The Lutin

Continued from The Lutin Part 1

Chapter 8:

In a dimly lit situation room, the atmosphere is heavy with the aftermath of the chaos that had swept through the campus. The long mahogany table at the center of the room is surrounded by several masters, each wearing expressions that range from weary to deeply troubled. Master Roger Wyndam-Pryce, an imposing figure with graying hair and an air of authority, sits at the head of the table, flanked by Master Devlin and Master Trelawny. Acting Medical Officer Abigail Todd sits nearby, her face pale but composed. Elder Master Ron, seated at the far end of the table, his once sharp mind now dulled with age, fidgets with a pen, occasionally mumbling to himself. The other masters in attendance sit in silence, waiting for the meeting to begin.

Master Devlin: (gesturing to data on a large screen) The lab results are in. The milk in the canteen was deliberately spiked. We found three different substances: a highly potent form of ipecac and a powerful laxative, which caused the violent vomiting and diarrhea. Bath salts were also detected, which explains the psychotic episodes. The worst, however, was the batrachotoxin—extremely lethal, even in small amounts. It’s what caused those horrific deaths.

A murmur of shock ripples through the room. Master Trelawny, usually composed, runs a hand through his thinning hair, his face grim.

Master Trelawny: (his voice low) Batrachotoxin... That’s incredibly rare. Who could have gotten their hands on something like that?

The room goes silent.

Abigail Todd: (softly, but with a firmness that cuts through the tension) We’ve lost 87 so far, including Doctor Sanders. Another two dozen are still in critical condition. We’ve managed to sedate those affected by the bath salts, but their recovery is uncertain. We’re doing everything we can for the others, but... the outlook isn’t good.

Master Ron: (half to himself, half to the room) Well... well, back in my day, we wouldn’t have let this happen... No sir, we would’ve... handled it... Reaganomics... (He trails off, lost in his own thoughts.)

The room falls silent again, the weight of the death toll hanging over them like a dark cloud.

Master Wyndam-Pryce: We need to focus on the next steps. Who did this, and why? I understand there’s been talk of a lutin on campus?

Master Devlin: (nodding) I’ve encountered him. He introduced himself as Delacroix Vincent. He’s a lutin, no doubt about it. He was here, mingling among us. I believe he’s responsible, or at least involved. Lutins are tricksters, but this... this was calculated and deadly. We can’t take any chances.

Master Trelawny: (incredulously) A lutin? Here, now? I thought they were just... myths.

Master Wyndam-Pryce: (gravely) We all did. But the evidence suggests otherwise. If this lutin is truly responsible, we need to find him and stop him before he strikes again.

Abigail Todd: (glancing around the table, her voice filled with concern) But how? If he’s as elusive as the stories say... and if he’s capable of this kind of devastation, what chance do we have?

Master Devlin: (resolutely) We need to be vigilant. We must rally what’s left of the Council, set up wards, increase security... and perhaps... (he hesitates, as if reluctant to voice his next thought) ...we may need to consider outside help. I think Waldo knows more than he’s letting on. I may have to bring him on board as a consultant. Otherwise, he won’t cooperate...

Master Wyndam-Pryce: I don’t like it... but if you think that’s necessary, so be it. Desperate times and whatnot... Just make sure he stays far away from my son... In any case, our first priority is to stabilize the situation here. Abigail, continue your efforts in the infirmary. Trelawny, I want you to start working on a means for potentially containing this Mr. Vincent. I’ll see if my son is up to doing a bit of research... He will assist you.

They all nod in agreement.

The room falls into a heavy silence once more as the gravity of their task settles over them. Each master is lost in their own thoughts, the events of the past 12 hours replaying in their minds, a stark reminder of the deadly game they are now caught in.

Master Wyndam-Pryce: (finally breaking the silence) All right, everyone. Let’s get to it. Time is of the essence.

Chapter 9:

The Master walks down a long, empty corridor, the silence pressing in around him, amplifying every footstep. He pauses at a junction, his ears catching the faint sound of squeaking and whistling. Turning to his left, he spots Widdle Frunkut in his familiar blue janitorial outfit, casually mopping up a pool of blood on the floor.

wF: Oh hi masta! You're up late...

Master Devlin: Waldo... I was just coming to find you... What the hell are you doing here?

wF: Uh... my job... Cleaning up all this mess. I must say, you people have no consideration for us lowly janitorial staff...

Master Devlin: You don't work here. You haven't worked here for a long time. You stopped turning up. Poor work etiquette...

wF: Oh, Stanley... You and your silly stories... I'm quite sure I have no idea what you're talking about. We've always worked here!

Master Devlin: Oh well, never mind. Did you happen to take in the milk delivery yesterday?

wF: Milk?? No... Milk is disgusty... Makes Waldie all sick. Won't go near the stuff...

Master Devlin: Alright, alright, I am just asking. No, I didn't think you would.

wF: What's going on in this town?

Master Devlin: Someone poisoned my colleagues. Many have died. Others went insane. Many are in the infirmary.

wF: Ah! Good, good...

Master Devlin: Excuse me?

wF: You're excused... As always my friend. Wanna play stickball?

Master Devlin: You really are a horrible, evil little creature, aren't you? And to think I was going to ask for your help to catch the lutin... I think it's time you got out of my sight, Waldo...

wF: Why??

Master Devlin: You are pleased about this horrendous attack on the council.

wF: Naturally 🙂

Master Devlin: Did you have anything to do with it?

wF: ...no... Wiffuhuh was watching wrestling.

Master Devlin: No, of course it wasn’t. This act is too clever for the likes of Waldo. Too well executed. You're too sloppy and obvious...

wF: Yeah...

Master Devlin: .....

wF: Yeah...😏 wF: Say. Have you looked into our good friend, Wesley Wyndham Pryce? I'd look there. In fact, maybe I will! The game's afoot! Waldo PI, on the case!

Master Devlin: The last time I saw him was when you were punished in the fart tank, but no, he had no motive for this...

wF: And what about you, Danny? Are you responsible for this attack? You certainly had motive. This investigation of yours might just be for show... A chance to impress. Maybe finally get promoted past junior grade master after all these years... Where were you when this poisoning took place?? Reginald said you couldn't be found for some time. Conveniently when the poisoning supposedly took place...

Master Devlin: I was with you, you little shit! And your Master has no motive...

wF: Really? Over 150 years of loyal service to the council, yet passed over for promotion time and time again. A 300 year old, junior grade master. Always given the worst assignments. Not respected by his peers. Looked down upon as the Mr. Bean of the council... Sounds like motive to me...

Master Devlin: Shut up, Waldo... The Master is a principal council member and a director!

wF: Oh yes, very convincing. Did you practice that in the mirror, my sweet little dragon? Your office is in the basement!

Master Devlin: THAT'S NOT TRUE! Shut up you horrid thing. I hate you! I have been spending the past couple of days investigating the strange appearance of this lutin. Particularly after reports of nationwide poisonings. Not to mention coming to check up on you and freeing you from his spell...

wF: Ah, I see. The Lutin... Still chasing shadows I see... Y'know... The Master should be loyal to Waldo. Waldo is the best friend you've ever had. Not those crusty old faggoons. You should come work for Wiffuhuh... Waldo Corp would give you a penthouse. And a luxury office! If only you'd come over to us...

Master Devlin: There's no cash flow. No salary!

wF: We borrow - a new office every week. It's exciting!

Master Devlin: Unsustainable... I'm leaving now. This conversation is pointless...

The Master, visibly agitated, storms off, his footsteps echoing down the corridor as he heads determinedly toward his dormitory room.

Chapter 10:

The Master jolts awake, groggy and disoriented in his Council quarters bed, immediately realizing that he’s overslept. He blinks at his alarm clock, now broken and smeared with a thick layer of slime. The realization that he may have slept for hours longer than intended hits him hard.

With a frustrated sigh, he pushes himself out of bed and makes his way toward the security department for an update. However, he decides to stop by the library first, feeling a pang of concern for Reg, given Waldo's recent disruptive presence around the council.

As he enters the library, he breathes a sigh of relief upon seeing Reg at his usual spot at the desk. Reg looks up, his face bearing a troubling expression despite the apparent safety. The Master’s relief is tempered by the unease he reads in Reg's demeanor.

Master Devlin: Reg, it's good to see you. I was worried about you. Is everything alright?

Reg: I'm afraid not, Sir. I've just received word from the infirmary. Most of the masters who had been taken there have died. There are a few still hanging on, but it doesn’t look good...

Master Devlin: I see...

Reg: Their condition was said to be improving, but then there was a sudden, rapid deterioration overnight that seemed to affect them all at once. Doctor Todd believes someone must have poisoned the patients a second time...

The Master's rage bubbles beneath his calm exterior. He’s lost for words, barely holding on to his composure.

Reg: You should know that the police are on campus. Widdlington PD has opened an investigation...

Master Devlin: I see. I will speak to them...

Reg: Master, um, one more thing... I’m afraid Mr. Waldo is throwing a party here in the library. In one of the computer rooms. Quite distasteful, I know, but it isn’t my place to criticize. I thought you should know—I think he’s also attempting to 'update' Stanbot’s firmware.

Master Devlin: Which room?

Reg gestures across the main library floor to a door.

Master Devlin: Thank you, Reg.

The Master storms across to the door and opens it. He finds Waldo bopping to 80s electro hip-hop tunes while sitting on Stanbot’s shoulder, tinkering with an access port.

Master Devlin: Hey, Waldo!

Waldo turns just in time to get smacked in the face with a shovel that the Master apparently carries around for such occasions.

Master Devlin: Are you alright, Stanbot?

Stanbot: Yes, Sir. Mr. Waldo tried to reinstall Waldo OS. The firewall you uploaded seemed to work.

Master Devlin: Good.

wF: Hey, jerk. Do you have any idea how much that stings?

Without a word, the Master begins viciously pummeling Waldo.

We cut to an exterior shot of the library as Waldo is kicked out the front door. He rolls around on the ground, hissing. The Master follows him out, still brandishing the shovel, with Stanbot carrying Reg not far behind.

A couple of detectives arrive.

Detective 1: Ah, this must be Widdle Frunkut. We were just looking for you. And you must be Master Devlin.

Master Devlin: Yes, Detectives. I will be with you shortly. I just need to deal with him...

Detective 2: Actually, we want to ask him some questions. We found this in one of the infirmary ward bins...

He hands the Master an evidence bag. Inside is an open sachet of "Goblin Brand Premium Potent Poison."

The Master holds it up.

Master Devlin: Care to explain this, Waldo?

wF: ...

Master Devlin: Goblin Brand is supposed to be liquidated.

wF: Goblin Brand never dies, fool! HA HA.

Waldo attempts to scamper off. The Master throws the shovel, taking him down. He then picks up the wounded Waldo.

Reg: I have no real evidence, Master Devlin, but knowing Mr. Waldo’s character... He’s something of an opportunistic scoundrel. I suspect he was indeed responsible for the infirmary poisoning. But I very much doubt he had anything to do with the original attack.

Master Devlin: Widdle Frunkut, did you do all this?

wF: Do what? The party? Yes. Waldie’s idea. Stupid pizzazz.

Master Devlin: Did you murder the masters in the hospital?

Waldo shrugs, doing his Dil Pickles face.

The Master smacks Waldo.

Master Devlin: Did you?

wF: Aye.

Master Devlin: Aye what?

wF: "’Twas I... Wiffuhuh... Them pizzas had it coming...

Master Devlin: What about the original attack?

wF: Nah... Not us, squire... No... Then again... Not sure. Waldo not remember so good. Maybe we did. And we'd do it again! Would've gotten away with it too if it hadn't been for those pesky pizzas...

In a rage that bubbles over, the Master begins slamming Waldo on the ground, performing his Hulk smash routine. Waldo is hurled around like a ragdoll and splattered all over the courtyard slabs. Reg, horrified at the violence, covers his eyes with his wing. After several savage minutes, the Master discards Waldo's badly beaten body on the ground.

<

Master Devlin: Widdle Frunkut. I never want to see you again.

wF: gAy....🥴🤕 You don’t mean that, Pazzly. I did you a favor. Now you’ll definitely be promoted! There’s hardly anyone left 😆

Waldo lets out a painful cackle before the Master delivers one final football kick to the face, sending him flying off campus and ending up somewhere in Widdicombe.

Chapter 11

Reg: My condolences for the loss of your colleagues, Master Devlin. I fear we may never truly know who was responsible.

Master Devlin: Yes... Thank you, Reg. But your owner, Widdle Frunkut, is evil. Would you like to come live with me?

Reg: Thank you, sir. That's very thoughtful, but I am Widdle Frunkut's property. I belong with him. I'm nothing if not loyal. In fact, I should really head back home now. I've enjoyed my time in the library—recent tragedies aside. But now, I think I must return to my master. No doubt he'll be expecting his dinner when he returns from wherever he landed.

Master Devlin: Very well... I don't like it, but it's your decision. If you find he is abusing you again, you let me know.

Reg: Thank you. Perhaps... perhaps Stanbot can visit sometime? He's become quite a good friend to me.

Master Devlin: Certainly! In fact, I'll see to it he takes you home now.

Chapter 12:

Later that day, as the sun dips below the horizon, Master Devlin leaves the council grounds and makes his way home to Waldobury Heights. The imposing stone house looms in the dimming light, casting long shadows across the hill. As he steps inside, the heavy silence is shattered.

wF: HI MASTA! It's me! Weft!

Master Devlin: You have five seconds to get out of my house, Widdle Frunkut.

wF: Oh, don’t be like that, Paisley! We're friends!

Master Devlin: No. We're not. You murdered my friends.

wF: Murder? Don’t be ridiculous! You’ve never had any other friends!

With a menacing step forward, Master Devlin raises his hand as if to strike, causing Widdle Frunkut to flinch and leap backward.

wF: Alright, alright! No need for violence, sheesh. Fine, I’ll come clean. It wasn’t actually us who poisoned them.

Master Devlin: You already confessed.

wF: We was just messing with you. The Editor thought it’d be a laugh if we took the blame—just to get a rise out of you. And it worked, didn’t it?

Master Devlin: Your story may be true, but I have no reason to trust you. Now, get out. We’re finished.

Widdle Frunkut, undeterred, skips over to the fridge, pulls open the door, and starts rummaging through the shelves.

wF: We figured you’d be difficult as always, so we brought a little peace offering...

He hops back, holding a large plate covered with something grotesque.

wF (cont’d): How about a nice piece of beak? Or maybe some horn?

Master Devlin’s eyes narrow in disgust as he glances at the plate, realizing it holds the severed beak and horn of a bird—a dictabird.

wF: I can’t stomach the tough parts. But you? You've got those big dragon teeth. Or, if you prefer, you could always shove the horn up your—

Before he can finish, Master Devlin barrels past him, yanking open the fridge. His heart sinks at the sight: a mutilated carcass of a dictabird sprawled across the shelf.

wF: We already ate most of the wings and breast. Didn’t taste half bad for a traitor. Go on, have a bite. Reg would’ve wanted it that way...

Blinding rage seizes Master Devlin. Without hesitation, he grabs Widdle Frunkut and slams him toward the kitchen counter. In a frenzied motion, he flips on the blender, forcing the wriggling goblin into the swirling blades. Green goo splatters everywhere. Satisfied, Devlin pours the remains down the toilet and flushes. But as he turns away, mourning the supposed loss of Reg, Widdle Frunkut’s voice echoes from the kitchen tap.

wF: Hey, Saso! Your kitchen sink’s connected to the toilet! Really, who did your plumbing?

*Ignoring the mocking voice, Devlin pulls out his radio.*

Master Devlin: Stanbot, this is the Master. Are you there? Over.

wF: Hiya, Stanbot! (waving at the radio as if it could see him)

Stanbot (over radio): Here, Master. Over.

Master Devlin: Are the charges ready? Over.

Stanbot: Yes, sir. All set. Awaiting your command. Over.

Master Devlin: Hold your position. Wait for my go. Over.

*Turning to wF, his voice cold:*

Master Devlin: Widdle Frunkut, come with me.

wF: Fine...

*Master Devlin leads him into the lounge, where a massive window frames the city in the fading light. Widdle Frunkut, restless, taps his foot impatiently.*

wF: Is this some kind of murder-suicide pact? Or are you just going to stand there brooding? I’ve got new GB contracts to sort ou—

*He’s cut off as the door slams behind him. He whirls around, but it’s too late—gunfire erupts. Several shots slam into his back, sending him sprawling. Through his groans of pain, Widdle Frunkut’s blurry vision focuses on his attackers: Gail Platt, Barry Scott, Guthrie Govan, Waldo’s ex-wife Sayuki, and Skunk V, who’s holding a suppressed pistol.*

wF: Guh... Hey! What the hell?

*Sayuki snatches the gun from Skunk V and coldly fires several more shots into Widdle Frunkut’s stomach.*

wF: 😖😫

*Master Devlin steps forward, towering over the crumpled goblin. He lifts the radio to his mouth.*

Master Devlin: Stanbot... Go.

*From the window, they watch as distant explosions ripple through the city—one after another. Massive plumes of smoke rise into the air.*

Master Devlin: Stanbot has destroyed everything—your home, your labs, your headquarters, the pet shop emporium, every hidden location. All of it, gone.

wF: Hehehe... Sssso what? We can rebuild.

Master Devlin: Perhaps. Skunk V, pick him up.

*They drag Widdle Frunkut outside, dumping him unceremoniously on the patio. Inside, Master Devlin pulls Uncle Waldo’s lifeless body from a closet and dumps it beside the goblin. Without hesitation, he fires a bullet into Uncle Waldo’s skull, then savagely crushes his head with a Fabergé egg. Gail pelts Widdle Frunkut with quail eggs, and Barry Scott follows up with a spray of Cillit Bang to his eyes.*

*As they each take turns exacting their revenge, a rickshaw approaches the house.*

*Guthrie sandwiches two slices of bread around Widdle Frunkut’s battered body and takes a bite.*

Guthrie: Master, he’s a little underdone.

*Without missing a beat, Master Devlin breathes fire over Widdle Frunkut’s body. The goblin screams as he’s engulfed in flames. After a few moments, the group stamps out the fire, leaving Widdle Frunkut charred and barely alive.*

*Meanwhile, the rickshaw comes to a stop outside. Reg jumps out and thanks the driver, his heart racing. He knocks on the front door, but the noise around the side draws him in. As he rounds the corner, he’s met with the sight of Master Devlin and the others standing over a burning figure. His breath catches in his throat.*

Reg: Master Devlin! I’m so glad I found you! I’m deeply worried about... Master Waldo...

*Master Devlin looks up, the final embers of Widdle Frunkut’s body smoldering under his boot.*

Master Devlin: Reg! You’re alive... I thought...

*He trails off, noticing Reg hasn’t fully processed what’s in front of him. Reg’s gaze falls on the charred remains of Widdle Frunkut and the corpse of Uncle Waldo.*

Reg: Master Waldo... He sent me away on a business course. Said he wanted me to help run Waldo Corp. But then the head office blew up... Our home’s destroyed... I couldn’t find him anywhere... What happened here?

*Master Devlin, momentarily caught off guard, quickly regains his composure.*

Master Devlin: Reg, I’m sorry. Waldo is... gone. He murdered my friends. After what he did, I couldn’t let him go unpunished. Stanbot and I destroyed everything. When I saw the bird carcass in the fridge, I thought... I thought it was you. You’re homeless now... but you’re not alone. You’ll come live with me and Stanbot.

*Reg, shaken, looks down at the remains, the weight of the truth sinking in. Wordlessly, he nods.*

*Without ceremony, Master Devlin tosses the bodies of Uncle Waldo and Widdle Frunkut into a nearby bin.*

Master Devlin: Come, Reg. Let’s go home.

Epilogue

In the aftermath of the confrontation, the Masters Council HQ was fortified into an impenetrable stronghold, enforcing strict security measures across Waldobury. The once vibrant and open city quickly devolved into a police state, with citizens subjected to curfews, checkpoints, and constant surveillance. Though the true culprit behind the original poisoning remained unknown, it served as a convenient pretext for the council’s growing authoritarian control.

Reg Van Der Beak, once a staunch ally of the council, found himself increasingly alienated and suspicious of his former comrades. Meanwhile, the enigmatic Mr. Vincent vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared, leaving his role in the events shrouded in uncertainty—but it was clear this wouldn’t be his final act.

Frustrated by the Co-editor's abrupt conclusion, The Editor intervened, propelling the Waldoverse 507 years into the future to the year 2508. In this distant era, Waldo had risen to power as Emperor. But that, as they say, is a story for another time.

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