Allan Mayer’s Weblog

For some time now there has been a school of thought on the internet which has pointed out a spooky synchronicity between Pink Floyd’s ‘the Dark Side of the Moon’ and the film, ‘The Wizard of Oz.’ (Go on- check it out!)
The latest rumour of this type is that an unidentified bestselling author based the characters in his novel upon those of the Seven Dwarves. Judge for yourself from the exerpts below, which are taken from an early draft of the work acquired only this week…

Chapter 94

‘The curator even died with a smile on his face,’ said the albino assassin. ‘He was always happy, even in death. What bloody right had he got to be happy all of the time? He should have tried living my life.’

The Doc tried not to pay too much attention to the rubik’s cube which he was holding, because he now knew beyond doubt that it held the answer: at its centre was a parchment, wrapped around a vial of vinegar, which, if broken, would cause the material upon which the clue was written to disintegrate.

The Doc had had no trouble securing the cathedral for his private use. After all, the Archbishop owed him one, and all he’d had to do was say ‘nice frock, Bish,’ to reduce him to a blushing, beard twiddling, malleable heap.

So now it was a case of waiting with Miss White, whose skills as a cryptographer were second only to her indescribable beauty, to see who turned up.

And so far, it had been the albino.

It occurred to the Doc that even in the unusually tourist-free cathedral, the monotone voice of the albino failed to produce an echo, as if the immense walls were themselves finding him too tedious to engage with.

Just listen to him, whingeing again about his cilice. And it’s not even about it cutting into his flesh… oh no, it’s the style and colour this time… not what he would have chosen… so who did choose it? Who is the mastermind behind all of this?
The Doc’s train of thought was interrupted by the rustling of paper.

‘Gee what a nice little museum. Have they got dinosaurs?’

It was John Doe, P.I.

‘Surely,’ said the Doc, ‘you can’t be the evil genius who …’

‘No, I just got these from an English chipshop and stepped in out of the rain- want one?’

The Doc suddenly realised that in the last twenty-four hours he had traveled the length of two continents and as well as having no sleep the only thing he’d touched which resembled food had been a poisoned apple.

He reached out to take a French fry, but his hand froze as he heard an all too familiar sound from a dark corner of the cathedral:

‘Aaaaaa-choooo.’

‘Professor Teabing… I should have known… or ‘Sneezing Teabing,’ as we called you at the seminary.’

The Doc slipped the Rubik’s cube under Doe’s ‘chip paper’ and into his oily palm, whispering: get this to lecouchez at Interpol.

He knew that this could be a gamble. Lecouchez’s narcolepsy tended to kick in at inconvenient points during investigations… but who else could he trust?’

Spinning round, he saw Teabing hobbling toward him, and wondered why he had never noticed his strong resemblance to Magneto.

‘Give me the… A-a-a-a… give me the… A-a-a-a-CUBE!’

‘Haven’t got it,’ said the Doc, holding up both hands.’

‘Don’t lie to me, Doc, I know that.. Aaaaaaarrrrrrgggghhh…’

‘Was that meant to be a sneeze?’

‘No, it was meant to be an aaaarrrrggghhhh… you fool! What have you done?’

Teabing was staring over Doc’s shoulder. He turned to see Doe, who was holding one half of the cube over his dinner.’

‘Gee,’ he said, waving the broken puzzle , ‘who’d have thought: a Rubik’s vinegar shaker.’

Jack felt his pulse quicken, but the cube was no longer the focus of his attention. Something else, something he had never expected to see, was rising from the midst of the grease-soaked potato snack.

Chapter 95

Grabbing Miss White with one hand, and the bag of chips in the other, Doc ran for the door, leaving behind him the crumpled, sneezing theologian, the hapless Investigator, and the grumbling albino.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Snow.

‘Haven’t you worked it out? What we are looking for is not a grail, but a woman with royal blood from the line of king David.’

‘But who could it be?’

‘I don’t know Princess,’ he said, pulling a long turd-shaped object from the bag, ‘but I’ve got the next clue.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Deep fried Mars bar… we’re off to Scotland…’

I would be interested if anyone has any information of a similar kind. A.M.