The Master

"Coffee," he muttered from the shadows. Then, a little louder, in his voice which was like a gurgling snarl and made my skin creep, "That's the answer – coffee."

"Ummm… sorry sir," I acted like I was barely able to stammer the words out. The Master expected us to think that speaking in front of him was almost certainly suicidal, but then I had found out months ago that the only frightening thing about him was his growl of a voice, so I took the risk. "Sorry, sir, but what exactly does coffee have to do with achieving world domination?"

Yes, I know it's a cliché, but like so many before him, the Master was seeking world domination. I had thought that all I was getting into was a major worldwide crime syndicate, a way to make some money fast so I could retire early. But before long, I had to admit that the master was not all there – alright, well he wasn't there at all. But by then, it was too late. Once you were in, you stayed in, or they took away what you loved most – I wasn't afraid of death, and I had no family, but I had had my teddy since I was a baby and I couldn't imagine life without Teddy. So, I had to help a power–crazed creep in ridiculous missions for world domination. Sometimes, it could actually be quite fun…

"IDIOT!!!" he roared, and I jumped out of my skin. Embarrassed, I quickly pulled it back on while he explained. "I know it might be a bit higher–grade for you, Appleseed, but if you hadn't noticed, most of the population is unable to function without coffee. So, if we stop them from getting their coffee, they will turn into mushy blobs. They will be forced to surrender to my POWER!!!!!"

Oh, great. This would be even worse than the time, when I had just entered the organization, when we had to streak at the national rugby game due to his theory that the world would surrender to the threat of having to see that sight again. Needless to say, it didn't work. We got more cheers than the game, which had been a bit boring until halftime. You cannot even BEGIN to imagine how embarrassing it is to an aspiring criminal to appear in the newspaper as a ‘new daring performance artist.'

"Sir, HOW exactly will we stop people from drinking their morning cups of coffee?" I asked with a resigned sigh.

He grunted, and explained his ridiculous scheme. After I was dismissed, I almost cried with exasperation.

He didn't want us to burn the plantations, or sabotage the factories.

He didn't want us to chemically alter the drinks to contain no caffeine.

He didn't even want us to simply steal coffee from the supermarket shelves so that nobody else could buy any.

No; he had a theory that the rest of the world's population were all as stupid as he was. So, he theorized that without a spoon to stir it properly, people would simply not drink coffee. Yes, ridiculously, appallingly, he wanted us to steal spoons.

After three months the city of Melbourne was blissfully unaware of a secret warehouse holding over four million silver spoons, stainless steel spoons, desert spoons, sugar spoons, teaspoons, soup spoons, and breakfast spoons. We even had one or two wooden spoons. Hardly anyone had even noticed anything. I was no closer to my early retirement; I was becoming desperate. Somehow, I had to either knock some sense into the master, or knock him out of the top position.

That was when I had the Idea.

Months ago, after I had realized the idiocy of the master, I had followed him home once to see where he lived, just in case I ever needed to know. As I had expected, he was stupid enough to have only a few dozen secret bodyguards outside of headquarters, despite the fact that he was the head of the stupidest crime syndicate in the world. He seemed to have forgotten that I was the ultimate master of stealth – on the other hand, maybe I was so good that he had never even found out. By now, I knew his whole routine.

The next morning, at 10 am, I was concealed in the bushes of a children's park across the road from his home. Sure enough, he left in his Mercedes after a few minutes – he went to gym every day, without fail.

I snuck in to his unguarded house and stole every single spoon.

The next morning, he buzzed me for an urgent emergency meeting.

When I arrived half an hour later, he was already at headquarters. His usual snarling voice had become a whimpering squeak, and he was indeed the most blob–like man I had ever seen.

"A–Appleseeeeed…" he moaned, "I give in. You win; I retire as Master. Here, take the badge of office, you are now Master. Just – please! – give me a spoon… and a very big cup of coffee!"

"You will serve faithfully?"

"Anything, anything!"

"Good," I grunted. He could be a good criminal, and I was glad not to have to kill him.

Later that day, I drove to the warehouse to review my resources. At the sight of the six million spoons we already had, I finally realized that my early retirement would never be enough. With the kind of manpower behind me that could achieve this, I could rule the world…

So this was how it felt to be Master.

Find more by Kerry Callaghan in the Author Index.

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