Chapter Nineteen: In which Ralph the Timid is Extremely Surprised.

Ralph the Timid stared at the man who had opened the door. He gaped. He googled. He gawped. His mouth hung open like a door that was nearly off its hinges. His eyes boggled like two big blue things that boggle. He was so surprised he could not think of a time he had been more surprised in his life, ever. Not even the time when he had been caving with his elder foster brother Robert back when they were children, and Robert had suddenly disappeared in front of him only to pop up behind him seemingly miraculously and push him into a dark, cold pond deep within the cave, and that had been pretty surprising. Robert was born in the year of the snail, after all, and was not usually given to playing practical jokes. Ralph had been so surprised then he had actually yelled out in surprise.
This time he was so surprised he actually couldn't speak. He was so lost for words that if he'd been in a library he wouldn't have been able to find any.
"Well then, young Ralph," said the voice of the man who had opened the door to them. "What's the problem there? Twinkle got your tongue? Bad cat that one!"
Ralph sputtered. He spluttered. He struggled for breath.
Ginger McSporran said, in his deep, heavy, black beast of the cave voice. "Mad Pete?"
Mad Pete nodded delightedly with such fervor that for a man with his head less firmly attached attempting such a feat would have suddenly found himself several inches shorter. Mad Pete's head was sewn on pretty firmly however (even if perhaps there was a screw or two loose in the upper workings) and it stayed firmly where it should have been. "Yes, it is I! Boris Petrov Blockoff, known to my friends and family alike as Mad Pete, or that Crazy Old Bastard, if they're feeling a bit ratty. Won't you come in?"
"But- " said Ralph the Timid. "But - but - but -"
"You sound like a chicken." said Boris Petrov "Mad Pete" Blockoff. "Bring yourselves in and we'll have a nice cup of tea and I'll explain everything. And you can give me my parcel!"
Ginger McSporran (complete with sack, featuring Twinkle) and Ralph came slowly into the house. Ralph was still trying to fathom the strange behaviour of Mad Pete. Why had he not simply said, days ago, that he was Boris Blockoff?
Mad Pete ushered them through a long, spacious hall way to a big library at the back of the house. Through the windows at the rear of the room Ralph the Timid could see an elaborate garden and a large stump upon which an enormous shape rested, which Ralph first took to be some weird sculpture of indescribable oddness, but then realised was in fact Ethel with her head tucked under her wing.
There was in fact nothing odd or mad at all about Boris "Mad Pete" Blockoff's library. It had lots and lots and lots of books, on shelves which completely lined the room and reached from floor to ceiling. They all seemed to be bound in extremely fine leather with the titles embossed in gold, and they all seemed to have titles like "The Coinesseurs Guide to Getting the Best Out of One's Life: How to Attract Wild Birds At A Single Whistle" and "The Eccentric Millionaire Chartmakers Guide To Making the Most of One's Money By Supporting Honest Young Adventurers." Ralph wondered briefly at how specific the book titles were. Clearly the authors were singularly lacking in imagination. Not like the stories his foster parents had told him and his foster siblings while they were young. They were called things like "Why the Crow Is Black" and "How the Sky became Blue", and actually, now that he thought about it, they weren't that original either. At least they were shorter.
Boris Blockoff, erstwhile known as Mad Pete, indicated some armchairs arranged by the fireplace. There was no fire in the grate, but then the weather was nice and warm, so any fire would have been unnecessary, not to say unwelcome. Ralph the Timid sat, and found the chair even more comfortable than that which he had sat in at the cave of Ginger McSporran. It was so soft it was like sitting on a giant marshmallow which had been heated over the fire and gone all melty.
Ginger McSporran was too big for the chairs, and chose instead to sit on the hearth rug, with his back against the fireplace. So in fact it was a very good thing that the fire wasn't lit.
Boris "Mad Pete" Blockoff looked pointedly at the sack lying on the floor beside the black beast of the cave and wriggling angrily. "You can let the cat out of the bag now, you know."
Ginger McSporran grinned his creepy luminous grin. "You've been waiting to say that for days now, haven't you?" he said.
Mad Pete shrugged his shoulders wryly and admitted it. "It was impossible to resist." he said.
Ralph the Timid had by this time regained his power of speech. "So it was you all along!" he said in an uncharacteristically exclamatory way. Ralph was not given to be exclamatory, he was more placid by nature. Maybe he was born in the year of the cow, he thought randomly at that moment. Cows were said to be placid, except in the presence of red flags. Didn't the people down in the Southern Coastlands play some sort of sport where they waved red flags at the cows and then ran away and tried to outrun them? It didn't sound like a very fun sport. More sort of foolhardy. Ralph thought he might like to try it some time.Then he shook his head and returned to the point and paid attention to what was happening in front of him.
Mad Pete - no, it was Boris Blockoff now, wasn't it - was saying "Yes, it was me all along."
Well, that much was evident, unless - "You didn't just break in here and tell us you're Boris Blockoff, did you?" said Ralph, a suspicious thought striking him. It struck him metaphorically, please note. It did not creep in, looking shiftily from side to side and then bop him one with a giant spiked club. That's not how suspicious thoughts roll.
Mad Boris, which we will call him now for convenience if not accuracy's sake, laughed. "No, no. I am actually Boris Blockoff. I could prove it to you, if you like, but it would take so much time and energy that it would be easier if you just believed me straight off."
Ralph the Timid was by nature a trusting person and so didn't even need to think about this. He acquiesed immediately. "All right." he said.
Ginger McSporran just laughed and let the cat out of the bag. Twinkle yawned, stretched, walked over to Ralph and bit him on the leg, rubbed around Mad Boris' ankles and purred, then returned to sit beside Ginger McSporran and began to wash himself.
Ralph the Timid shot him a dirty look. Bloody cat! He thought angrily. But he said nothing of this aloud, because even if you are friends with someone who looks as huge and godlike and omnipotent and menacing as Ginger McSporran, the black beast of the caves, you still probably don't want to abuse their cat. They are pretty scary looking, after all.
Instead he turned all his attention to Mad Boris and said "Well, why didn't you tell us then? We had the parcel. We could have given it to you. I don't take much convincing. Why didn't you tell Ginger here? You could have told him years ago and got your parcel back a long time ago. And what IS that parcel? How did it get there? Are you going to open it?"
Mad Boris laughed. "Ha ha ha! That's a lot of questions you have there, young Ralph the Timid! Where should I start? Which one should I answer first?"
Ginger McSporran laughed, a great lugubrious rumble that was probably a laugh, at least. It could have been a nearby rockfall, but they weren't in cave so that was admittedly unlikely. "Why don't you start at the beginning, Boris Petrov Blockoff or Mad Pete or whatever your name is?"
And so Mad Boris began to tell them his story.

(Word Count: 25142)