Turns out I have enough bile in me to still be bitter about this one. Ironic, given it’s one of the few stories I have with a light tone. Though, writing this out, there’s little legitimate venom in me. It’s just a disappointment. I know it’s a bit rubbish to say, ‘Well I think it’s funny,’ when I’m the one writing it.
It’s easy to be biased about your own work.
Okay, that out of the way, this is one of those stories that, while not successful, I think has legs. Case and point, below this post I will be putting the entire story for you to read. If you want to comment on it, do so. Engagement gets me noticed, if you’ll forgive me pulling back the curtain.
I’m not one for comedies, at least not writing them. I can laugh myself silly over a good premise or snide remarks. I did so watching Dara Ó Briain. Him and the other Mock the Week types are my go-to for comedy. Dry wit and smart. That’s what I try to put into my writing. I’ll let you figure out if it worked when you read the story below.
Because there’s the above humour, great, and the kind I don’t like, boo. To put it bluntly, gross-out and gratuitous sexual humour isn’t my thing. The best example I can think of is when I got part-way through Grimsby (some 2010s comedy film with Mark Strong in it) and turning it off when it showed elephants mating with two men inside the female’s vagina, their solution to this predicament being to pleasure the male until it went away.
Yes, really.
I know I’m aiming for low-hanging fruit (pun not intended but I’m keeping it in), but this sort of humour isn’t for me. if you enjoy, it great, just keep it away from me, otherwise I’ll just complain you put it in front of me and expected me to laugh. I’ll probably think less of you for trying it. At least give me something I like, hypothetical person I know.
This made me wince and turn the TV off. And if you do the inverse and put humour into something predominantly sexual or titlating, all I can think is ‘I’m not here to laugh, stop it!’. Not so much shouting at the screen as being annoyed. Like you’re admonishing a misbehaving toddler.
All that out of the way, enjoy my story. At least, more than the people I sent it to for publishing did. Make sure to share and comment, etc. See you next time.
…
The Spy who came in for Tea
‘Sir,’ the waitress stood over him, tray in hand, ‘You’re not allowed to bring pets in here.’ She indicated Tiberius IV, the fluffy feline in his lap. He’d been sitting at the table – his table – for a few minutes now, enjoying his usual tea. Or trying to. The noise was particularly bad and the bulb above him was giving him a headache. The other customers usually did that on their own.
Ernest was taken aback, snorting, ‘Foolish girl, don’t you know who I am?!’ He may have more wrinkles in his old age, but he still knew how to use a commanding tone. It was always the tone with him. The shouting was partly for the sake of being scary, partly to get a word in above the clamour. It was utterly packed this afternoon. His sanctuary had been invaded by yuppies – perhaps he should return the favour. Go to their favourite cafes, make a mess of their mornings! Or… not. The young woman had his attention for the moment.
‘Um… no. Should I?’ She sounded bored, neon colours hiding the plain brown of her hair. She looked like she’d had the life sucked out of her but they’d forgotten to remove the rainbow spread.
Looks like she took a shot of the death ray, Ernest thought. Damn thing never worked right. Had to rename it. Heh. James was sick for weeks. They had to keep sending in his replacements. Of course they kept dying. All of them, one by one.
He chuckled at that, looking to the young woman. ‘Yes. I am Count Ernest Von Cobalt!’ He gestures to himself in a rather self-important way, ‘You shall treat me with the fear and respect I am owed!’
She smirked, ‘You’re still not allowed pets in here, “Count Kobold”.’
The old villain frowned. Shoot you with the death ray – eradication ray, that’s what it was. He grumbles and looks down at the cat. Its big, grey eyes looked into his. The frown faded, ‘No. He’s staying here.’
‘Then I… sir. I really need to insist you…’
‘He’s fine. Really.’ A voice, an old voice, a familiar voice. Could it be…
Ernest turned, his wrinkled face looking like a splitting orange as he grinned. ‘James!’ He creaked like a floorboard as he rose from his seat, walking over and offering a hand to the man. He made sure to bump into the back of one of the other customers along the way. The yuppies – all well-dressed and smug – looked at the two old men, looked up from their cappuccinos and croissants. No words, just surprised and partly annoyed looks. They hadn’t expected the count to move.
James was a similarly aged man, but he wore his years better than Ernest. His clothing was rustic yet pristine, compared with Ernest who was still striving to be pristine but ended up bumpkinly. A whole spectrum of mud brown and grass green, not the deep moss of his old uniform. Tobacco stains and frayed colours on his tweed suit, no one around to dry clean it. At least, no one that was to his standard. His favourite had closed down – Hugo, his butler, was long gone too. Everything had turned to dust before him. And yet –
‘James, you old scoundrel! So good to see you! What brings you here?’
‘Visiting relatives.’ He chuckled in a smooth sort of way – it felt like the old days again. Only they both knew it wasn’t. The old spy turned to the waitress. ‘It’s his emotional support animal. He can’t leave the home without it.’
The young woman blinked and looked at the pair, then shrugged. ‘Just try not to let him get anywhere.’ She walked off, tending to the other customers – this whole diatribe had taken far too much of her time already. And Ernest’s. And the cat’s.
‘Thank you, dear.’ James sits down, giving her a nod.
‘“Dear”? I’m surprised you didn’t call her darling and try to bed her here and now.’ The Count kept this to a lower tone – didn’t want her turning back and grabbing the cat. Though, just to be safe, he held Tiberius IV closer to his chest.
‘What do you take me for, Count? No,’ he chuckled, ‘She’s not my type anyway.’
‘And you’re married, so it seems.’ He nods to the faded gold ring on his old enemy’s finger. ‘Since when?’
‘Hmph.’ James sipped at water that seemed to have simply appeared in his hand – he was always good at trickery of that nature. ‘We’ve been going for… longer than you and I. Nearly twenty years now.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Greg.’ He smiles, holding up the ring hand.
‘…Ah.’ The pause was excruciatingly long. Or it felt that way. It was a second, but a second said enough, at least to James.
‘Oh don’t give me that look.’ He takes it in his stride, chuckling.
‘I didn’t give a look.’
‘Liar.’
‘James, come now. I’ve no such prejudices.’
‘Ha, given how happy you were to see me still alive, I’d hope not.’
‘One can be happy to see another man without being romantically infatuated.’ He paused, sipping his tea and letting Tiberius IV rest on his lap. He looked down at the cat, narrowing his eyes in concentration. ‘I take it you two are happy then.’
James looked at the cat too, nodding. ‘As happy as clams. Yourself?’
‘As happy as… a lobster.’
The former spy looks confused. ‘Be careful around baths then, don’t want you turning red. Then again, I hear older lobsters taste worse. Do you have anyone in your life?’
‘The old lair is gone, your people destroyed most of them. Wouldn’t have happened if that blasted death-ray – sorry, eradication ray, had worked.’
‘I told you last time we met, just go into weapons manufacturing.’
‘That’s my son’s job. Last I heard he moved to China. The idiot.’ Now it was the Count’s turn to chuckle – a rasping sort of laugh. ‘I had to throw him out of the castle. When I had one at least. Another thing your people cost me.’
‘Oh, of course.’ He doesn’t sound convinced. Instead, the old spy just sighs. ‘I dare say. I missed this. Seeing you makes me feel… young. I travelled the world to chase you and now…’
‘Married life not suiting you?’
‘It does.’ James rubs his eyes, ‘I just feel old.’
‘Oh, you’ve no right to say that. You wear it far better than me.’ He picked up Tiberius IV, looking him in the eye. ‘Even this one’s a replacement. I’m on my fourth Tiberius, James.’
‘Hmph. And how’s this one treating you?’
‘As well as the last three did. What did you call him? My…’
‘Emotional support animal. Something the young people call pets. Pets for people with problems. Not that a narcissist like you needs one.’
‘Ha! Takes one to know one. If anyone needs support it’s you. All those bullets and lasers and poisonings.’
‘And who’s fault were those?’
Ernest smiled, ‘Mine. And I’m proud of every one of those. You were a thorn in my side!’
‘You missed having someone to tangle with. We got reports back at HQ about you swanning about that ridiculous base of yours wondering when I’d get there. The last one was blown up, my handiwork. Suppose you thought this next one had to be more remote, stranger. We’d wondered where you’d pop up next.’ He paused, shaking his head and chuckling. ‘Honestly, underwater? Ridiculous.’
‘You and I both know those views were majestic.’
‘Sure, if you don’t mind the occasional shark crashing into it.’
‘Stupid creatures.’
James shook his head, ‘No, the stupid creature was the oligarch that looked at a coral reef and thought ‘I’ll put my base of operations riiiight there. No one will see it coming!’
‘Couldn’t just put my base on land like a plebeian, now could I?’
‘Oh poor you.’
‘Why thank you.’
James looked confused again – it was strange seeing him be so flabbergasted. ‘I’m starting to see why no women wanted to open their legs for you. Or her heart. No woman’s going to live with a maniac under the water.’
‘No, but they’d be happy for me to open my coffers to them.’
‘Oh how I pity whichever woman you end up leering over like Dracula – ha! Both Counts, it fits.’ He laughed, reaching over and giving Tiberius IV a good rub on the back. ‘Should get yourself a cloak.’
Tiberius IV purred – he didn’t know to hate James yet, it seemed. You little traitor, Ernest thought, Tiberius I through III would never…
Ernest frowned; a vein popped out on his head for how livid he was. ‘I’m no monster, you prancing monkey! Go on and dance for that organ-grinder you call Queen and Country!’
‘Ernest, you can stop with the shouting.’
‘Count!’ He stood up. ‘I am a Count. I… I had a castle, a death-ray! I…’ He sneered, looking around at the other customers. ‘Oh, like you people know anything about it! This one was the only one brave enough to stop me! All you idiots aren’t worth a tenth of him. Cretins, the lot of you, none of the drive to do what I’ve done!’
‘Sir.’ The waitress was back. ‘I’m going to need you to sit down.’
He didn’t quite know he was doing it at first, but he did so, slumping into his seat. ‘I… I had a castle.’ He muttered, looking at James. ‘I had a castle, James.’
‘I know, Ernie. I know.’
‘It was a big one too. All sorts of deathtraps. Those… they were a pain to clean. Had to put all sorts of safety regulations in. Defeats the purpose of a trap! What kind of idiot… they had bright yellow tape around them!’
‘Ha! I remember those! Wondered why you’d done that.’
‘Blame the Health and Safety Executive.’
‘You had to listen to the government?’
‘My henchmen said they would make a complaint if I didn’t take care of it, and I didn’t want to waste resources killing them and finding replacements. They were loyal.’ He rubbed his eyes, ‘You reward that. You don’t just kill them.’
‘Pot, meet kettle.’
‘What?’
‘You let them get shot, stabbed and blown to pieces. You gave them up to save yourself.’ James wasn’t smiling now. ‘I read the report while I was recovering. It made for a disappointing read, Count.’
The room felt smaller, Ernest’s face felt hotter. It all became so very quiet. It was his turn to laugh. A nervous laugh. ‘You’re not here to kill me, are you? Finish me off.’
‘Ha. No. Just visiting. Seeing that you’re not up to anything untoward.’
‘Perhaps you should bring your husband. I could tie him to the railway line.
‘Wouldn’t work.’
‘And why’s that?’
‘Strikes.’
‘Ah.’ Another pause, ‘I think I’ll take my leave.’ The Count pushed himself out of his chair, throwing down some defunct currency onto the table.
‘Same time next week then.’
‘Yes.’ He smiled, ‘Same time next week.’