Ten minutes of hurrying-on later, our two undercover heroes arrived for their first day as sewage workers (Of The Very Highest Blah.) Keen as mustard and just as yellow, the begloved Crumpet-Hands Man leapt from the Crumpet-Mobile in full disguise, every bit the run-of-the-mill sewage worker.

  “Sir, is this the sewage works?” he asked the man at the gate.

  “No. This is the mill,” replied the genuine run-of-the-mill mill worker. Every bit the red-faced run-of-the-blah-blah-blah, Crumpet-Hands Man leapt back into the Crumpet-Mobile and sped away. Upon locating the actual sewage works – ten minutes, miles, and crashes later – he leapt from his vehicle once again.

  “Sir, is this the–” Our hero stopped, looked around, shook his fists. “Curse thy heedless leaping!”

  Having realised that he'd left the helpless Detective Pilchard behind at the actual mill, Crumpet-Hands Man leapt, sped, squawked, returned, before finally leaping out for what he hoped would be the final time.

  “And what worthless loose stools do we have here?” quizzed the grouchy bear-like foreman of the actual sewage works, coming to tower over our heroes as they leapt breathlessly for the entrance. “Not seen you two before. Newbies? First timers?”

  “Yep, that's us,” Crumpet-Hands Man replied cheerily, dragging the deaf and blind detective/worker along at the flap. “Just your two run-of-the-mill sewage workers.”

  Despite our hero's bluster, the foreman remained dubious. “So... Tell me,” he leaned down, sniffed. “You looking forward to a day's hard graft?” he asked with a mean grin.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “You betcha!” our hero replied with a toothy one.

  “And what about you, Powerpuff?” the foreman pried of the ambling detective, his giant cartoon eyes doing little to endear him. “You ready to get your pretty little cheeks all dirty, like?”

  A discreet stamp from our hero cued the detective's, “Ouch!”

  The foreman was puzzled. Another discreet stamp, harder this time.

  “Ouch! I mean... Ahem... Yes!”

  “I see,” the foreman said, pressed his nose to the detective's. “And have you ever worked underground, Puff?”

  Stamp.

  “Yes!”

  “In the dark?”

  “Yes!”

  “In the dark, the wet, the rats nipping at your ankles?”

  “Yes-yes-yes!” the detective yelped while his partner pretended to riverdance. The puzzled foreman loomed ever taller, stroked his chin – it let out a growl, took-off after a rabbit.

  “Well,” the chinless foreman growled testily, “seeing as you two've already arrived ten minutes late for your first day, and seen fit to plough your car into a septic tank,” he shouted over the gush, “what good reason should I have for not turning your backsides around and booting them outta here?”

  Thankfully, just as they'd planned on the journey over (which, as explained, had taken multiple attempts/miles/leaps/crashes) Crumpet-Hands Man slapped his sensory incapacitated partner squarely across the back of the head; as though a trained monkey (minus the training and nits) the detective let out a forceful:

  “But for the price of a pound of mutton!”

  And so, much to the bemusement of the foreman and his returning chin, our heroes leapt into the sewers. Upon landing with a splash, they began their first day undercover.