Chapter 22 - Yorick

Marcus came singing down the stairs “big fish, little fish, cardboard box”, and I joined in. It was funny, and had just turned 5:15am. I was still a bit tired though from the constant nightmares about my parents, and Christian...

I ate up, but then fell asleep at the table.

I did wake up about fifteen minutes later though, because of the nightmares. I had screamed, according to Marcus. And apparently, this is exactly what Marcus hears every single night. Poor thing; he must be shattered.


“Sorry.” I mumbled.

“What for? Because you have nightmares? Trust me, that’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s not your fault.” He tapped me on the nose.

“Yeah, but I keep you awake.” I argued.

“It’s fine. I used to have a baby sister, and she woke me up more than you, so cheer up missy.” He laughed.

I stuck my tongue out at him, and then started giggling. I went to the sink, and ran the tap for the washing up.

Marcus then joined me, and we had a mini water fight, which ended up in a lot of shrieking, and giggling.

I ended up soaked. Marcus took his top off... it was drenched.

He’d been working out... I just raised my eyebrows at him.

“Well you’ve got to do something when you don’t have to study.” He shrugged.


We went to our separate bedrooms, and got changed, I hung the wet clothes out on the radiators to dry, and then we went into the gym room to get in shape, ready for work. I couldn’t wait to get back, where it was always really friendly.


We got out of the house for 6:40am, so we had twenty minutes to walk to HQ. It was a pleasant walk, and I found myself singing halfway there. I didn’t even realise what I was singing until Marcus asked “you like Avril Lavigne?”

I shrugged. “Yeah; that song’s always in my head.” I had been singing ‘He Wasn’t’.

“If that’s the way you feel, fine.” He put his nose in the air, and we both burst into laughter.

We arrived at HQ with three minutes to spare.


Marcus ran in the other entrance, so I was left to punch in, on my own. I dumped my rucksack in my locker, turned the key, and hid the key and my mobile in my sock. I noticed it was very quiet; everybody must be hard at work. Yippee. Back to the same old thing. Day in, day out. Offenders. I’m just jumping for joy. Maybe. It would, of course, be a different story having Marcus by my side. I smiled to myself at the thought of this.


I walked into the grand hall where the board meeting was to be taking place, but it was dark. I fumbled around for the light switch. Trust me to be the first one here.

I finally found the light switch and there was the long table in the middle of the hall, and the huge swivel chair that Mr. Gee sat in for the meetings, but the swivel chair was facing away from the table. Mr. Gee couldn’t have left it like that. He was a neat freak. And there was a used disposable coffee on the desk. He’d blow his top. I grabbed the coffee cup, and threw it in the bin (my aim was very accurate so I didn’t actually need to walk over to the bin). I then tried to swivel the chair back around, but it was very heavy. I succeeded at last. It didn’t surprise me that somebody was sitting in it. Not one bit.


“You don’t seem surprised to see me.” Yorick said, in his gravelly voice, a result from chain smoking cigars every day.

“I’m not.” I sighed, bored. He wouldn’t attack in our HQ.

I should probably inform you that Yorick assisted Miss. Guthrie at the YACR.

“You’re not going to ask me why I came.” He asked in his Russian accent, surprised, his eyebrows shooting about a metre up his long forehead.

“Well, I already know.” I rolled my eyes.

“How could you possibly know?” He bellowed.

“Well, you’re all the same. Not very original” I sighed, then imitated his Russian accent, and admittedly, imitated it very badly. “Spy on zee enemee, zen take over zee vorld.”

“Ya, dat eez preety much eet. Fight mee.” He sprang up from his seat very lightly, considering the bulk of him.

“Finally, some action” I grinned, wickedly.


There was a lot of circling. I then let him think he was getting me up against the wall, when I ducked through his legs, and bashed ‘im on’t bonce as my Uncle would say (he’s from West Yorkshire). I knocked him cold out, and you have to admit, it was incredibly clever of me.

I reached into my sock for my Blackberry, but he had stood up, and was reaching down to me, I quickly shoved my mobile back into my sock, and let him fling me across the room, and out the window. Stupid man. I’m like a cat: stealthy, and I always land on my feet.


I climbed up the drainpipe, and came back in the window. I ran quickly but silently across the hall. I thumped him on the head from behind, then when he didn’t fall unconscious, I did a high kick, which smacked him in his temple. I then thrust the palm of my hand up against his nose, hopefully breaking it, and at the same time, I kicked him in the groin. I suppose you could say that that was hitting below the belt... Literally.


He fell to the floor with a big thud, and this time, I sat down on top of him, so I’d know when he came conscious again.

I reached into my sock and then phoned Mr. Gee.

“Where are you, sir?” I asked.

“Oh, I forgot to call everyone to meeting. Are you in the grand hall?” He asked.

“Yeah; sat on top of Yorick Smirnov” I said casually.

“Why?” Mr. Gee asked.

“He snuck in. He’s currently unconscious.” I informed him.

“The boys will be with you in a matter of seconds.” Mr. Gee told me not to worry.

“Thanks, he’s incredibly bony for such a big guy. BTW I’m not worried.” I then hung up.

There were the stronger boys from a few years above me came running in, and James, the youngest one (about my age) had to take a picture on his phone. I tutted, laughing.

“That’ll be going on MySpace.” He laughed.

“You dare.” I dared him, with my scary face.

“Marcus was right; you are scary!” James cowered.

“Not really; I’m sweet and innocent.” I gave him puppy-dog eyes.

“Come on; let’s get him into one of those led cells.” James laughed, and I stood up.

“Hold it right there!” A shrill voice came from across the great hall.

“Who be you?” James was confused.

“The name’s Guthrie; Isabel Guthrie.” She said, imitating James Bond, flipping her strawberry blonde curls back over her shoulder.

Martin’s jaw dropped. He mouthed one word: sexy. I smacked him over the head.


Miss Guthrie leapt to the window, and then down to the ground, before anybody could move. You have to admit that she was very lithe and agile. I smiled discreetly to myself.

“We’ll let that one go. She’ll be back later.” James decided.

“So? What are you going to do now?” I asked.

“Dunno; I’ll probably just take him down to the cells and then chillax.” James shrugged.


The End

The End

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