The Wondrous Woes of Dr. Wilbur: The Case of the Purse and the Pickpocket

     Perhaps it would be better to recount my tales, or should I say... yes, I should say: my wondrous woes; it would be better to recount them in the third person. How silly wouldn’t it be to talk of myself in the first person?

     Let us begin.

     ***

     It was on a rather dull evening that Dr. Augustus Filibert Wilbur entered his elegant sitting room, his handsome body wrapped snugly in his green velvet evening robe. This yellow Wocky held a glass of warm milk and honey in one hand as his other clutched a handsome leather-bound book. He was about to set himself on his deep-red velvet cushioned couch, when he noticed the fire in the grate giving a feeble spark and disappearing altogether. Setting down milk and book, he reached for the poker and stirred the logs of fire, causing some embers to surface. Shaking his head, he got down on hands and knees and blew hard into the grate.

     The fire, manifestly, did not appreciate this and blew back just as hard, sending mountains of soot to attack the poor doctor. How absolutely shocking, I’m sure you’ll agree! As he scrambled to get up he was, yet again, cowardly attacked by a nearby table which flung a book on his big toe and a glass of milk at his head. Lying on the ground, spluttering bravely beneath giant waves of milk, Dr. Augustus Filibert Wilbur managed to get hold of a chair and heave himself upon it, shielding himself from further harm. Extracting a lace embroidered handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his soot-covered face, while glancing at his - always dashing - reflection in the mirror, hanging on the opposite wall.

     Dr. Wilbur, Augustus to his many friends, returned to the kitchen to retrieve another glass of milk when he heard a blood-piercing scream coming from the street. He rushed to his window, pulling open his deep red curtains embroidered with golden Brightvalian symbols, to peer at the darkened streets.

     “Have no fear, Brightvale!” he shouted. “Dr. Wilbur is here.” He rushed from the sitting-room, dashed to his bedroom, flung open his closet and paused. “What to wear, what to wear,” he murmured in a pleasantly airy tone. “What would be suitable for a rescue-mission? I can’t be seen wearing an inappropriate outfit; it could very well ruin my reputation!”

     Only a quarter of an hour later, Dr. Wilbur appeared on his doorstep, putting on his purple bowler-hat, pocketing his ancient pocket-watch and peering good-naturedly over his spectacles. “Now, I wonder where that hideous screeching came from? It really sounded quite disturbing.”

     Trusting his infallible instinct, he took a right and pleasantly walked down the street, twirling his polished mahogany cane between handsomely gloved fingers.

     “Perhaps, perhaps the perpetrator is still about,” he said aloud, coming to a sudden halt. “Yes, yes,” he added nervously. “Oh, I’d better be careful! If he sees me coming, he’ll run and I won’t be able to apprehend the culprit. We can’t have that, no no no,” he finished, shaking his head in a most dashing fashion. He then proceeded to creep along the walls, staying well outside the street lantern’s feeble pools of light. With the elegance of a Kougra he jumped over a dustbin, which had the most impertinent idea of falling over with the loudest noise and attacking our hero with its lid.

     “Thief, thief,” someone nearby screeched. “Help, help!”

     Making an enormous jump, Dr. Wilbur yelled, “Have no fear, dear citizen, Dr. Wilbur is here!”

     The citizen in question, a very old Aisha, was so flabbergasted by the handsome doctor’s sudden appearance, she mistook him for the culprit and started methodically whacking him on the head with her purple purse.

     “Ouch, stop, stop! You crazy old-” WHAM.

     “Get away from me, thief, thief,” she screeched as her grayish hair swayed about her head. “Give me back my coin purse!”

     “Aha! You have been robbed?” he said, bouncing back to his feet. “Good, good. Splendid, splendid. Fear not, fair maiden,” he said, curtsying. “I shall retrieve your purse in no time and all shall be well again in Brightvale.”

     The Aisha eyed him suspiciously, her mouth hanging slightly open as if she was seeing a ghost. Naturally, it is always a shock to accept the existence of a person so wonderful, so generous, so handsome, so intelligent and so modest as Dr. Augustus Filibert Wilbur.

     “Now, which way did he go?” he asked her. She pointed towards a dark and damp alleyway, still not taking her eyes off him, no doubt standing in mind-blowing admiration.

     And he sped off, brandishing his cane above his head as if it were a sword, into the dark alley, his polished black boots slipping in pools containing water of questionable quality. Nonetheless, like a true hero, he kept going, ignoring the splashes of mud desecrating the hem of his pants, ignoring the foul smell torturing his nostrils, ignoring his aching feet.

     “Halt! You miserable excuse for a Neopet!” he yelled at an unclear shape in the distance. He sped up, puffing loudly under his walrus mustache, and grabbed the shape by the arm when a door struck him out of nowhere. Apparently the thief had hoodwinked the clever Dr. Wilbur into grabbing hold of a doorknob instead of his arm.

     “That must mean he went through there,” whispered Dr. Wilbur to his pocket-watch. “Dark magic must be involved.” The watch gave a hoot. “Yes, yes, I think so too.”

     Breathing in the cool night air, Dr. Wilbur puffed out his chest and entered the dark corridor ahead of him. The walls were of a grayish tinge and mushrooms erupted from the cracks between the bricks. Concerned for his health, although being extremely robust and hardly ever ill, our handsome hero extracted a purple silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and covered mouth and nose with it. He grabbed a torch hanging from a holder next to the door and allowed himself to be engulfed in the dangerous darkness of the corridor. His trained ears soon picked up a ticking sound, which reminded him of a possessed grandfather-clock he had once set free of a Dark Faerie’s magic. When his pocket started buzzing, he realized it was his watch ticking more loudly and shining a bright gold. “What is it now?” he whispered at the glass-covered surface of the watch. As if answering his question, it started buzzing and turning its hands in a most frantic and inelegant fashion, plainly demonstrating it did not belong to an ancient and aristocratic watch family. “Be quiet, I’m handling this case,” he said finally and stuffed the watch back in his pocket where it continued buzzing.

     Holding his torch up high, Dr. Wilbur proceeded cautiously on the slippery floor which seemed covered in slime. Very soon he came to a dead end. There was nothing to be seen but a very ugly yellowish mushroom sticking out from a crack on his left hand side. He peered at it, his nose almost touching the abomination, scratched his chin and sneezed. The mushroom did not take kindly to being sprayed with snot and shot black ink at the doctor’s handsome features. Spluttering with indignation, he grabbed the mushroom and tried to wrench it out of the wall. He’d barely touched the fungus when the wall swung back as if it were on hinges, revealing a gigantic stone bridge and an underground river.

     Augustus the brave took a deep breath and stepped forward. No sooner had he done so that the wall slammed shut, imprisoning him in almost complete darkness, water dripping from the cavernous ceiling onto his torch, causing it to cast feeble lights on the rippling surface of the river. He started crossing the narrow bridge, his mind constantly on catching the thief and returning the coin purse to the fair maiden, yet also on how to leave that evil place after having completed his duties. Just as he was about to reach the other side of the bridge, it cracked split in half and let the poor doctor Wilbur drop into the river with an almighty splash. Taken unawares, Augustus the Great found himself being dragged down by the weight of his tailor-made clothes, even though he was an excellent swimmer, having won several of Brightvale’s junior swimming competitions. Great bubbles erupted from his mouth and nose as cold water entered his lungs and made his limbs go rigid. He sank to the bottom of the lake, one hand outstretched above his head, hoping, hoping... Then, a burst of light came from his breast pocket. He felt his watch splinter and smash under the water pressure, and a bolt of fire of some kind escaping and shooting towards the surface with the semi-unconscious Augustus in tow.

     The little ball of fire was in fact a Light Faerie, guardian of Augustus through the legacy of his grandfather’s pocket-watch. She pushed him out of the water where he lay elegantly sprawled like a water Faerie. Next to him, he saw a snoozing Whoot, his claws clutching a coin purse. He stirred in his dream, but nevertheless Augustus grabbed the purse and let out a triumphant cry. Unfortunately, this is what awoke the Petpet and, furious at having being robbed, it wasted no time in attacking the brave doctor with its claws. Overcome by fatigue and emotion, the good doctor fainted and could just make out a tiny faerie binding the Whoot with golden ropes before his eyes drooped and he started snoring.

     When Doctor Wilbur woke up, he was lying on the pavement in the dark alley, clutching a coin purse in one hand and the remains of his watch in the other. He stumbled to his feet and emerged from the alley when he heard a shriek. He ducked as two bony arms were swung around his neck and two dry lips planted a kiss on his cheek. The old Aisha thanked him for retrieving her purse and insisted on paying him. Being an elegant man, he refused, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer, and after all, Doctor Wilbur felt as if he could do with buying some nice, quality chocolate. Waiting for his honorary fee, he watched the old Aisha open her purse, extract one Neopoint from it and tip it in his hand.

     Ah, true heroism has no price.

     ***

     Augustus’ note: It has most gently been brought to my attention that I neglected to give credit to someone in this story. Although her role was not as grand as mine, after much consideration and time spent hanging upside down from my chandelier hanging by a golden rope, I have decided to officially thank the Light Faerie Melissande for her assistance- ouch, all right, for her dashing and flamboyant rescuing of my wonderful person. She is a wonderful and –erm- spirited Faerie whom I will be most happy with to share my (cheapest) chocolate with.

     Yours sincerely,

     Doctor Augustus Filibert Wilbur

The End