George
The following takes place following: The Frenzy
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Boothe Appointed New Home Secretary
By Ermintrude Maine-Anjou, Waldopolis Chronicle Online
Ian Boothe, former Transport Minister and MP for Wilderbrook, has been appointed Waldonia’s new Home Secretary. The announcement comes amid the ongoing murder investigation into the recently discovered body of former Home Secretary Gregory Blackwood.
In a brief statement, Prime Minister Kyle Konrad praised Boothe’s experience and called for “steady leadership during a sensitive time.” Boothe offered his condolences but signalled a shift in direction, emphasising “security, accountability, and the well-being of all Waldonians.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hooper: "Stop playing with yourself, Travers!"
Travers looks up from his phone and glares at Hooper.
Travers: "For your information, I’m actually reading the news, Mr. Hooper. That’s how bored I am…"
Hooper: "We’ve barely been on the water an hour."
Travers: "Exactly. What’s taking so long? What kind of shark hunter are you? I wanna go home…"
Hooper rolls his eyes and goes to check the gear piled along the deck—harpoons, sonar equipment, and an assortment of instruments.
Morning mist curls across the still waters of Lake Waldron. The Cajun Queen cuts through it with a low, steady rumble as Jacques steers from the helm, one weathered hand on the wheel, the other resting near a rusted compass. A restless Travers approaches Master Devlin, who stands near the bow, silent and contemplative as he scans the lake.
Travers: “It seems our old friend Boothe just got quite the promotion. He’s the new Home Secretary. Did you know the previous one was murdered?”
Before the Master could respond, a loud honking startled the crew. A small vessel approached from the north, carrying about half a dozen activists waving banners. They blocked the path of the Cajun Queen and began chanting and shouting. One activist hurled a canister of red paint, splattering the boat.
Hooper: "For crying out loud! How did the sheriff let these clowns on the lake?"
Approaching the bow, he addressed the activists.
Hooper: "Do you have any idea what you’re interfering with? We’re trying to capture the shark ALIVE and safely relocate it!"
The leader of the activists, a scruffy man, lifted a megaphone.
Activist Leader: "The lake is the shark’s rightful home! You have no right to remove it!"
Hooper: "Rightful home? Sharks don’t have homesActivist Leader:! They’re nomads—they roam the oceans! This one’s a predator out of place, and it’s killing people!"
Activist Leader: "The only predator here is you!"
Master Devlin: "We’re taking the shark to a secure and humane facility where it will no longer pose a threat."
Activist Woman: "Fascist!!"
A furious Jacques emerged from the cabin, holding a Remington 12-gauge, and pointed it at the activists. Travers suddenly leapt between the groups, waving his arms frantically.
Travers: "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let’s not go escalating out of turn! How about we all just sit down, have some rum, and talk this out like civilised people? As a certified lawyer and national treasure, I’d be more than happy to mediate..."
Activist Leader: "We don’t negotiate with Nazis!"
Suddenly, a two-metre shark surged from the water and clamped onto the activist leader’s head. In an instant, he was decapitated, his body collapsing onto the deck as the shark slammed into the Cajun Queen, sending Travers tumbling overboard.
The activists erupted in panic as the shark surged again, landing in their small boat. It thrashed violently, jaws snapping at anything in reach, biting one activist and sending others into the water.
One woman took the full force of the shark’s tail to her face, collapsing unconscious into the water, while the “Fascist!” activist screamed as the shark tore into her midsection and dragged her under.
Travers struggled in the waves, battered against the hull. The Master leaned over the side, stretching out his arm.
Master Devlin: "Hold on, Travers!"
He grabbed Travers by the arm and began pulling him up. Suddenly, the shark breached again, jaws wide, and clamped down on Travers with terrifying force.
Master Devlin: "TRAVERS!"
The goblin disappeared beneath the waves as the shark shook him like a chew toy. Without hesitation, the Master grabbed a scuba mask, snorkel, and fins and began putting them on.
Hooper: "Master Devlin, what the hell are you doing?"
Master Devlin: "I’m going to get my goblin back."
Adjusting his mask, he dove into the lake, leaving the others stunned.
****
Beneath the surface, the Master pursued the shark, kicking powerfully through the water. The beast turned and locked onto him, its maddened eyes burning with a feral intensity. The Master could feel its murderous gaze as it bore down on him, jaws ready to strike. But amidst the terror, something about the shark’s crazed look seemed eerily… familiar.
Meanwhile, inside the shark’s belly, all was dark until a match struck. The tiny flame flickered, revealing Travers sitting in the beast’s cavernous stomach. "Oh dear," he muttered, glancing around. Spotting a human skull beside him, he quipped, "So, what are you in for?"
Back in the murky depths, the Master steadied himself as the shark charged. Its teeth gleamed in the dim light of the lake as it closed the distance, its massive body surging with raw power.
Back on The Cajun Queen’s deck, Hooper and Jacques hauled two survivors from the activists’ boat onboard—a young man and a woman, both pale and stunned into silence. Suddenly, a massive splash erupted, soaking everyone as the Master emerged, wrestling the thrashing shark onto the deck. He stood over it, drenched but victorious, staring directly into the shark’s wild, snapping eyes.
Master Devlin: “Open that mouth, boy! I want my goblin back! Right now!”
The shark thrashed and snapped defiantly, nearly catching him with its razor-sharp teeth.
Master Devlin: “Fine.”
He turned to Jacques and Hooper.
Master Devlin: “Take hold of it. Stand it up. Stand it up straight…”
Jacques and Hooper exchanged incredulous looks but obeyed. Jacques seized one fin tightly, muttering a colourful string of French expletives, while Hooper struggled to hold the other side steady. The shark fought fiercely, lunging toward Hooper, who barely pulled back in time.
Jacques: “Mon dieu, this beast is possessed!”
Master Devlin: “You will give me my goblin back, you son of a bitch.”
Hooper: “You’re not seriously—”
Before he could finish, the Master delivered a ferocious haymaker straight into the shark’s belly. For a tense moment, nothing happened. Then, with a grotesque, wet splurt, Travers shot out of the shark’s mouth like a missile, skidding across the deck in a slimy heap. Travers groaned and sat up, dazed but unharmed. He fumbled for a soggy match, which he used to light a drenched cigar.
Travers: “Hello… it’s me, Mr. Travers. National Treasure.”
The shark flopped onto the deck in a stunned heap, curling up as if nursing its injured pride. Jacques crossed himself in astonishment.
Jacques: “C’est impossible…”
Hooper: “That’s it. I’m officially too old for this.”
The Master straightened, turning to Jacques.
Master Devlin: “Prepare the transportation container. We’ve got what we came for.”
Before Jacques could reply, Hooper pointed at something on the shark’s lower fin as Master Devlin scowled at the surviving activists with utter contempt.
Hooper: “Wait a second… Master Devlin, you might want to look at this.”
Master Devlin: “What now?”
Hooper: “This shark’s been tagged.”
Master Devlin: “WHAT??”
The Master rushed over to examine the tag on the shark’s fin. His eyes narrowed as he read the inscription aloud.
Master Devlin: “Bull Shark. £777.”
Jacques: “A price tag?”
The Master’s expression darkened. Turning the tag over, his suspicions were confirmed as he spotted an address:
“WF’s Exotic Animal Emporium
Walford Heights, Widdlington, W1A 7WF”
The Master growled, barely containing his fury. Pulling out his mobile phone, he dialed a number. After a few rings, the phone clicked. A voice answered.
wF: “Yes?? This is Wiffuhuh! Speak!”
Master Devlin: “Widdle Frunkut! This is your Master! I’ve found some of your lost pet shop inventory here in Waldron Lake!”
wF: “Oh hi, Masta! What inventory? Everything is accounted for, sir!”
Master Devlin: “A pet shark! A bull shark with Widdle Frunkut’s Exotic Animal Emporium address and a Goblin Brand tag on it!”
wF: “Oh, George? Oh no, no, no, he’s not lost. We set him free.”
Master Devlin: “WHAT?”
wF: “We needed the space for the Stanley Shrike when we catches it! Besides, no one was buying George anyhow, so we opened the gate and lets it into the river!”
Master Devlin: 😡
wF: “Did you say Waldron Lake? Wow! It swam all the way there, eh?”
Master Devlin: “Widdle Frunkut… Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
wF: “Uh huh. We set it free back into nature! Anywayz, we has to go now, Masta… Today’s the day. Dr. Shawn is coming in for her photoshoot, and we plans to pop the question.”
Master Devlin: “WHAT?”
wF: “Wiffuhuh will ask her to marry us! Now that we is boss of the Waldopolis Chronicle!”
Master Devlin: “No… Widdle Frunkut, don’t you dare—”
wF: “BYE, PAZLEY!”
The line went dead as Widdle Frunkut hung up on him.
****
As they drag the battered Cajun Queen into the dock, the crew finds the marina and boardwalk strangely quiet. The crowd of protestors and press has vanished. The Sheriff and only a handful of townsfolk are there to greet the heroes.
Master Devlin: “What’s going on? Where is everyone?”
Hooper: “You mean the protestors? They went back to the city to protest the zoo. Apparently a zookeeper messed up a giraffe’s pronouns. No one cares about the shark anymore.”
The Mayor’s car pulls up and one of her bodyguards opens the door. She barely looks up as she’s too busy scrolling on her phone.
Hooper: “Uh. Madam Mayor?”
Mayor: “Just a sec… Yeah?”
Hooper: “We’ve returned with the shark, safe and sound! Just as you asked.”
Mayor: “Oh, right… right. The shark… Well. Um. Great. Thanks. The town owes you a debt of gratitude.”
The Mayor is still glued to her phone.
Master Devlin: “Do you wish to see the shark before we send it off to its new habitat?”
Mayor: “No, no. It’s okay. I trust you. I’m actually late for a ribbon-cutting ceremony at the new recycling centre. Well, goodbye!”
The bodyguard closes the door and gets back in the driver’s seat.
Travers: “Wait! Madam Mayor! What about dinner??”
The car drives off.
The Master growled to himself, then turned to say his farewells to the Sheriff and Jacques. Hooper arranged to accompany the shark back to the Masters Council grounds in Widdlington and climbed into the truck carrying the shark tank.
Master Devlin: “Well, Travers, I must return to the city now. I need to ensure this shark reaches the Council safely. Also, Widdle Frunkut must be disciplined. Do you want me to fly you back to the manor first?”
Travers: “Don’t be silly, Master Devlin. I’m coming with you. You know what they say: ‘As Master Devlin goes, so goes the National Treasure.’ Or something like that.”
Master Devlin: “And what about staying away from the city to avoid the civil suit?”
Travers: “Huh? Oh, right… I forgot about that! Well, I’m not worried. If I’ve forgotten about it, surely they have too. Besides, Travers has a knack for evading long-term consequences… Buckle up, Master Devlin… we are going home!”
The Waldoverse continues in The Waldo Corp Coup