log into the receptionists machine. 
“Should we look through it now, with the police still on their way, or get out of here and look at it when we’re home? I brought a memory stick with me so I can save it all down.”

1. Save Evidence and Cheese It
2. Review Evidence Here and Risk Arrest

 
>> Save Evidence and Cheese It
 
You spit the mouse out, your good work done. 
“Get it saved and let’s get out of here. I think Drainpipe might be getting to the end of its story, and I don’t want to be around when the librarian flies into a rage about wanting more.” You tell Ashley. “Also I guess the police, or something. I forget what the librarian was yammering on about.” 
Ashley nods and plugs a USB flash drive into the computer. A series of unnecessary sounds come from the speakers in response. 
“Alright, move the mouse a little to the left and then left click.” Ashley says. You hand her the slightly damp mouse instead, and she accepts it gracefully. “Yeah, maybe this approach will work too.” She adds, with a hint of disappointment. 
Nervously you clack your claw-hands together while your wife copies confidential corporate data onto an unsecured drive. You try listening to Drainpipe Von Staffen to calm yourself. 
“With a packet of KitKats in my possession, I felt assured that things were looking up for me. But that was when fate intervened. A flash of light came from the corner of my vision, which is a strange concept for a cylindrically symmetrical being like myself.” 
Ashley taps you on the shoulder. 
“How many backup copies do I make? Twelve? Fourteen?” 
“Twelve should do. We need to be swift!” You reply. 
“I turned, guarding the precious sustenance that I’d finally been able to acquire, to face something I could barely comprehend, but would later understand to be a relic of the holiest order. Its shaft was shimmering silvery steel. From it, hung a cord of the purest white. At the end, shone a light that could cut through the darkness of even the soul.” 
“Six copies made. Six to go.” Comes the update from Ashley. You nod sagely at her expert mathematics. 
“To this day, I have no idea of the identity of the mysterious stranger who held that divine implement. But in the gloom of Poundland they spoke: ‘Take this, the Thresher of Light! With it you will smite those infernal, abyssal forces who seek to imprison you.’ I was, of course, shocked to my very core, despite the fact that my core is hollow. As if sensing my reaction, the figure demonstrated the awesome might of The Thresher of Light.” 
“Alright, we’re done! Let’s go!” Ashley declares. She swiped her library card against the scanner and pushes back from the chair. Grabbing your claw in one hand, Ashley begins to run from the library, with you crabwalking as fast as you can alongside her. 
“With a mighty swing of the dread implement, a beam of luminescence sliced through Poundland. As if the Sun itself had just crashed into the confectionary aisle, the Thresher of Light slammed home into the custard creams, leaving a scorched, burned, illuminated crater that spanned four, perhaps even five biscuit-packet-lengths.” Drainpipe continues, before you sweep it up in your free claw. You hear a grateful whimper from behind the desk. 
Scattering shards of lightbulb as you go, Ashley drags you from the library and towards the car. Using the precision of practice and the urgency of impending arrest, you both thread Drainpipe Von Staffen through the rear windows, and then leap into the front of the car. 
As Ashley starts the engine and pulls away, you see blue and red lights reflecting from the windows.

1. Brace in Your Seat
2. Suggest That Ashley Drives Nonchalantly
3. Improvise Projectile Weapon for Protection
4. Prepare to Board any Hostile Vessels

 
>> Suggest That Ashley Drives Nonchalantly
 
You hear the crunch of bodywork against pavement as Ashley reverses out of the ‘space’ in which she’d parked.
 “Ash, it’s the fuzz. You’d better drive nonchalantly so that they don’t associate us with whatever the mad librarian told them about.” You advise, sagely. Ashley gives you a nod. 
Remaining in a lower rev range than ever before, the car swings around and comes to a stop while Ashley changes gear. You can see the concentration on her face and sweat beading her brow; the exertion of slowing down her natural rhythms is clear to see. 
“Good work, Ash. Isn’t she doing well Drainpipe?” You say, encouragingly. 
“Yes, tremendously nonchalant driving!” Drainpipe Von Staffen agrees, speaking remarkably clearly considering its head is once again outside the vehicle. As you look over to give your companion the thumbs up, you hear sirens and see a police vehicle closing in. 
“Just keep going. We’ve not committed any crime.” You claim, both baselessly and incorrectly. “Pull out of their way if they want to come past us, and we’ll carry on.” 
Ashley turns on her indicator for what might well be the first time in living memory and waits at the library car park exit. The police car slows as it approaches the turning.
 
[Serendipity Check - Fail]
 
The police car pulls to a stop in front of your own, blocking the exit. You see an officer exit from the passenger seat and motion to Ashley to open her window.
 

1. Let Ashley Take the Lead
2. Try and Borrow the Police Car
3. Let Drainpipe do All the Talking
4. Shout out of the Window at the Officer, While Gesticulating Wildly at the Library: “The woman who called is in there!”

>> Let Ashley Take the Lead
 
Calmly, as ever, Ashley rolls down her window as requested. The officer who exited the vehicle is a tall and solidly built gentleman. The radio on his shoulder burbles with a distorted message as he moves closer to the car, walking with a composed urgency.
 “Hello madam. I can’t help but see that you’re trying to leave the library. We’ve just had a call about a disturbance here involving an assault by a woman wearing a witch’s dress. Who do we have there in the passenger seat…” He says, leaning towards the window. Your eyes dart from the officer’s face to the windscreen, through which you see a second officer approaching your side of the car. 
The situation appears to have developed. You wonder to yourself if you could possibly have done anything differently, such that this scenario might have been avoided. The only thing that even remotely springs to mind was your decision to thresh the librarian’s desk in manner that could have been, and unfortunately was, mistaken as aggressive. After a moment you disregard that thought as paranoid nonsense; it’s the librarian’s fault if she can’t recognise The Thresher of Light when it’s wielded near her. Even so, you decide that it’s probably best for Ashley to do the talking here. 
“That’s my wife, Lucy.” Ashley tells the officer, in a manner that sounds suspiciously like ratting you out to the feds. But you trust her. “She’s had a bit of a rough couple of days, and unfortunately things came to a bit of a head here. The librarian who called you is in there and physically unharmed. I’m trying to get Lucy home so that she can settle down.” 
The officer looks past Ashley and at you. You look nervously back at him, and wave one of your tourist leaflets. It appears to be for a model railway made entirely of chamois leather. 
“I see…” says the officer, after appraising you. You feel confident that he’ll have interpreted you as being both dignified and in perfect control of your impulses, which might have undermined Ashley’s allusions that you’re somehow prone to bursts of mania. “Do you have some form of identification on you, madam?” He says, once again addressing Ashley. 
“Yes, right here.” Ashley says, digging through her pockets for a wallet, and then handing the officer her driving licence from it. 
“Thank you. And your wife?” 
“Er…” Ashley starts digging again. “… oh yeah, here you go. I keep hers on me too, sometimes, because she is prone to forgetting her own wallet.” 
“Thank you.” The officer replies, offering no further response. “Please wait here with your engine off. I’ll be back in a moment.” 
You see the officer say something to his colleague, who then walks briskly into the library. 
“Do you think he’s going to arrest that librarian for wasting police time?” You ask. 
“Possibly. Though the poor woman doesn’t seem very much in control of herself. Probably why she panicked so much about the Thresher.” Ashley replies, giving you a comforting smile. 
 You sit and wait in the car with Ashley and Drainpipe Von Staffen for a few minutes, speculating silently to yourself about what information the memory stick might hold on Gertie and Gertie Enterprises. You see the second officer emerge from the library and return to his colleague in the squad car. 
More time passes. You begin to wonder if they’ve lost the keys to their car, and are frantically searching for them underneath the floor mats. It was careless of them to park in front of you and Ashley and then render themselves unable to move away, but you suppose that they must be rushed off their feet. 
After another handful of minutes, during which time you’ve thoroughly investigated the tourist leaflets you found and have discussed them at length with Ashley, a black estate car pulls up behind the squad car. With a sudden flurry of motion the officers are back out of their vehicle, greeting a middle-aged woman wearing a brown trench coat, a trilby hat, a pair of sunglasses, and an enormous moustache. You can’t make out the glue from this distance, so assume it to be a very sophisticated prosthetic. 
“Here we go.” Ashley says with a wry smile. “Everything’s going to be alright, Luce.” 
The trench coated woman walks over to your window, and Ashley uses her controls to lower it for you. 
“Well, well, well. P.I.s Lucy and Ashley, in the flesh.” The woman says, grinning from beneath her false moustache. It appears to curl around her top lip and into her mouth when she speaks, but if it bothers her then she’s not letting on. “How the devil are you? I was wondering when we’d cross paths again!” She laughs, thrusting a hand into the car for you to shake. 
You oblige, but there’s still a tourist leaflet in your hand. 
“We’re very well thank you, D.I. Shame.” Ashley answers. “Working on a case right now, as you might be able to tell. Been a bit of a mix-up here regarding Luce’s intentions in the library, but I’m sure we can clear it all up.” 
“Oh, yes of course! I’d trust either of you with my life! Especially steady-as-she-goes, no-nonsense, perfectly logical decision-making process Lucy here!” Laughs D.I. Shame. 
You remember that D.I. Shame is far from a stranger. It surprises you that you forgot her trademark false moustache for a moment, but attribute it to the lack of food, abundance of squatting, and possibly the intense pressure on the chest from a towel crammed into a dress.

1. “I slept secretly in a church!”
2. “Do you have any leads on the elderly woman?”
3. “Does the name Ellen Gertie mean anything to you?”
4. “Would you like to try my unreasonably practical wellingtons?”

 
>> “Does the name Ellen Gertie mean anything to you?”
 
“Does the name Ellen Gertie mean anything to you?” you ask D.I. Shame, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. She rubs at her face with one hand. 
“Ellen Gertie? Hm. Not off the top of my head, I’m afraid. Why do you ask?” The D.I. replies. 
“She’s a suspected thief of church funds and a confirmed piece of human trash. Did you know she flaunted her alleged stolen money in the face of the vicar by purchasing doilies and cardigans?” 
Ashley nods solemnly. 
“I assume that’s part of a case you’re working on then. She certainly sounds like an old hag with no morals.” D.I. Shame infers accurately. “I can run her name through our databases and get back to you with any dirt we find.” 
“Thanks, D.I.” Ashley says earnestly. You look at her and smile; she’s always so polite, especially when benefitting from the gross misconduct of those in positions of authority. 
“Please, after everything you’ve done for me, no, for the world, it’s the least I can do. And call me Diane Ingrid Shame.” Says D.I. In a flash you remember that she always did insist on being referred to by her full name. 
“Ma’am? What are we to do with the suspects? I spoke to the librarian and she’s shaken up but alright. Says these are definitely the two who were just in there.” Asks the first officer. He’s holding a newly printed library card. 
“They are to go free, of course! And if ever they need our help they are only to call!” Says D.I. Shame severely. 
“Is that not the case for all citizens who need our help? The very nature of a police force?” 
D.I. Shame dismisses the officer and his question with a single hand gesture. 
“Alright P.I.s, it was great to see you and you must catch up with me at the station, but I think I’d better let you get on with your case. You both have my number, and I have both of yours, so I’ll call when I know more about Ellen Gertie. Please do the same if you need me.” She says, grinning. The contortion of her lip shows a visible glue-line under the moustache. “Oh, and you’d better take this. You might need it if this Ellen Gertie’s half as bad as you’ve made out.” 
D.I. Shame hands you a revolver.
 
Item Gained: Revolver

1. Immediately Discharge all Bullets into the Pavement
2. “Thanks, Diane Ingrid Shame. We’ll be in touch.”
3. “Ashley, ram that car out of the way and let’s review our evidence!”
4. Introduce Drainpipe Von Staffen to Diane Ingrid Shame

 
 >> Introduce Drainpipe Von Staffen to Diane Ingrid Shame
 
Eagerly you accept the revolver from the almost too-responsible detective. It’s gratifying to know that your innately trustworthiness is still respected by some members of society. 
“Oh, before we go, we should introduce you to our companion in the back there!” You say, eager to bring unity to your small band. Casually you knock the safety on the revolver to ‘off’, because keeping it on is basically admitting that you’re going to make a mistake at some point. Planning to make mistakes has never been your style, and that won’t change any time soon. 
“Drainpipe,” you say, pointing the barrel of the gun towards the rear seat. “this is Diane Ingrid Shame. Diane,” you continue, flipping the barrel to indicate at Diane Ingrid Shame “this is Drainpipe Von Staffen.” 
You twirl the weapon around your finger, and feel the satisfying action of the trigger whenever the weight of the gun pulls against it. 
“Pleasure to finally meet you, Diane Ingrid Shame. I’ve heard all sorts of positive things about you over the years.” Drainpipe smoothly croons to the D.I. as you scratch your tongue with the barrel of the revolver. It wasn’t even that itchy, you just felt that it was a good opportunity to try. 
“Oh really? That’s good to know. I hope you’ve not revealed any sensitive information, Lucy.” Replies D.I. Shame. You smile at her. 
“Of course not! But Drainpipe Von Staffen can be trusted with absolutely anything. Why, it’s not lost that scarf around its neck despite dangling outside of the window and having no chin with which to stop it slipping over its head." You inform Diane Ingrid Shame. 
“My silence is as assured as my middle is hollow. And by the amount of rain that passed through me during my time outside the stationery shop, I can safely say you’ve nothing to worry about.” Drainpipe reassures. As with all others who take the time to listen to it, Diane Ingrid Shame appears to be completely taken in by Drainpipe Von Staffen’s charm. If only you’d let Drainpipe talk to the librarian first, you think to yourself, you might not be in this sticky situation. You rest your eye on the barrel of the gun pensively, despite it being incredibly uncomfortable. 
“Good to know it, and good to know you, Drainpipe Von Staffen. Now, off you go. I want to see Ellen Gertie, that foul, miserable sack of putrescence, brought to justice.” Diane Ingrid Shame says, leaning back out of the window. “I expect to hear from you both soon!” she adds with a happy wave. 
“Thanks Diane Ingrid Shame.” You, Ashley and Drainpipe chorus. To the untrained ear it sounds a bit like you and Drainpipe are taking it in turns to speak. 
A short, quick hand signal from Diane Ingrid Shame causes the police vehicle to be removed from your path, and Ashley pulls away with a clear intention to make up for lost time.

1. Carry Revolver Barrel-First in your Mouth to Avoid Dropping it
2. Switch Safety Back on and Check Inventory & Stats
3. “Should we make a pit-stop for a Curly Wurly?”
4. Do a Backflip

 
>> “Should we make a pit-stop for a Curly Wurly?”
 
Road. Roooaaad. Road. You roll the word around in your mind and in your mouth a few times. It’s beyond a common term by this stage of your life, instead taking on the role of a fundamental, immutable part of your daily experience which transcends conscious thought. For years now you’ve not really ever had to consider what it makes something a road. It’s not tarmac, because there are cobbled streets, concrete driveways, and even unsurfaced tracks that all count as roads. It’s not having a car present, because garages and car-transporters don’t count as roads. You just look at something and instinctively know whether or not it’s a road. 
At least, you thought that was the case until now. 
Ashley, the best and most experienced driver you know, is delivering the both of you home with all haste. It’s obvious that the quickest way to do that would be to follow the road system, since it’s designed to deliver cars from one point to another without any detritus in the way. Therefore, wherever Ashley is currently driving must be a road, you reason. But something in the primal part of your mind just can’t parse your current surroundings as a road. 
There’s a loud bang as yet another sandwich-board sign splinters across the bonnet of Ashley’s car. 
“It’s shocking how many of those things end up in the road!” You exclaim, pointing your revolver at the remains of the sign indicatively. 
“You’re telling me! Some people are just careless.” Ashley replies, swerving the vehicle hard around a post box and scattering the outdoor seating of a high street café. 
You clatter against the door and almost lose your grip on the weapon. Thankfully, the trigger catches on your towel and prevents it from flying completely away from you. Something in the whole situation is concerning you, making you feel uneasy, but you can’t put your finger on it. 
A stationery shop zips by the window. You see that there’s an alley alongside it, with a familiar and obviously missing section of downspout. As you idly wiggle the revolver’s trigger, letting the barrel rest on your thigh, the source of your discomfort suddenly becomes harrowingly obvious. 
This is close to where the Elderly Woman left you hanging. Although Ashley healed that wound, there’s still a prominent sense-memory. But it’s not limited to just the old megalomaniac; there’s also the call of something sweeter, and it can be found very close by. 
“Should we make a pit-stop for a Curly Wurly?” You ask, knowing that it might go some small way to repaying Ashley for her help with the case so far. 
“You know what, Luce?” Ashley starts. She turns the steering wheel hard and your car rocks onto two wheels as it takes a corner. The red traffic light shines impotently at you. “That’s a great idea.” 
The engine roars with excitement as your car screams along the pavement, scattering pedestrians left and right. You’re once again thrown forwards into the waiting arms of your seatbelt as the car skids to a halt, leaving a trail of smoking rubber behind. As you slam back into your seat, you see a familiar supermarket to your right. 
“I’ll grab us a Curly Wurly each and be right back.” Ashley says, leaping from the car without stopping the engine.

1. Scan for The Elderly Woman
2. Switch Safety Back on and Check Inventory & Stats
3. Turn Off the Engine and Follow Ashley
4. Scratch ‘The Elderly Woman’ on the Side of One Bullet Using Secateurs

 
>> Scratch ‘The Elderly Woman’ on the Side of One Bullet Using Secateurs
 
Sitting there in the car with the comforting vibration of the engine, you peer up and down the street. It’s still damp from recent rain, but much drier than it had been during your previous visit. By your calculations, you must be right on top of the puddle into which you squatted. Not far behind you, just where Ashley crushed a dustbin that someone had carelessly left in her road, is the very site where the Elderly Woman left you hanging. 
A great sense of melancholy swirls in your chest, and nucleates into something else; vengeance. She cannot be allowed to get away with such a great injustice. You were alone, naïve and vulnerable when she took advantage of your better nature, but not any longer. Now you have Drainpipe Von Staffen, veteran of the great wellington heist, and Ashley, veteran of several years of marriage to you, by your side. Their support will deliver you to your great confrontation with The Elderly Woman, you’re sure of it, and when that finally happens… 
You look down at the revolver in your lap. There’s only one way a bitter rivalry such as yours with The Elderly Woman could possibly end. You cast a furtive glance to the back of the car, and see that Drainpipe Von Staffen is distracted, taking in the sights of the high street. It’s for the best, you decide. 
Expertly you pop the cylinder from the revolver, and see six bullets filling the chambers. Pointing the gun upwards you empty the bullets into your lap, and fish around in your towel for the secateurs with which Ashley wisely equipped you. 
“This one is yours, The Elderly Woman.” You mutter to yourself. Gripping the secateurs in one hand and the bullet in the other, you start to scratch her name on the side of the casing. Although almost infinitely competent at everything to which you turn your hand, it seems that appropriate font-size estimation is an acquired talent. You begin with an enormous T that takes up far more than its share of the brass casing. The following h hides in the great T shadow, with a yet smaller e that comes out more like a crudely drilled hole than a discernible letter. Undeterred you press on, and manage to carve out an E before running out of space. 
Not one to give up so easily, you rotate the bullet slightly and continue on a new line. This time you manage to fit ‘lderly’ before running out of room. Another rotation reveals the final free space, which is approximately half the required height for legible writing. The Elderly Woman is barely a legible person, you rationalise, so you see no problem with scratching the word ‘woman’ in a manner that looks more like a poorly understood interpretation of a horizontal line. 
Making a note of which chamber you push your customised bullet into, you quickly reload the revolver and click the cylinder back into place as Ashley leaves the store with a pair of Curly Wurlys in hand. There’s also something else in a shopping bag. The battle is surely yours to win now.

1. “What’s in the Bag, Ash?”
2. Take a Moment to Enjoy Curly Wurlys
3. Offer to Drive Home
4. Use Secateurs to Lever Safety Catch Off Revolver

 
>> “What’s in the bag, Ash?”
 
Ashley hopes back into the driver’s seat and smiles. 
“Here you go! I also got Drainpipe Von Staffen a packet of fizzy straws, because it seems like it’d like hollow sweets rather than chocolate. Should we have them now, or at home?” 
Your heart swells; she really did think of everything. But this isn’t the time or place to eat a Curly Wurly, you decide. 
“Let’s wait until we get home, so that we can really savour them. I don’t think that the street outside a supermarket is the optimal enjoyment location for one of these wonders.” You say, exhibiting wisdom beyond your years. “What’s in the bag, Ash?” 
“I thought it would be best to pick up some other bits that we need while I was in there. The bakery was weirdly empty, as if someone had gone in and just trashed all the stock or something, but I managed to get a loaf of bread, and some shortbread, a few vegetables, a handful of tin openers, and all the yoghurt I could carry.” Your wife informs you. Flashbacks of your great revolution flicker through your mind, from the highs of your majestically soaring shoes to the harrowing lows of the Battle of Yoghurt Slip. It seems like a lifetime ago. 
“Good idea. Saves us another trip out later. That might just be what gives us the time and freedom to send Ellen Gertie straight to Hell, where she assuredly deserves to be. I can’t wait to personally clap those tin openers on her and get her marched into Diane Ingrid Shame’s eagerly awaiting cells.” You say, overcome with a lust for unadulterated justice. 
“You and me both, Luce.” Ashley places a hand on your shoulder and looks you in the eye. “You and me both.” 
Without breaking eye contact with your or removing her hand, Ashley pulls away again to a chorus of engine noise, screaming pedestrians who must have wandered into the way, and scattered bins. In fact, she keeps facing you for the whole journey home. You feel like the car was wiggling around more than normal, and make a mental note to take it to a mechanic when you have the opportunity.

1. Eat Curly Wurly as Soon as You’re Through the Door
2. Use Laptop to Investigate Gertie and Gertie Enterprises Data
3. Use The Thresher of Light to Tend to Neighbour’s Flowerbeds
4. Use Revolver to Finish the Job with Basin

 
>> Use Laptop to Investigate Gertie and Gertie Enterprises Data
 
A lesser private detective might reasonably be fooled into thinking that some malevolent, invisible force is trying to tear your face from your body. They might attribute it to the vile magics of Gertie and The Elderly Woman, with one of them summoning a demon to rend cheek from cheekbone. But you know better; you know that it’s just Ashley’s perfectly controlled braking that’s currently trying to launch the eyes from your head. 
You barely feel her stamp on the clutch and slam the gearstick into reverse before the car is slotted neatly into a space against the pavement. 
Expertly, you and Ashley de-thread Drainpipe Von Staffen from the rear seats and roll up the windows. Ashley leaves it in your care as she unlocks the front door and steps inside. 
“Are you alright holding the fort in the porch again, D-pipe Von S?” You say, invoking your old hip-hop crew name in order to adequately convey the gravity of your request. 
“As sure as the Sun will rise in the morning.” Replies Drainpipe, a nod to one of its sickest rhymes, with which a rap battle against then-champion ‘Big Respect’ was won. 
“Thanks.” You say, leaning it into the corner and continuing into the house. 
“Wellingtons off, Luce.” Ashley calls from the kitchen. You have no idea how she suspected that you might have innocently forgotten to remove your unreasonably practical wellingtons, but you can’t help being impressed all the same. 
As ever, it takes a good few minutes to wrench your feet free from their rubbery prisons. The exercise is rendered all the harder by your towel-rigid dress and its resistance to your ability to bend in the middle. Whenever you bend to the left you can feel the revolver digging painfully into your ribs, and you’re pretty sure that the Thresher of Light’s flail is tangled around the trigger. After brief consideration, you decide that it’s probably not worth the effort to sort that out. In the time it has taken you to follow Ashley’s instructions, she has crossed back into the living room. With feet that feel far less practical, but also much cooler, you give chase. 
“Could you pass the USB stick, please? We need to crack this case wide open and get the gallows warmed up for that Gert-bag.” You say, getting into the swing of things again. 
“Sure.” Ashley digs in her pocket and offers you the memory stick. You can see that she’s already booted the laptop for you. 
After four of five false starts you manage to insert the USB stick. A comforting ‘bing’ sound informs you that the computer is willing to accept your offering, and Ashley sits herself next to you on the sofa. 
“Go into the folder marked ‘Cases’” she directs. “and now ‘Active’, then… er… ‘Criminal’… ‘Theft’… ‘Potential Hags, Druids, and Charlatans’… ‘Temporary’… ‘Gertie and Gertie Enterprises’.” She finally finishes. 
“Nice and thorough. Good work.” You say, supportively. “Which of these 12 copies is the original?” 
“It shouldn’t matter, but it’s ‘Gertie, underscore, Gertie, underscore, one, underscore, final, underscore, initial copy, underscore, A’. 
Clicking bravely on the file, a vast document opens in front of you. It looks like an executive summary of Gertie and Gertie Enterprises’ business, their financial performance over the last few years, and a full roster of staff. 
“Wow, where did you find all this?” You ask, impressed at how easily Ashley can breach the privacy of commercial and private entities. 
“Just a little bit of searching on the internet here and there.” 
Cogs turn. 
“Did we actually need to go to the library?” You ask. 
“No, not as far as I can tell.” Ashley replies with a happy smile. 
“Hm. Makes the whole exercise feel like it could have been avoided by simply not going with the first inane option that presented itself to me…” You ponder. “Then again, I wouldn’t have been able to make friends with that librarian or get my gun if we’d stayed home.” 
“Everything happens for reason.” Ashley adds. “Anyhow, there’s a lot to learn from all of this.” 
You and Ashley browse through the document for about half an hour. It transpires that Gertie and Gertie Enterprises have fingers in a great many pies, from investment banking to hedge fund management, from washing machine repair to dry cleaning chemical sales, and from catering to the safe disposal of mayonnaise. Pinning their main stream of income and their industry down is fiendishly difficult, as if they’re simply trying to have a presence everywhere they can without regard for specialising in anything. 
Next you move on to the financial records. With so many income sources, their bank statements are a jungle of relatively minor transactions, seemingly without pattern or regularity. Every now and again there will be a single large payment made from the account to some charity or other, and some suspiciously minor, vaguely labelled expenses. You assume it must all add up for them to still be trading, but it just looks wrong. 
Finally, you both take a look at the staff roster. First and foremost are Carradan Gertie and Excelsior Jones-Smith-Johnson-Johnstone-Miller-Smith-Jones-O’Daniels-Walker-Smith-Gertie, presumably the namesakes of the business and children of Ellen Gertie herself. Their second level of management is provided by a series of people whose names refuse to stick in your mind no matter how hard you try, but they all sound like expensive types of coffee or rare gemstones. Everyone else is clumped into a single list of names. As you scan down, it becomes clear to you that these names are following patterns that do not stand up to scrutiny. It appears to be a work of fiction. 
You and Ashley look up and face each other. 
“Any ideas?” Ashley asks. 
“Yeah.” You reply. 
“Me too. You go first.”

1. “Clearly, it’s a legitimate business with recordkeeping problems.”
2. “Obviously, it’s a front for money laundering.”
3. “Naturally, it’s a shell corporation to cover the illegal transport of doilies.”
4. “Let’s eat the Curly Wurlys.”

 
>> “Let’s eat the Curly Wurlys.”
 
“Let’s eat the Curly Wurlys.” You say, confident that it’s the best idea you or Ashley will have all day. Possibly all year. 
Ashley smiles at you, and produces the Curly Wurlys which had been secretly sequestered on the seat beside her. Once again, you are delivered a timely reminder that Ashley is a genius as well. 
In almost perfect synchronicity you and Ashley tear open the wrappers to free the chocolately, caramel ladders which never fail to captivate your senses. The scent alone makes your mouth water. You’ve waited long enough since your critical pit stop on the way home. Finally, you take a bite. 
For a minute you and Ashley sit without speaking, and simply enjoy the sugary overload that the Curly Wurlys promise you. Every time you chew it reinvigorates your whole body; your blood sugar levels which were previously dangerously low are starting to spike. It might not last long, but at least you’ll feel more human for a little while. 
“That was a great idea, Luce.” Ashley says when you’re done. “Did you also have one relating to the case, or shall I go?”

1. “Obviously, it’s a front for money laundering.”
2. “You go. It’s your turn.”
3. “I had an idea, but I can’t remember it.”
4. “I still think that the note Ellen Gertie left, detailing how to steal money from a church, is somehow relevant.”

 
>> “I still think that the note Ellen Gertie left, detailing how to steal money from a church, is somehow relevant.”
 
“I still think that the note Ellen Gertie left, detailing how to steal money from a church, is somehow relevant.” You say, not really answering the question that Ashley asked but providing vital reminders none-the-less. 
“Probably, yes, but I doubt we’ll get to the bottom of that unfathomable mystery here and now. I have my own theory on what we just read. There’s something off about Gertie and Gertie Enterprises, something that makes it seem like it isn’t a real business at all.” Ashley says, clearly building to something. “You see, it looks like everything here in the financial records is a smokescreen, to make the funds passing in and out of the accounts hard to trace. And these employee names, well… some of them are utterly ridiculous. Especially the joint CEOs.” 
“I’m inclined to agree.” You say. “I could maybe believe that one of them is real, but the other is almost sarcastically stupid.” 
“Exactly! I mean, no-one in their right mind would be called Carradan. It sounds too much like caravan, they’d never make it in business. I think that this so-called ‘Carradan’ Gertie is a fabrication to deflect some of the scrutiny from this Excelsior Jones-Smith-Johnson-Johnstone-Miller-Smith-Jones-O’Daniels-Walker-Smith-Gertie character, who apparently has a proud heritage than spans at least 11 generations.” She explains. “Or maybe, one lot of five generations and one lot of six generations. It’s hard to tell.” 
“I did know a Jones-Smith-Johnson-Johnstone-Miller-Smith at school. Wouldn’t be surprised if one of their lot married into the Jones-O’Daniels-Walker-Smith family at some point, and then got involved with the Gerties via black magic or something.” You say. 
“Quite so. But lineages aside, I think this is one huge money laundering operation, and Ellen Gertie herself is skimming cash off the top. I think that Gertie and Gertie Enterprises made a sizeable donation to the church, so that Ellen could steal it back to make use of the funds. It’s a classic donate-and-dash switcheroo.” 
You idly feel for the gun in your towel. Gertie is going to pay.
 
End of Season Three