Cast

 

Marjory May, a human tea drinker

Maud Mumble, a mugwumpi tea drinker

Quiwugrog, the Hairible

Wimpana, Quiwugrog's sidekick

 

Act I, Scene I

 

The curtains open on a cosy parlour, snugly furnished with a pair of velvet armchairs and an oaken tea table. Family portraits in simple oval frames crowd the walls, and a roaring fire blazes in a small fireplace. The chairs are occupied. In one sits an elderly human woman with wispy grey hair, her cotton print dress shabby but neat. Opposite her sits an equally aged mugwumpi, her eyes still bright, dressed in a shapeless robe. Both ladies are cradling cups of tea in their withered hands.

Marjory May: How many years has it been now, Maudie? My Alfred said it's been thirty already, but that can't be right, can it? It feels like only yesterday.

Maud Mumble sets down her tea upon the tea table and takes a little notebook out of a pocket in her voluminous robe. She sets a pair of steel-framed spectacles onto her nose and leafs slowly through it.

Marjory May sips her tea.

Maud Mumble:  Aha. No, darling, you're quite right. It's only been twenty-nine and ten months.  

Marjory May: See, I did tell him it hadn't been thirty, but he wouldn't listen.

Maud Mumble: Well, darling, you know what men are like.

Marjory May nods and sips her tea.

Maud Mumble: It was that nice chap from Glomdoring last time, wasn't it?

Marjory May: That's right. Tall fellow.

Maud Mumble: Was he? I thought he wasn't so tall as all that.

Marjory May: (placidly) Perhaps he wasn't, then.

Maud Mumble puts away her notebook and picks up her tea, taking a few slow, leisurely sips.

Maud Mumble: Shouldn't be long now.

Marjory May: Oh, no, not long at all, I shouldn't think. Any day now.

Both ladies fall silent for some time, sipping their respective cups of tea.

Maud Mumble: There were signs, you know.

Marjory May: Really dear, were there?

Maud Mumble: Oh, yes. Those wiggish knaves, and the marionettes. Very suspicious, puppets. Never trust them.

Marjory May: Yes dear, that's right. I never liked them, myself. And those wigs, now. Have they never seen a comb?

Maud Mumble nods approvingly at her friend.

Maud Mumble: You always had good sense, Marj.

Marjory May nods and sips her tea.

The tranquillity of the little parlour is abruptly shattered by an icy wind howling through the room. The stage rapidly darkens, leaving both women rooted to their chairs, eyes wide as they stare fixedly at a shared vision unfolding above.

The Basin of life appears in miniature, shrouded in sinister darkness. Boiling shadows erupt everywhere, bearing clusters of writhing tentacles at their heart. The tentacles reach out haphazardly and crush everything they touch; whole villages disappear under the onslaught, and tiny, screaming figures can be seen scattering like marbles all over the map. The parlour begins to shake violently under the influence of this terrible vision, and the sound of splintering rock emanates from somewhere.

Through it all the two ladies sit frozen, staring in abject horror at the nightmares unfolding in their minds. At length the darkness begins to dissipate, the visions gradually fade, and light and peace return to the tiny parlour. Silence reigns for a while as Maud and Marjory look about themselves in confusion, blinking in the sudden light.

Marjory May (placidly): Shouldn't be long now.

Maud Mumble (sipping her tea): No, darling, not long at all.

 

Act I, Scene II

The parlour disappears abruptly, making way for a new scene. A dark cave unfolds in its place, the rocky interior lit only by a pair of sputtering torches. A dusting of snow covers the entrance and the air around the stage turns frigid and icy. In spite of these inhospitable features, some effort has been made to furnish the cave comfortably: three cheerfully coloured rag rugs cover the floor, obviously handmade, and an enormous overstuffed armchair rests near the back.

Standing in the middle of the cave is a towering igasho, engaged in the business of flexing his staggeringly impressive muscles. His fur is unusually long and blindingly white, though little of it can be seen around the black leather robe he is wearing.

A loboshigaru lopes into the cave, dressed in a similar dark robe and wearing a large black hat. He drops a pile of meat at the igasho's feet, his tail wagging.

Wimpana, the Sidekick: Here you go, boss! Should be plenty for tea, eh?

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: Hush, fool! Your master is hard at work.

Wimpana dips his muzzle forlornly, his ears drooping. He remains silent for barely three seconds, however, before his ears rise once more and his tail resumes wagging.

Wimpana, the Sidekick: Working on the next stage of The Plan? That's great, boss, that's just great! What's we doing? Will it be HAIRY?

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: Maybe, Wimwim. Maybe.

Quiwugrog, the Hairiblepauses for a moment's reflection, his expression turning fiendish.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: In fact, my trusty sidekick, you have guessed it! It SHALL be hairy!

Wimpana clears his throat.

Wimpana, the Sidekick: Er, boss? That's Fiendish Plan Support Co-ordinator, not Sidekick.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible waves this quibbling away, his eyes alight.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: Actually, Wimwim, we will do better than hairy!

Wimpana shifts his feet nervously, clearly out of his depth, and glances down at his own luxuriant fur.

Wimpana, the Sidekick: B-better than hairy?

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: Similar to hairy, Wimmie, but better! BETTER!

Quiwugrog, the Hairible laughs hellishly, his eyes turning red.

Wimpana perks up instantly, his mouth opening in a delighted grin.

Wimpana, the Sidekick: Oh, I get it! Them wigs! They was good. Not just hair, but FIENDISH hair. They walksed and they talksed and -- well, maybe they didn't talk. Did they?

Quiwugrog, the Hairible suffers a moment's visible confusion.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: What wigs? Wha -- oh! The wigs!

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: No! The wigs were merely phase one of The Plan! We've moved on.

Wimpana: Oooooh, the marionettes! You's gonna make hair grow on the lot of 'em!

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: No, fool! That was phase two! It is time for something new. Something impressive. Something.... TENTACULAR!

Wimpana (nodding vaguely): Oh, thems. The wavy things. I gets it.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible laughs again and begins to stride around the cave, flexing as he goes.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: Did you never notice, my poor, dim Wim, that the Basin is on a strict schedule when it comes to... tentacular things? Did you never wonder why?

Wimpana smiles vaguely.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: No, I don't suppose you did. Well, I'll tell you. The reason is: ME!

Quiwugrog, the Hairible cackles at great length, showing too many appallingly large and sharp teeth.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: Ahahaha! Yes, it is I! Every thirty years, my dear Wimmish. Like clockwork. I unleash NIGHTMARES upon the Basin, for I am... um, I am...

Quiwugrog, the Hairibletrails into silence for a moment, his brow creased in thought.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: I am ... the Hand of Kethuru! That's who I am! I can wake him up, just like this.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible snaps his fingers a few times in illustration.

Wimpana nods enthusiastically, his tail wagging.

Wimpana, the Sidekick: Wow, boss! I always knew you was special, but wow!

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: I am the greatest villain who has ever lived, Wimmible.

Wimpana, the Sidekick: Come to think of it, I knew you musta been involved. Gots me an inklings before now, that's the case.

Wimpana nods vigorously.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible(blinking): In fact, every sinister happening that's ever happened sinisterly was my doing! It's all me! Me! And this time.... this time, I don't think I will be so easy to defeat. Ohhh, no.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible strides about a bit more, chuckling to himself.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: No champions this time, Wimful! No great heroes to save the Basin! I'm going to Ascend myself, and Kethuru and I will rule the Basin together.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible throws back his head and laughs, long and loud. The torches gutter theatrically, and one of them abruptly goes out.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: Yes, yes. I like it. It is time to step out of the shadows, and INTO THE LIGHT! The Basin shall know me at last! Assemble my followers, Wim! It is time to take over THE WORLD!

 

Act II, Scene I

The cave fades, and many successive scenes of Basin life flash rapidly past, signalling the passage of time. The scene settles at last on Maud and Marjory's parlour, both ladies firmly ensconced in their respective chairs.

Maud Mumble: Alfred's late, darling. Officially. I'm sorry.

Marjory May (pleadingly): But he's very busy, Maud! He's a very important man.

Maud Mumble: I daresay he is, darling, but that doesn't excuse his being late for tea. I don't hold with that kind of behaviour. It's unacceptable.

Marjory May nods sadly.

Marjory May: Er. What do you think of this Queeqwog, dear? Quite a character, isn't he?

Maud Mumble (sipping tea): It's Quiggog, darling. Oh yes, he's very marvellous. I hadn't the faintest notion he was behind those nasty marionettes.

Marjory May: And the wigs, Maud! Those knavish wigs! We all thought it was, um. That Cziganish one.

Maud Mumble (nodding): Superbly fiendish, I must say. He's the epitome of the shadowy villain, just stepping into the light to claim his due glory.

Marjory May: Oh, goodness. You do have a way with words, dear.

Maud Mumble smiles modestly and takes another sip of tea.

Marjory May: I must say, he makes a convincing show. Only think of it! Kethuru and the Ascendant working together, hand in glove! Ruling the Basin with iron fists!

Maud Mumble: Tentacles, darling.

Marjory May: Quigrug's got tentacles? No, dear, that can't be right. He's the hairy one, isn't he? What does he call himself? The Hairible?

Maud Mumble: Kethuru, darling. Kethuru's iron tentacles.

Marjory May: Does He really have iron tentacles? My goodness.

Maud Mumble sighs and takes a long drink of tea.

Marjory May: How many Seals has he won now? Quigbog, I mean, not Kethuru.

Maud Mumble: Let's see.

Maud Mumble fumbles for her notebook again, restoring her steel spectacles to her nose.  The contents of one particular page expand to enormous proportions and appear suspended in the air above the stage.

 

Seal of Chaos: Wimpana

Seal of Nature: Quiwugrog

Seal of Knowledge: Quiwugrog

Seal of Harmony: Quiwugrog

Seal of War: Quiwugrog

Seal of Life: Quiwugrog

Seal of Death: Quiwugrog

Seal of Justice: Quiwugrog

Seal of Beauty: Wimpana

 

Maud Mumble: My word, darling. He's got seven of them, and that Sidekick of his -- the furry one? -- has the other two.

Marjory May (nodding): Oh, yes. That tapestry he made! A more deserving winner I've never seen. Those colours! Those gems! I'm thinking of getting one for the bedroom.

Maud Mumble (removing her spectacles): Yes, darling, but he's supposed to have stolen the design, isn't he? Lady Whateverhername's objections were loudly voiced. Lady Cloudclimber? Airtumbler? The trill one.

Marjory May: I doubt that, dear. That Wimpana, he's got the soul of an artist. You can see it in his eyes.

Maud Mumble nods in apparent agreement with this reflection, and takes another sip of tea.

Maud Mumble: It would be marvellously nefarious if he had, though.

Marjory May: Oh, undoubtedly, dear. Undoubtedly.

Marjory May refills her cup from the steaming teapot resting upon the table and sits back with a contented sigh.

Marjory May (frowning): You know, it's odd. I always thought you could only hold one Seal at a time. Each person, I mean.

Maud Mumble (distractedly): He's the Basin's greatest villain, darling. Of course he's broken the rules.

Marjory May: Oh, of course. How silly of me. I don't keep up with the latest in arch-villainry very well.

Maud Mumble: It's all right. We'll all get plenty of practice, soon.

Marjory May: That's right. What do you think the Basin will be like, when Quiboshrog and Kethuru are in charge?

Maud Mumble: Don't be silly, darling. That won't happen. Estarra could never allow it.

Marjory May (placidly): Estarra would have nothing to say to it, dear. Those Soulless are unbeatable, if you leave one out in the open. It's like ground elder. If you give it an inch, it will take over your whole garden.

Maud Mumble:  It's a rather tentacular weed, don't you think? Ground elder? All part of the Hairible plan, no doubt.

Marjory May:  I think it will be quite different, don't you?

Maud Mumble: Yes, indeed. Very different.

Marjory May: A bit darker, maybe. More tentacles. There won't be any of those nice rainbow cakes anymore, which is a bit of a shame.

Maud Mumble: A great shame, darling.

Marjory May: Sacrifices must be made, however.

Maud Mumble (serenely): So they must. I'm sure they'll do a proper job of it, when it happens. There's pride in a job well done.

Marjory May: Oh, it's five o' clock. Biscuit, Maud?

Maud Mumble (setting down her cup of tea): Yes, darling, but give me a moment. I just need to use the, er, facilities.

 

Act II, Scene II

Quiwugrog, the Hairible, stands in solitary splendour on the Astral Plane, his dark cloak whipping around him. In his hand is the Staff of Ascension. Wimpana stands a respectful distance away, his hands folded and his eyes bright. A large crowd has gathered in a circle around the two villains; they stand watching in eerie silence, broken only by the characteristic bibbling of astral insanity.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible checks his watch.

Wimpana, the Sidekick: How long's it been, boss?

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: Too long, Wimble. I had no idea Ascension was so boring.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible opens his mouth in an enormous, cavernous yawn and slumps a little.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: Really, I was expecting some kind of opposition.

Quiwugrog bibbles insanely.

Wimpana, the Sidekick: You's just that great, boss. Nobody dares interfere with the fiendishest villain alive!

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: No, that's not it. It's because I, so cleverly, secured all the Seals, thereby eliminating all competition ahead of the event. It was GENIUS! Utter genius.

Wimpana, the Sidekick: It was, boss, it was!

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: But I should have brought a book.

Quiwugrog meows at Wimpana's left foot.

Wimpana, the Sidekick: You wants a book, boss? I can get you a book! Any book!

Quiwugrog, the Hairible checks his watch again, frowning.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: All right, yes. Not just any book, though. I want the one that's on my bedside table. The one with the naked elfen on the cover.

Wimpana, the Sidekick nods enthusiastically and dashes away.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible(in a vast bellow) I hope you are all enjoying the show! Take careful note, now! In an hour's time, you will all be bowing to ME. And everything... EVERYTHING! ... will be tentacular. And hairy. Hairily tentacular.

Wimpana, the Sidekick returns and stuffs a book into Quiwugrog's free hand.

Wimpana, the Sidekick: Nothing is faster than the fast that I is.

Wimpana yawns hugely at his armpit.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible flips open the book one-handedly and glances appreciatively at a picture inside.

The scene on stage abruptly blurs and speeds up, time passing rapidly now. When it slows once more, Quiwugrog is still reading. The bibbling has perhaps increased in frequency and volume, and is now interspersed with snatches of excitable conversation.

Wimpana, the Sidekick: Boss, that's the end. It's over. Look, there's Estarra coming down now.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible looks up from his book, blinking.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: Oh, is it? Good!

Quiwugrog, the Hairible stuffs the book into his pocket, straightens his shoulders and twirls his cape.

Quiwugrog thwaps blindly at his nose.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: Henceforth, I shall be known as Draygomir, the Dastardly! And for My first act, I shall --

Wimpana, the Sidekick: Er, boss? Yous isn't wanting Dastardly, eh?

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: I'm not? Why not?

Wimpana, the Sidekick: It means you's evils and a lily-liver.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: A coward? Really?

Quiwugrog makes like a teapot and pours.

Wimpana nods emphatically.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: How do you know that?

Wimpana, the Sidekick: Mam learned me lotsa words.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible straightens his shoulders a little more.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible(in a vast bellow): Henceforth, I shall be known as Draygomir the Despicable! And for my first act, I shall awaken KETHURU and UNLEASH HIM upon the Basin!

Quiwugrog, the Hairible smiles beatifically and nods once.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: Good, yes. There's pride in a job well done.

Quiwugrog scratches wildly at Wimpana's shadow.

There is a horrified gasp from the assembled onlookers, and an elderly mugwump shoves her way to the front with surprising strength. She strides up to the victorious igasho, bristling with indignation.

Maud Mumble: Alfred! Ever since I saw that silly book, I knew it was you.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible(weakly): Aunt... Aunt Maud? What are you doing up here?

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: We came to watch the show, darling. Obviously. But imagine our surprise at finding that Quillerbog, the Hairible, is our own dear Alfred! What happened to Alfredo the Artful? That was nice, normal villainy, that. Respectable. But this!

Maud Mumble takes in the Staff of Ascension, Quiwugrog's dark cloak, the assembled audience and the entire Astral Plane in one contemptuous sweep of her arm.

Maud Mumble: It's a disgrace to the neighbourhood and I won't have it. What's more, you were late for tea.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible(nervously): We? Is, um, mother here?

Quiwugrog cackles like the chicken he is, and pecks at his elbow.

Marjory May, lacking her friend's indomitable strength, has taken her time coming forward. The crowd now obligingly parts, leaving her exposed and blinking under the sudden scrutiny. She seems to shrivel under the attention, and wraps her thinning brown shall tighter around her shoulders.

Marjory May: I am, dear. I wasn't sure I wanted to come, only Maudie said to, and you know how she gets when she's decided something. I hadn't finished my cup of tea, and there's half a biscuit left behind.

Maud Mumble: Never mind that, darling. Your son is proposing to turn the Basin tentacular! Tell him you won't have it!

Marjory May (her voice quavering in confusion): Is he, dear? But that isn't my Alfred, is it? He's far too hairy.

Maud Mumble: He's had a race change, darling. One of those "Daggers of Reincarnation", as they call it.

Marjory May (doubtfully): But he was so pretty before. Those lovely blue eyes, and that silky brown hair...

Quiwugrog, the Hairible(offended): I'm still pretty, mother! Prettier! I've got much, much MORE hair! And it's long and silky. Here, feel.

Quiwugrog, the Hairiblestrides manfully up to his tiny, frail mother and holds out his arm, pulling up his draping sleeve to reveal a layer of lusciously thick, long fur.

Marjory May: But, dear, when did you do this?

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: It was all part of my Hairible Plan! Hah, hah!

Maud Mumble (In strongly disapproving tones): Really, Alfred. I think you've been reading too many of those silly stories. A dark cloak! I ask you!

Quiwugrog, the Hairible swishes his cloak a bit, looking injured.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: What? It's very impressive.

Marjory May: Well, dear. If you are my Alfred, then I don't think you should be taking over the world.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible(disappointed): But I thought you'd be proud of me.

Quiwugrog giggles soggily at a dark, sinister black cloak.

Marjory May: I am, dear! Look what you've accomplished! Only, I was proud of Alfredo the Artful, too, and don't you think you're taking it just a little bit far? It's like Maudie says: this type of villainy just isn't respectable.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible sags a little, his shoulders slumping.

Marjory May: And besides, it's already made you late for tea.

Maud Mumble: Late? He missed it altogether!

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: I was doing important things!

Marjory May: Yes, dear, but that's no excuse for missing tea. Now, give the Staff back to the nice Goddess and let's all go home for a cup.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: But - but - I wanted to be the greatest villain ever. I wanted to slay the multitudes! I wanted to be remembered!

Quiwugrog gnaws hungrily on the Staff of Ascension.

Marjory May (soothingly): You will be, dear.

Maud Mumble: And by more people! Because if you slay the multitudes, there aren't so many left to remember the Great Quigtogwug, are there?

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: It's Quiwug -- okay, never mind. You do have a point about slaying the multitudes.

Marjory May: You'll be a hero instead, dear. Won't that be nice? The Great Quirug who didn't destroy the Basin, even when he had the chance. Everyone will love you.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: They... will?

As if on cue, the audience erupts into wild cheers and begins chanting Quiwugrog's name -- or some derivative of it. A hesitant smile breaks out on the igasho's face, swiftly growing stronger.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: You're right! They do love me!

Maud Mumble: The tea's probably gone cold by now, but I could make a fresh pot.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible (hopefully): Is it that nice peach one?

Maud Mumble: Yes, darling. Your favourite.

Quiwugrog, the Hairible: Hey, I'm starving. Terrorising the Basin is hard work, I bet you didn't know that! Hah! I could murder some of those cherry muffins.

Marjory May: I'll get a fresh batch together just as soon as we get home.

 

Quiwugrog meows forlornly at his armpit, his mouth stretched in a huge grin.