Pumyra Gets a Clue:
Fatal
Illusion – Prologue
The
Invitation
Mumm-Ra walked into his Pyramid,
carrying something under his arm.
Ma-Mutt looked up to see what it was.
He barked, running over to his master.
Mumm-Ra
bent down to pet the dog. “Yes, Ma-Mutt. I’ve caught one of those accursed
Thundercats. And I have a perfect plan
to get rid of her.” He dropped his
burden on the floor, revealing the Thundercat Pumyra. Her arms were bound to her sides and her ankles tied
together. She screeched what could only
be insults at Mumm-Ra through her gag.
He yanked it off.
“Lion-O’s
going to get you for this!” she screamed.
“He’ll get back at you for murdering me!”
“Who
said anything about killing?” He smiled
wickedly at her. “You see that’s not
what I’m going to do.” He snapped his
fingers.
The
bonds around her disappeared, and energy shields blocked all exits. She stood up and looked around
suspiciously. “Then what are you going
to do?”
“Well,
I’m sick and tired of trying to get all the Thundercats at once and getting the
ever-living shit kicked out of me, so I decided that I’d pick you off one by
one, and send you to another dimension and time.” He smiled wickedly. “Besides,
it’s more of a challenge to decide where I’ll put each of you.” He smiled.
“Maybe, if I feel nice, I’ll send you one of your Thundercat males to
keep you company.”
“So
where are you going to put me?” Pumyra asked, interested despite herself.
“Oh,
I believe that the 1930s of the time before First Earth will do. Humans weren’t as kind then as they are
now.” He lifted his hands above his
head. “Ancient Spirits of Evil,
transform the cauldron into the Door of Time and Dimensions, and send Pumyra to
the time before World War II!”
Evil-looking,
blood-colored magic started swirling around the cauldron, turning the water a
pitch black. Pumyra, trying to protect
her eyes from the dust flying around her with her arms, watched with
unintentional fascination as it cleared to show a dirty city street in the
middle of the night.
The magic
swirled with more powerful surges, sweeping Pumyra off her feet towards the
cauldron. She tried to scream, but not
a sound came out of her mouth. She
splashed through the water, only to land on the cobble-stoned street, hitting
her head hard on the pavement. The last
thing she remembered before blacking out was watching the portal back to her
world close, Mumm-Ra laughing hysterically at her.
Something tells me there’s
more behind this invitation than just a party…
“Are
you awake, child? I know you’re not
dead.”
Pumyra
slowly opened her eyes. “Yes, I’m
awake.” Calmly, she reached inside her
mind to try and remember where she was, and why there would be a human male
looking down at her like that. Then she
remembered everything. Damn. I know there’s no way that I’m going to get
back home with their help. I’m going to
have to think carefully.
“Can you sit up?” the human
asked. He had a black bag beside him,
making Pumyra realize that he was a doctor.
“I…
think so…”
He
helped her sit up against the pillow and looked at her with a worried
face. “You have a large lump on your
head. Do you mind answering some of the
constable’s questions, child?” He waved
towards another man sitting in a chair nearby.
“No,
if I know the answers.”
The
constable stood up as the doctor opened his bag, rummaging around in it. “Girl,” the constable said in a no-nonsense
voice. “You were found out in the
middle of the street last night, knocked unconscious and in nothing but your
jewelry and your… ahem… shift. Do you
remember what happened?”
Deciding
that amnesia would have to be her illness, she shook her head, quickly putting
a story together inside of her mind.
“No.”
The
doctor’s back straightened suddenly.
“Do you remember anything?”
Pumyra
put on a great show of thinking, then slowly shook her head. “No, nothing.”
“Don’t
you remember who you are?”
“No. I… I can’t remember anything.”
The
constable reached into his pocket and pulled out her insignia. “Will this jog your memory?”
She
took it in her hands, making a great show of studying it. “I… wait… Puma… no… Pumyra…”
“Pumyra?”
the doctor asked, leaning forward.
“Someone…
calling Pumyra… calling me Pumyra… giving this to me… he had red hair… a
deep voice… brown eyes…” Well, at least that’s the truth… somewhat. “It was his kid name for me… I… I can’t
remember anything else…”
They
gave her the engagement bracelet Bengali bought for her on Thundara and the
neck clasp Lynx-O had given her for her sixteenth birthday. “What about these, child?” the doctor asked
carefully.
She
touched the neck clasp. “I… remember
something… yes… old hands… kind old hands…
a gentle smile… a beard that tickled me when I snuggled to him… I… he…
Grandfather…”
Then she raised the
bracelet. “Eyes… beautiful blue eyes… a
deep, seductive voice… he… he said… ‘I love you… I want to marry you’…” She
started to cry, thinking she’d never see her fiancé again. “Ben… his name was Ben…”
“Anything
else, girl? Think!”
“Hard
skin… a terrible, horrible grin… rotten teeth… a laugh… such a frightening
laugh… hurting me… no… no, stop… no…
NO! STOP! DON’T TAKE ME FROM
THEM! PLEASE, NO!!!”
The doctor clasped a hand over her
mouth, and then turned to the constable.
“This has to be a very special case of amnesia. I would not suggest saying a thing about her
past, otherwise she might loose her mind.”
“What are we going to do with her?”
“I’m
sure she’s of age, if not older. It
appears that she was going to marry someone, but something happened. A bandit probably kidnapped her. Marrying her to someone would not be a good
idea, in case this Ben came looking for her.
I suggest we put her under the supervision of Old Jansen.”
“Jansen? He’ll let her run wild!”
“True,
but when have you ever seen any of his daughters unhappy? They can at least take care of their family
if something happens to their husbands instead of getting thrown out in the
street. He’s the only one who’d take
her in, anyway.”
“I
don’t like any of the Jansen girls…”
“Who
cares as long as she can make her way in this world? No one will have to worry about her then, and she might even be
able to find her Ben.”
The
constable didn’t seem very fond of the idea, but he gave in. “Alright.
I’ll contact Old Jensen tonight and tell him the story.” He turned and left the room.
The
doctor took his hand from Pumyra’s mouth and allowed her to put on her jewelry
as he made a cup of liquid, mixing it with certain medications to help her
sleep. “Now, child, or Pumyra, or
whatever your name is, do you know at all what the date is or where you are?”
“No.”
He
looked at her, handing her the cup. “It
is December 4th, 1935. You
are in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. That
is in the United States of America, the continent of North America. Understood?”
She
nodded, drinking the liquid. She
grimaced. Blech, what a nasty
flavor! “Yes.”
“Good. Now, get some sleep. You’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow,
and a new life to begin.”
Yes,
she thought, lying down with the insignia clutched tightly in her hand, a
new life, indeed. A new life for all of
the Thundercats…
May
they all be interesting.
Something tells me there’s
more behind this invitation than just a party…
November
14th, 1938.
It
had been three years since Pumyra woke up in that police station. Old Jensen had certainly been a very nice
man. The second he noticed that she had
a knack for solving puzzles using information she’d find, he insisted that she
take a job at the nearest detective agency.
The head man at the agency had been very reluctant about taking her in,
until Old Jensen pointed out that Pumyra would be able to go to places that a
male detective would not be able to get into.
Since
then, she was known all over town as the best detective agent in Pennsylvania.
Old
Jensen and his family seemed more than willing to accept her. His daughters always insisted that a woman
without brains didn’t deserve to get a husband, and therefore made sure that
she learned as much as they all did.
Old Jensen himself insisted that she call him “Papa Jensen”, and delighted
in listening to her tell him of all that she knew about a particular case.
Ironically, the entire
family didn’t even mind that she had such odd markings on her face and in her
hair. As a matter of fact, the girls
all insisted that those markings made her doubly attractive to all the men,
even though her brains didn’t. After a
few months of getting teased by the other women living on the street, however,
she took to wearing a burette whenever she left the house, a scarf around her
neck to hide the fact that her face was lighter than her neck, and gloves over
her white hands.
One
day, after getting the couple months off that she deserved, she was sitting in
the parlor reading the paper when Old Jensen came in carrying the mail. “‘Myra, darling, there’s an invitation here
for you. It’s from someone named Ian
Masque. Do you know anyone by that
name?”
Pumyra
slowly lowered the paper. “The
Ian Masque? Papa Jensen, he’s in the
papers and everything!” She pointed at
the column she had been reading. “This
is written about his mountaintop retreat, the Chateau de Nuit,
and how he’s inviting a select group to spend the New Year’s Eve there. You can’t be serious that he’d invite me!”
“You are
the best detective in Pennsylvania, dear.
Maybe he hopes you’ll be able to help him with something that’s
bothering him.” He handed her the
invitation.
She
took it, but instead of opening it, looked at the next article.
The
Rhine Maiden, a large riverboat, was conceived of and designed by Masque
himself.
She blinked a couple of times, then
looked back at the first article.
Masque announced that his house would be
a retreat, or – as he said when he began the project – “A spa for those who,
like me, are interested in the supernatural and unknown.”
Recently, Masque began construction of a
ship that will transport visitors to the base of the castle.
Ah, so that’s how he’s getting them… us… there, she
thought. She looked at the invitation
and ripped open the envelope. “Do you
want me to read this to you, Papa Jensen?”
“Yes, dear. I would be delighted, and he might even explain why he wants you
there.”
She took the invitation out of the
envelope, cleared her throat, and read:
“Mr. Ian
Masque requests your presence at a most unusual New Years Eve Party atop his
mountain retreat, Chateau de Nuit. Come celebrate the dawn of 1939 with a group
of select guests.
“At the
chateau, Mr. Martin Urfe, famed amateur magician, will perform his astounding
electric chair illusion, “Escape from Death.”
“All guests
will be transferred to the base of the castle via Mr. Masque’s ship, the Rhine
Maiden. During the river voyage, Mr.
Masque will present his latest acquisitions from expeditions around the world.”
“It’s signed by Ian Masque himself,”
Pumyra finished. She looked up at Old
Jensen. “Do you think I should go?”
“Well, he probably feels that
something is going to happen, and wants an investigator on hand just in
case. You’re a smart girl. If you feel you wish to go, then go. Nothing is stopping you.”
She smiled at him. “Well, I have a month to decide. I believe I’ll look into this a bit more
first.”
“Whatever you wish, darling.”
She went to put the invitation back
into the envelope, but paused when she saw another piece of paper in the
envelope. She pulled it out and
unfolded it.
“Dear
Ms. Pumyra Jensen,
In case you are wondering who else
is to be coming to this party, and wish to contact them, below is a list of
people:
Mr. Martin Urfe, famed amateur
magician
Colonel Mustard, World War Veteran
Dr. Julia Kell, German Psychiatrist
Mr. Green, former American
millionaire
Mrs. White, former maid and nanny
for the rich
Miss Scarlet, former Hollywood
actress
Sabata, world famous Spanish artist
Mrs. Peacock, famous for political
scandals
Professor Plum, British Egyptologist
Madame Popov, Russian hypnotist”
Hmm, I have heard of quite a few of those people, she
thought. As for the rest, I’m sure that Davie Dear
will be able to find something on them.
Something tells me there’s
more behind this invitation than just a party…
David Fletching (J) was
throwing paper everywhere as he opened draw after draw with pointless
information that he had a habit of gathering.
Pumyra sat in a chair eating an apple while reading a paper that David
had written on about Ian Masque.
David, like her, was a detective, but
his specialty was getting useless information that turned out to be important
months to years later. Sometimes the
boss wondered out loud why he shouldn’t fire David, but he never acted on it.
She looked up as David sat on his
desk, panting. “I found a paper you
wrote about Ian Masque.”
“Great,” he panted, “you can – read it
to me – while I try – to catch my breath…”
She cleared her throat.
“Little is known about Ian Masque
except that he owns the amazing chateau built atop the Alpine Mountain – the
scene of this upcoming New Year’s Eve party.
Rumored to be fabulously wealthy with an interest, and even a belief, in
the supernatural.”
She looked at him. “You have terrible handwriting.”
He shrugged. “Never claimed I was an expert in handwriting. It’s better when I take my time.” He launched himself from the desk into the
papers again. “I know I have papers of
those people somewhere around here!”
She sighed, taking another bite of her
apple. “Oh, dear.”
“Green!” he said suddenly, throwing a
paper in her direction. “Ah! Kell!”
Another one followed.
She caught the two papers, carefully
placing them on the desk and rubbing out the creases.
“Ooh, three of them all together! Mustard!
Peacock! Sabata!” Three more
flew over, and she repeated the process.
He sat in the pile of papers he’d
created, coughing from the dust. “Okay,
girl, what do we have?”
She lifted the papers and squinted,
trying to read his writing.
“Mr. Green lost his family fortune
in the great crash on Black Tuesday and has been struggling to keep up
appearances ever since. Though he looks
and acts the aristocrat, rumor has it that he is desperate for anything to turn
around his financial life.
“Dr. Julia Kell is a psychiatrist,
one who felt comfortable remaining in her homeland. There are rumors that she works for the government, but there is
no evidence of that.
“Colonel Mustard held major commands
in the World War and in Africa. His
exemplary leadership was tainted with accusations of profiteering that hit the
tabloids. According to the papers, his
stashes have long been consumed by his luxurious lifestyle.
“Mrs. Peacock left London after her
involvement in a messy romantic triangle with key political figures. She fled to America, where papers later
reported on her affair with the New York Senator, who was later shot by his
wife.
“Sabata is a Spanish artist, and his
paintings are world famous. His
behavior is fevered and irrational.”
She scratched her head. “You ought to take lessons in writing fast.
I can’t read most of what you read.”
“Ah,” he said, smiling. “I was wondering why you were only reading a
couple sentences. I know I filled those
papers in completely.”
“Yes, and you even left a blank spot
on the back so you could practice your pathetic drawings.”
“They’re not pathetic! I just need more practice!”
“Indeed. Well, what about the others?”
Within seconds, papers were flying all
over his office again, as if to try and compete with the snow. Pumyra rolled her eyes. I can just see Snarf’s reaction if he got only a
glance at this. That annoying creature
would have a heart attack while going berserk. She smiled almost wickedly, picturing Snarf being thrown into an
asylum for the mentally insane. How I hate that
creature! He’s probably the only thing
I don’t miss from back home!
David once again threw papers in her
direction. “Plum! Scarlet!
Urfe!” He paused, blinking at one
of the pages. “President Hoover. Huh, I thought I threw this out…” He
shrugged, and kept looking.
She flattened the pages in her
palm. “You ought to keep all your
papers filed in a neat order. No
offense, but this mess is pathetic.”
“Go pound sand.” He stood up, two more papers in his
hand. “Popov and White. I knew I had heard all those names
before.” He handed them to her.
She glanced over the pages and
sighed. “Your handwriting is about as
neat as your office right now.”
“I’ll clean it before the week’s
out. Just see what you’ve got.”
She nodded.
“Professor
Plum is an Egyptologist who published a series of articles that caused quite a
stir. He claimed that there are holes
in Egyptian history – holes that are to be filled by further discoveries.
“Miss Scarlet was an actress in West
End and moved up into Hollywood. Her
chance at a career slipped away mysteriously.
She is known for scandal than acting.
“Martin Urfe is the heir to the
busted Kent ‘fortune’ of Bloodworth Estates.
He is also an accomplished magician.
He performs elaborate (and impressive) illusions for his rich friends,
including Ian Masque.
“Madame Popov, a Russian expatriate,
is a trained hypnotist. She
participated in the Soviet Union’s notorious experiments in ESP. There are theories that she is a spy, but
there is no evidence of that.
“Mrs. White had a long career
working as a nanny and maid for high-profile families where discretion is
valued as much as the skills. As most
people like her, she has little to show for it.”
David looked at her. “This looks like it’s going to be quite a
party, Pums. Most of these people have
records, and I don’t mean clean ones.”
“If these are the people he’s
inviting,” she said, “then no wonder he probably wants the best detective in
Pennsylvania there! He probably needs
me to find out something about them that’s really important.”
“No doubt about that. So, are you going?”
“And miss the chance to talk to the
criminals themselves? Are you
crazy?! There’s no doubt that I’m
going! If I don’t I’ll regret it for
the rest of my life!” She leaned
forwards and whispered, “Besides, I want to know why he would be stupid enough
to invite those people, then invite me.”
To be continued…
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