Double Eleven (1111) and Seven Eleven (711) were sitting on the dock of the bay, wasting time, when all of a sudden Double Eleven caught sight of a suspicious looking boat drifting aimlessly across the bay. Seven Eleven did not care, as she had just caught sight of a suspicious airplane drifting aimlessly over their heads. “Forsooth, ‘tis a strange craft,” she exclaimed. “Dost thou think it means to do us harm?”
Double Eleven squinted up into the sunny sky and conjectured, “Happen chance they are only sight-seeing. That boat, on the other hand, worketh upon me strangely, as if I have seen it before, in a dream, or a dream of a dream.”
“What is a dream of a dream?” inquired Seven Eleven.
“Sleepwalking, my dear,” Double Eleven replied. “You see, one night I was strolling about on the dock under the light of the silvery moon, and I saw a lone boat meandering through the crystal waves of the shimmering sea. Methinks it was this same boat. Shall we pursue it and find what it is about?”
“In good time, Double Eleven, but first, methinks that plane is a crop-duster, which is about to dust us,” Seven Eleven said with great trepidation.
“Dive into the water!” Double Eleven ordered. He leapt from the edge of the pier and sliced through the water like a well-sharpened knife. Seven Eleven followed suit.
Up in the pristine blue sky the pilot of the airplane cursed under his breath.
The two agents did the butterfly through the glassy water. “Double Eleven?” Seven Eleven sputtered.
“Yes?” he replied.
“Where are we going?”
“To the ship, of course. We shall climb aboard and slit the throats of everyone we find.”
“But why?”
“Dolt! The plane and the ship are in league with each other, and surely they both have our doom in mind.”
“But, Double Eleven…”
“Yes?”
“We don’t have any knives,” Seven Eleven pointed out.
“Then we shall bite their necks and suck the blood from their bodies,” Double Eleven explained patiently.
“Oh, yes, quite. Why did I not think of that?”
“Because you are a dolt,” he told her. “Now, let’s backstroke.”
They continued on in this manner until Seven Eleven hit her head upon the prow of the ship. “Aha, here we are,” Double Eleven said as he heard the hollow clang. They climbed up the side, using their ACME SpiderMan gloves. Then they peeked over the side and surveyed the crew going about their work.
“Double Eleven?”
“Yes?”
“Isn’t this a small yacht?”
“Yes.”
“Then why is there a crew aboard?”
“That is what we shall endeavor to find out,” Double Eleven explained. They clung to the edge of the yacht until darkness fell, then they slithered aboard, using their ACME SnakeMan bodysuits.
Double Eleven slunk along the wall, and skulked along the scullery. Seven Eleven stood next to a floor lamp very, very still. “This lamp could be a clue,” Seven Eleven said to herself, rather loudly.
“What are you doing?” hissed Double Eleven in her ear, appearing noiselessly beside her. “Do you want to get us all killed?”
“All?”
“Don’t be difficult.” They separated and scoured the ship, but there were a few spots they couldn’t get clean. They met back at the lamp.
“Double Eleven?”
“Yes?”
“Where is the crew this whole time?”
“That is what I have been endeavoring to find out,” he replied. “Stay here.” He disappeared without a squeak over the side of the ship.
Seven Eleven sat in suspense, or rather stood, until a hand was clapped over her mouth and she was knocked on the head with a small anchor. She bit it, and went out like a light.
Fifteen minutes later, Double Eleven came up for air. “Seven Eleven?”
“Yes?”
“Have you seen the crew?”
“No…”
“Why do you sound so hoarse?”
“I don’t know.”
Suddenly the impostor felt a strong hand clapped over his mouth, and a medium sized anchor hit him on the head. He bit his tongue and went out like an unconscious person. Agent Double Eleven picked him up with one hand and flung him carelessly into the briny sea.
“Double Eleven?” came a voice.
“Yes?” he answered cautiously, picking up the nearest weapon and moving into position.
“Where are you?” came the voice again, more distinctly.
“Right behind you!” replied Double Eleven, bringing the heavy blunt object to bear upon his unseen foe. He heard a crumpling sound and flipped on the floor lamp.
“Seven Eleven!” he gasped, aghast.
She made no reply.
He put down the lifesaver with which he had struck his fellow agent, and hastened to the side of the boat with a bucket. He bent over the edge to fill it with water, but before he could straighten he was kicked in the pants and propelled into the salty liquid. When he surfaced, he saw the gigantic figure of what might or might not have been a man looking down upon him in disdain. “Speak, fiend!” he spoke demandingly, spitting out a stream of water.
“Know this, mere poopsie-daisy,” the spectre replied. “You will never look upon the countenance of she you call Seven Eleven again, unless you bring me the Catalytic Converter of Doom!”
“But…but…”
“But?”
“What I mean to say is, that is an impossible task! The Catalytic Converter of Doom is located on the Mountain of Unpleasant Things, in the Desert of Even More Unpleasant Things!”
“That is why I demand it of you,” the fiend replied. “You are the only living thing who is more unpleasant than the Mountain of Unpleasant Things!”
“What about the Desert?”
The fiend just laughed maniacally. Then he turned and left the edge of the boat, calling into the thin night air, “Remember Seven Eleven!”
Double Eleven was left dog paddling in the water, debating in his mind what course of action he should take. The yacht, meanwhile, sped away with super-yacht speed.
“Drat,” Double Eleven muttered, “there is a jellyfish entangled around my legs.”
Luckily for him, he was wearing his ACME JellyMan pants. He kicked the jellyfish aside disdainfully, and did the breaststroke back to the shore.
Next Chapter:
Of Rodentia and Men
