Chew Bee or Not Chew Bee (9 page)

‘Wosenbloom!' squeaked Skellington. ‘Tell the people here that this is all just one big misunderstanding!'

‘No, Sir Anstruther,' said Rosenbloom. ‘I won't.' He pushed through the audience and heaved himself onstage.

‘What?' squeaked Skellington.

Rosenbloom removed his outer tunic to reveal a black-and-yellow striped tunic underneath. He lifted a black cap from an inside pocket and placed it on his head.

‘Allow me to introduce myself,' he rumbled. ‘I am Captain Rossiter Rosenbloom, of Her

Majesty's Royal Bee-Keeping Investigation Unit.'

‘You mean you're a bee detective?' said Yorick.

The audience gasped.

‘That's right,' said Rosenbloom. He clasped his hands behind his back and began to walk slowly back and forth across the stage. ‘A Royal hive went missing at Her Majesty the Queen's garden party last year. I've been investigating its whereabouts ever since. I suspected someone from the theatre might have something to do with it.'

‘I didn't steal any bees, and I didn't murder anybody!' cried Skellington. ‘You've got no pwoof!'

‘Yes, I have!' said Willy. He held up the dead bee. ‘Its stripes run lengthways.'

There was a murmur from the audience.

‘I can't see!' yelled a voice from the back.

Willy held the bee up higher.

‘What diffewence do the stwipes make?' said Skellington. ‘It pwoves nothing!'

‘What! Lengthways stripes?' said Captain Rosenbloom. ‘That makes a very important difference. Bees with lengthways stripes are Royal bees. They belong to the Queen!'

‘It may have escaped,' said Skellington, ‘and flown accidentally into my mouth.'

The audience chattered. It was a reasonable point.

‘The only problem with that idea,' said Willy, stepping closer to Skellington, ‘is that I found this bee in a hive in
your
warehouse at Devil's Dock! Then I hid it in a theatre box in an empty honey pot. And that's how you came to have it in your mouth.'

There was a gasp from the audience. Some of them began hissing.

‘This hive,' said Captain Rosenbloom to Willy, ‘did it have a gold crown painted at the top?'

‘Yes,' said Willy.

‘Then,' said Rosenbloom, turning to glare at Skellington, ‘it's the very one that was stolen from Her Majesty!'

The audience
oooh
ed
.
A man threw a turnip at Skellington.

Ardent turned to Skellington. ‘You must have seen me collapse at the Royal garden party,' he said. ‘You knew I was allergic to bees!'

The audience
aaah
ed
.

‘Widiculous!' squeaked Skellington, taking a step back.

‘And you always wanted to be the King of Denmark Lane!' said Ardent.

A cabbage bounced off Skellington's head.

‘P-p-p-pwepostewous!' he stammered.

‘You
put the bee in my uncle's ear and stuck his head in the Pig's Ear soup!' Willy cried.

‘Hang the little twerp!' yelled a man at the back of the theatre.

‘What wubbish!' Skellington said, teetering on the edge of the stage.

‘It sounds pretty convincing to me, Skellington,' said Captain Rosenbloom. He began to draw his sword.

‘You've got a lot of explaining to do, Cousin,' said Sir Victor.

‘You'll never catch me alive!' said Skellington. He pointed up at the ceiling. ‘Look!' he shouted. ‘A ghost!'

It was the oldest trick in the book.

As everyone's eyes flicked towards the roof, Skellington vaulted off the stage and raced towards a side window, his little legs going like pistons, his bellies bouncing furiously in front of him.

Rosenbloom dived after Skellington and grabbed him by the legs. Skellington kicked furiously, landing a blow on Rosenbloom's nose. Rosenbloom's grip loosened for just a second.

In a flash Skellington squirmed free and wobbled to his feet. He looked around wildly, and then shoved his way through the audience, making for the side window once more.

As he threw open the window, Yorick hurled himself off the stage and barged through the crowd.

Yorick grabbed Skellington by the neck for the second time that day. ‘Oh, no you don't!' he said. He dragged Skellington across the stage to where Rosenbloom was getting to his feet.

Rosenbloom took a firm grasp on Skellington's arm.

The audience clapped wildly.

‘The King is dead!' said Yorick. ‘Sort of.' He grabbed Aaron Ardent's arm and raised it high.

‘Long live the King of Denmark Lane!' shouted Willy.

The audience roared and cheered and stamped their feet. It was the best performance they'd ever seen!

Aaron Ardent put his hand on Willy's head. ‘If I'm the King, that makes you the Prince! The Prince of Denmark Lane.'

Willy beamed. He could get used to that.

It was the last night of the Black Skulls sell-out performances at the Billericay Bowl. They had played to cheering houses for six straight weeks.
A Sting in the Tale,
their new play—with Willy's lines left in—had been a big hit.

The songs were great, the plot was great, and the fog machine worked like a charm.

Up in the best theatre box, Aaron Ardent, freshly re-crowned ‘King of Denmark Lane', tapped an appreciative finger to the music. He'd been to every Skulls performance since Willy helped him unmask Skellington and his great Royal bee scam. Captain Rosenbloom
had seized Skellington's bees and taken them back to the palace at Richmond. Skellington was locked up in the dungeon there, under the watchful eye of Sir Victor.

Aaron Ardent caught sight of Willy standing in the wings next to Yorick. He waved and winked, and Willy waved back.

The play was drawing to a close. All Willy had left to do was bring down the final curtain.

Onstage, Olly was pounding out the big closing number, ‘It's a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Write 'n' Roll)'.

With Elbows cranking up the music behind him, Olly swaggered to the front of the stage, gripped the amplifier cone stand and gave the number everything he had.

‘Rollin' down the horsetrack, headin' for Ludlow,

Stoppin' in the evenings, playin' my lute slow
…'

Willy remembered why he loved this troupe so much.

They were the best!

Olly crashed out the last chord on his lute and Yorick dimmed the lights. The crowd went crazy and Willy lowered the curtain. The London run was over. And Willy was still with the Skulls.

Backstage, the dressing room filled with the Skulls, their friends, Morty, the Utter Nutters and a ragtag collection of hangers-on and scribes.

Everyone was chattering excitedly and making plans for the next Black Skulls tour.

Everyone that is, except Willy.

‘'Ave you seen Willy anywhere?' Yorick asked Charlie. ‘I can't understand why 'e ain't 'ere.'

Charlie was being interviewed by the
Slaughterside Sentinel.
‘I think he's out on
the front steps,' he said. ‘I heard him saying something about getting some fresh air.'

Yorick felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Aaron Ardent.

‘Hello, Yorick,' Ardent said. ‘Just the fellow I'm looking for. Come with me, there's something I want to show you before I head home.'

‘Yeah, sure, jist let me find that nephew o' yours. I'm a bit worried about 'im,' said Yorick. ‘'E seemed a bit…flat when the show finished.'

‘Willy can wait for a moment,' said Ardent. ‘Trust me.'

He headed for the stairs that led back up to his box.

Yorick followed close behind. ‘Wot's this all about?' he asked as they reached the door.

Aaron Ardent smiled and pushed open the door to the box.

‘Blimey!' said Yorick. ‘Now ain't
that
summink?'

Willy sat on the steps of the theatre and stared glumly along Denmark Lane. It was quieter now. A few pickpockets wandered through the thin crowds, a man selling chestnuts was trying to move a stray cow away from his stall, the local beggar was packing up his false leg for the evening, a dancing bear had escaped and was chasing its owner towards the river. All part of a perfectly normal London evening that Willy would have usually enjoyed.

But something was still troubling him.

Old Feller.

There was no getting around it: if Willy hadn't got mixed up in this whole affair, that friendly, playful old dog would still be alive.

Willy heaved a heavy sigh.

Just then, the door to the theatre opened behind him and Yorick came out. In his hand was the end of a piece of string. The string
trailed along the ground and back through the door into the theatre.

‘Wot are you doin', sittin' out 'ere like some great dumpling?' said Yorick. ‘All the fun's back inside, Waggledagger!'

Willy shrugged. ‘I was wondering if I'm really cut out for a life in the theatre,' he said. ‘I seem to be causing an awful lot of trouble for everyone. Maybe I should just go back to Stratford.'

‘Stratford?' barked Yorick, in the same tone he'd have used to say ‘big pile of cow poop?'. ‘You can't go back there!' he added.

Willy didn't say anything.

Yorick waggled the string in Willy's face. ‘Ain't you goin' to arsk me about this?' he said. ‘It might cheer you up.'

Willy looked at the string. ‘It's a nice bit of string, Yorick. And I know you
do
like string. But, no offence, string's not going to make me feel any better.'

Yorick smiled. ‘No?' He pulled on the string. Two seconds later, a scruffy head poked around the door.

‘Old Feller!' cried Willy. ‘What? How?'

The dog bounded up to Willy and the two of them rolled around on the steps like a pair of puppies.

‘Rosenbloom found 'im at Skellington's warehouse an' gave 'im to yer uncle,' said Yorick. ‘The fleabag's bin 'iding in a store cupboard fer weeks!'

‘And eating a lot of honey, too, judging by the size of him!' said Willy.

‘The dumb mutt must've jist dropped 'is collar in the 'oney vat,' said Yorick. ‘Maybe 'e fort 'e'd get into trouble, so 'e 'id in the cupboard. Who knows?'

‘And who cares?' yelled Willy. ‘The important thing is that he's alive!'

Yorick smiled and turned back towards the theatre.

‘Where are you going?' said Willy.

‘To the party, o' course!' said Yorick. ‘I've wasted enough time already tonight. Elbows is crankin' up some serious fiddle in there! Me legs are itchin' to get jiggin'!' He flung the theatre door open wide and a blast of music blew out. ‘C'mon, Waggledagger, let's party like it's 1599!'

Willy scrambled to his feet. Seeing Yorick dance was something he wasn't going to miss.

‘Let's rock and roll, Yorick!' said Willy.

‘Woof!'
barked Old Feller.