Mythlands: THE HEIST

A Picture Paints A Thousand Words

If there was anything The Talking Cricket hated, it was being compared to that cheap knock off. Jimmy or Jim ... whatever. The fake wasn't even Italian!

'They comea here anna they takea our jobs!' he was forever complaining to Pinnochio. But dida the kid listen? No way Mr Ho Zey! They getta to him too ... don'ta getta me started abouta the Mouse! This Mouse ... he and the rest, they rip offa our stories anda they rip off our images. Even Pinnochio, he now so confused he hasa two sets of the memories ... but The Talking Cricket wasn't going to stand for that. No Sir, old Il Grillo Parlante would remind everybody offa the conspiracy by The Mouse and the big D, untilla the crows, she go fly home!

'That's all very well and good Mr Cricket,' Lady Jane had replied, with a hint of annoyance in her voice.'But we're here to sketch for the Tortoise, not discuss character politics.'

The Cricket took up his brush. 'Ah yes, The Tortoise ... he is good man, very fair minded. Maybe after thisa board meeting he heara my grievances!'

'I suggest we stick to the brief,' cut in Lady Jane. 'The Tortoise wants a set of preparatory sketches for his upcoming exhibition of painting for the MCI collection and ... watch it, you're splashing your ink everywhere!'

The Cricket apologized and changed to charcoals. 'Dida you see The Hare? Whatsa gotta into him, eh?'

Lady Jane craned her neck. 'Good grief, he's looking very business-like. I don't believe I've ever seen him wearing anything so ... sensible. Oh look, here comes dear old Babar and Toad. I wonder if Mr Toad will be attending the function for dear Queen Celeste. My husband and I will be going, of course ... it will be the society event of the season!'

The Talking Cricket sniffed. He could sense he'd get no sympathy for his many complaints from his fellow artist. Lady Greystoke was not one of the hoi palloi ... she probably hob knobbed with The Mouse, up at his bloomin greata castle he shared witha the rip off merchant Walt.

'Hey, I hopea your husband, he puts onna the pants for the party, hey?' he said snarkily as he began drawing Babar. 'Leopardskin boxers, issa so last season!'

Lady Jane didn't dignify that with a response. She sniffed and began to sketch The Hare talking with The Owl.

***

The Owl began his presentation.

Standing before the others, nervously adjusting his glasses and twiddling his bow tie, he started to tell the board of his new 'Ladder' projections of growth. Don't be nervous, his partner had told him beforehand, while smoothing down his lapels. 'They're all your friends,' The Pussycat had reminded him ... 'And you're soooo good at your job.'

20 or so board members sat around the table, with The Tortoise at it's head. Among them, some we have met before ... major stockholders such as Babar and Mr Toad and executives ... most were familiar faces at the big meetings, but The Hare had never shown up before, so his presence had excited some minor curiosity, especially as he was a far more subdued version of himself and attired respectfully in a dark navy pin striped double breasted business suit, straight from Saville Row ... well Saville Row in Old New Londontown anyway.

'Maybe he's been replaced by his long lost twin,' one of the Princes had joked. His brother scowled and didn't particularly find the reference funny, alluding as it did to his former Pauper status. That always brought up his abandonment issues!

Now the meeting had descended into its usual level somewhere between friendly camaraderie and boredom. Everyone was looking forward to the buffet and social afterwards. Some were already anticipating the traditional scotches.

The Hare's mind was on other things altogether.

'L is for Ladder but not Learner,' the Owl was droning on. 'Our model shows an upward trend both in shareprice and confidence. We are climbing further towards market supremacy.'

'Why, my dear Owl,' cut in a foxy fellow by the name of Renard. 'Does that surprise you? MCI has a corporate monopoly.'

The Tortoise held up a hand. 'We ... urrrr ... act in the .... ummm ... interests of ... all ... the realms.'

'Agreed,' trumpeted Babar. 'I for one am happy with our joint ventures and for your expert help in assisting my own Elephant Trust in its own endeavours. Your advice about the tax benefits of the Inter-Realm Trade Treaty was invaluable.'

'We're always happy to assist a friend and valued shareholder,' said The Owl, hoping to get his speech back on track. 'After all, I hope we've learned from the mistakes of the mortal realm. Co-operation and good governance for all, are the standards with which my esteemed colleague The Tortoise, founded this company.'

The Tortoise puffed on his cigar and gave a small nod. 'Indeed.'

'To that end,' continued The Owl. 'I am very pleased to announce that Long-term Agreed Dimensional Distribution Economic Responsibility has signed up a new member state. Our trade delegation has had an overwhelmingly positive response at the Cair Paravel Summit and The Narnians are open to partial co-operation with an addendum on future expansion pending their fuller intergration into the realms.'

Everyone in the room was impressed with this news, even the artists. The formerly isolationist Narnian state, coming in from the cold and opening its formerly closed borders was a big deal indeed.

Only one person in the room wasn't paying attention.

The Hare had other things on his mind.

His instructions were clear.

'After the meeting, you will socialize for exactly 47 minutes and then go to the executive washroom. Do not use the one closest to the boardroom, but proceed down the corridor to the next level. If challenged, feign jet lag and remark that you need some air. The second washroom is near a large balcony. Remember to be there exactly 47 minutes after the meeting is concluded. Renard the Fox will be waiting there to confirm that our operative has dealt with the security issue. You will receive more instructions. Do not fail us. Do not call attention to yourself and remember to look like you're enjoying the party.'

The Hare attempted to mold his face into a sickly looking smile.