Mornington had spent the last 30 minutes picking up and throwing out shovel fulls of mushy gherkins. The problem with this latest prank is he couldn’t pin it on anyone. Thanks to Jed Dagger, everyone knows Muirsheen Durkin as “The Mushy Gherkin”.
He had heard rumblings from City Hall earlier today. Someone was leafing through the entire row of record shelves in the Port Authority office. Records for probably the past year, which would have also included the forged records that Mornington had made during last years….incident…with the plague.
Someone was up to something.
“Couldn’t be Emerson” Vic thought to himself as he shovelled another bunch of Gherkins into the trash bin.
“Couldn’t be that old duffer Cadmus….he probably can’t read” he said to himself as he carried another full trashbin of gherkins over to the municipal dump and emptied it.
“Awwwww hell it could be anyone…”
Vic kept thinking of it over and over again. The only conclusion he came to was either Jed herself…or The Melniks.
Remembering what Charlie said about The Melniks when they was in Ravilla for that short holiday, he wouldnt put it past one of them to go to the Port Authority and try and dig up some scandal about Mornington, or maybe some scandal about another bar owner. The Melniks was sneaky that way. They also had the contacts in the Port to aquire a large shipment of pickled gherkins in a matter of a day or so.
For the past day and a half, Mornington was…cooking something…in the upper floor of his house further down Academy. He was planning to use it against old Cadmus, but decided it would be better suited to get back at the regular pub of the person responsible for naming The Durkin the Mushy Gherkin…and Jed’s semi regular haunt…was Cuffs.
He opened the door to the upper floor kitchen, and then turned the gas off which was heating up the pressure cooker he had stashed away. He held his breath, and lifted the lid. The pungency of it still made his eyes water. Wiggyfish entrails, bones and several heads, stewed under pressure for a day and a half. The ‘soup’ was a dark, dark purple colour, he put a pair of thick heavy gloves on, filled two vials full of the rancid stuff and walked under the cover of darkness to Cuffs.
When reaching cuffs, which usually had its door wide open, he tipped one vial into the barrel of rum which the sailors loved to drink. The second vial he tipped small amounts into every single bottle of whiskey on the bar. The remainders of the vial he tipped into the espresso machine sitting in the corner.
Once he was finished, he removed the now foul smelling gloves and tossed them into the sea of Port Babbage, chuckled to himself, and wandered back to Brunel Hall.