section7mfu | "The Rhyming Man Affair" Conclusion- for Wednesday is all about April

Links to chapter 1: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/702458.html
chapter 2: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/717867.html

It was dark and in the wee hours of the morning by the time Mark, Napoleon and Illya pulled up in front of the Palace Theater. Supposedly set for the ‘off-Broadway’ opening of ‘The Queen’s Ransom’; the place was not what the agents expected. It was a bit on the seedy side and gave them a rather ominous feeling. Perhaps there wasn’t a real play after all and this was simply a trap set by this rhyming man fellow.

They knew they were in the right place when the saw a poster of a woman dressed in a regal gown bearing a strong resemblance to April Dancer.

Mark Slate paused for a moment staring at the poster, a look of worry filled his face.

“Don’t worry Mark, we’ll find her,” Napoleon reassured him.

Finding the entrance unlocked, the British agent led the way into the small lobby with Solo while Illya headed down an outside alleyway in search of the back door.

Mark signalled as he opened the theatre doors; he and Napoleon split up and the two men headed down the side aisles, making their way towards the darkened stage.

The ceiling was low, lower than one would have expected, and was covered with decorative tin panels, turned dark with age.

The house lights were set low, and just as they neared the stage, a spotlight came on, illuminating a heavy red velvet curtain. A voice echoed.

“And so our tale it finally ends, you’ve guessed the clues my UNCLE friends. Alas you’re late to save the Queen; to get you all has been my scheme.”

The curtains opened slowly, revealing April Dancer kneeling on a raised platform, dressed in a low-cut billowing burgundy velvet gown in the style of the Elizabethan era. She was blindfolded and beside her was standing a diminutive man wearing a black executioners hood over his head and in his hands was a vicious looking curved battle axe.

“Who the bloody hell are you?” Mark snarled.

“Mark darling? It’s a trap...get out of here!” April cried out.

“No luv we’re here to save you!”

“We?” April desperately turned her head left and right, hoping to loosen the blindfold but during the conversation she was discreetly working to free herself of the ropes binding her wrists. The heavy costume and spotlight were making her perspire, helping her to slip her hands free.

“Yes me and Napoleon.”

“Where is Kuryakin?” The voice angrily called out in the darkness. Inspite of the size of the theatre, the acoustics were excellent, but gave the agents no clue as to where the rhyming man actually stood.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Napoleon called out,”but Mr. Kuryakin was sent on another pressing assignment.”

“Really?” April said, acting rather miffed. “I may have to have a little talk with him after this, and Mr. Waverly too.”

“May we ask again, just who are you?” Napoleon called out, stalling for time.

“You don’t recognize my voice?”

“Sorry it’s just not that memorable.”

“Wait a tick,” Mark said, tapping his temple with his index finger.’

“You’re Archibald MacBeth!” The Brit blurted out.

“Who?” Napoleon whispered out of the side of his mouth.

“A few years ago...he was that wannabe Section II agent drummed out by Harry Beldon because of his obsessive behavior. He disappeared before they were able to deprogram him. Obviously he’s holding a grudge against U.N.C.L.E.’s top agents.”

“Which explains the obsessive rhyming I suppose,” Solo remarked. His his memory jogged; Napoleon recalled a gangly man with hawkish features.

“Enough of your idle chatter, what you say does not flatter. The time has come to kill the queen, and you’ll follow her out in the very next scene!”

The small headsman pushed April forward; her head coming to rest atop a chopping block. That move prompted both agents to aim at him, readying to shoot, but unexpectedly there was loud hum and their guns were violently ripped from their hands and flying out into the air, disappearing from their view.

“Handy things magnets be, now prepare yourselves for a death to see.” MacBeth laughed. “ Now!” He signalled the axeman.

It was with split second timing that April threw herself out of reach, having gotten her hands free. The momentum of the axe brought it to rest, embedded into the block, forcing the executioner to struggle to free it but without success.

He suddenly stiffened, falling down to the platform, and once April’s view was cleared, she spotted Kuryakin stepping onto the stage.

“Ahhh you lied you lied, the Russian hath arrived!” MacBeth called.

Illya suddenly stumbled forward, pulling a dart from his own neck before he collapsed.

Napoleon and Mark made a beeline for the stage, but the American didn’t make it as he too fell victim to a dart landing in his bicep.

Slate scrambled into the shadows to hide himself, watching his partner move to Kuryakin’s side. April grabbed Illya’s weapon; disappearing backstage. There she ripped off the heavy costume, leaving her in her lacey unmentionables and barefoot, but able to move with more ease. Like her partner she sought the safety of the darkness.

“April,” Mark called out,” Wherever you are, stay put, and don’t answer me luv.” He then moved before MacBeth could zero in on his whereabouts.

“Come out come out wherever you are, it’s time for me to make you a star,” Archibald called. His voice sounded as if he were moving, and Slate listened carefully as the acoustics changed. Mark quietly sighed as this rhyming thing was wearing a bit thin.

The British agent moved down to the orchestra pit, keeping himself out of sight as the voice neared.

“Come come Mr. Slate, your end is near. The writing on the wall is oh so clear. Get it over with, why make it last...you must admit it’ll be a blast.

Archibald MacBeth was now standing just above Mark, and he could see the beady-eyed bugger quite clearly dressed completely in black.

He appeared as Slate remembered him, tall...lanky with thinning dark hair. Not exactly a fine physical specimen. It was amazing the man made his way through Survival School.

MacBeth took one step forward but without warning he disappeared from Marks view with an ‘ooof’.

Slate stood up, seeing his partner straddling the man, pummeling the snot out of him with Illya’s Walther.

As Archibald pushed April off him, he rolled over and raised his fist to retaliate. Mark dove into the fracas, slamming his foot into the man’s head and knocking him out cold.

“No you don’t mate!”

As MacBeth collapsed, Slate reached out his hand, helping April to rise and without saying a word, he removed his tweed jacket, giving it to her to cover up herself.

“Thanks for coming to my rescue partner,” she leaned over, giving him a peck on the cheek.

“I reckon you did a fair bit of rescuing yourself luv,” he smiled. “I was just your backup.”

“Well let’s make sure our friend doesn’t reawaken on us,” April said, darting him for good measure. “So should we call for medical assistance from headquarters for the boys or should we just load them into your car….I think MacBeth would fit nicely into the trunk,” she laughed.

“Sounds good to me, “ Mark agreed. He proceeded to drag Solo and Kuryakin outside to their car still parked curbside, and lastly getting the unconscious body of Archibald MacBeth tucked away along with his dwarfish companion; Mark waited for his partner. The sun was well up now and people were out on the streets, going about their business.

A few passersby gave him questioning looks as they saw the passed-out men in the car.

“Ummmm, the playwrights didn’t handle getting bad reviews in the previews very well.” He pointed up to the unlit marquee, and gestured the universal symbol for drinking.

Satisfied, the curious onlookers walked away.

April appeared looking a bit disheveled and tired after her ordeal; now she was dressed in clothing that was obviously not hers, a bit loose fitting for her taste but at least she was decent. She handed her partner his jacket.

“All set darling?”

“Righto. MacBeth and his little friend are in the boot, and the lads are sound asleep in the back seat. Shall we head home my dear?”

“Gladly Mark. Hmm Mr. Waverly is going to want a detailed report on this one.”

“Just exactly how did he get you April?”

“As I was leaving my apartment to go to headquarters there was a small child sitting on the curb...crying his eyes out. He spoke to me in rhymes...but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. There was no adult around, so I thought he was lost. When I knelt down to speak to him everything went black. I know now it was our diminutive executioner masquerading as a little boy.”

Slate flashed a toothy grin to his partner. “All’s well that ends well, I suppose will suffice for now... though how to deal with Waverly will make an interesting tell.”

April rolled her eyes, appearing none too happy.

“Mark dear, I’ve had enough of that for now and by the way... don’t quit your day job.”