Jewel Thief 2: The Star Of Al-Kaseltzar

Winner of "The Long Poetry Contest" , November 2024


Act 1 - The Jewel

His Imperial Majesty Omar the Tenth,
the Sultan of Al-Aqalaz,
was thought to be richer than Croesus himself
and a grasping, tight-fisted jackass.

Through countless long ages his family amassed
a treasure trove second to none.
And on each Sultan's death this vast hoard of great wealth
was passed down from father to son.

The pride of the royal jewels, the greatest of all,
was a ruby the size of a frog,
from that ancient lost city, old Al-Kaseltzar
(it was mislaid one day in a fog).

'The Star' shone all colours from deep red to scarlet,
vermilion, port wine and maroon,
tomato and carmine and, when in the right light,
the rear of a horny baboon.

This gemstone was famous throughout Araby,
and was said to be one of a kind.
So for forty three years, to conceal it from thieves,
Omar kept it lodged up his behind.

This drastic solution did have its drawbacks,
every movement requiring great care.
He sat on a foam cushion six inches thick
as they wheeled him around in a chair.

And on one fateful day, when the Sultan passed gas,
The Star, under pressure, broke free.
The shock wave cracked windows throughout the old town
as it reached speeds of Mach one point three.

On the old Sultan's death this great rock was retrieved
(a tricky and a devilish ask)
by a surgeon from Chile, foremost in his field,
using forceps designed for the task.

It was thoroughly washed and then washed once again,
and washed one time more to ensure
that when put on display for the whole world to see
it was free of the royal ordure.

The museum security left naught to chance
to ensure that it came to no grief.
And openly boasted The Star was quite safe
from even the famous Jewel Thief.


Part 2 - The Heist

They locked all the windows, they locked all the doors,
secured all the trapdoors and hatches.
All exits and entrances, gateways and posterns
were fixed shut with deadlocks and latches.

And then they stood back to admire their hard work,
each face with a satisfied grin,
till a single small voice from the rear of the ranks
pointed out they'd just locked themselves in.

They unlocked the windows, they unlocked the doors,
leaving all of the openings agape.
And when every ingress and egress stood free
the guardsmen then made their escape.

As they all left the building, their faces bright red,
one man felt inclined to expound
that, in his view, the chief would be hard-pressed to point out
his arse from a hole in the ground.

The chief of security, it must be said,
was not a man one would call shy.
His response to indiscipline from any guard
was to land him a punch in the eye.

Alas for him old age was taking its toll,
his reaction speed now somewhat slow.
His target ducked, neatly avoiding the fist,
with the man behind taking the blow.

This man, Big Ali, was not someone in whom
much tolerance was to be found.
With one swing he took the chief clean of his feet;
he was out cold on hitting the ground.

And, during this scuffle, The Jewel Thief strolled in,
having watched from a nearby bazaar.
It was many hours later before they observed
that someone had made off with the Star.

They relocked the windows, they relocked the doors,
secured the whole building and ran,
making damn sure that they would be nowhere around
when the excrement bomb hit the fan.

When the theft was discovered the very next day,
the guards all declared themselves stunned.
And, avoiding all eye contact, each man professed
that The Thief's skills were second to none.


Scene 3 - The Detectives

In the uproar that followed, the Sultan's Vizier
chose to hire the best agents forthwith,
through the old Scottish firm of McCash and McFee...
and McNab and McGuffin and Smith.

McCash was long dead so no more need be said;
now McFee was in charge of accounts.
Avaricious (and how!) he would bill all their clients
some extremely eye-watering amounts.

But they'd pay with a smile (or perhaps gritted teeth),
for you couldn't deny the results.
Though on leaving the office it was common to hear them
expressing some quite choice insults.

The senior detective was Angus McNab,
a witty man in his own eyes.
"I'll 'McNab' all the crooks!" he was oft wont to say,
while ignoring the eye-rolls and sighs.

McNab was a legend in New Scotland Yard,
his name figured large in newsprint.
Though a photo was rare due in no little part
to the sleuth's disconcerting strange squint.

This squint it was passed down from father to son
(a tradition for those of his ilk)
as a coming-of-age in their twenty-first year,
in a maple box lined with red silk.

Smith was an outsider from old London town
and walked with a lop-sided gait.
Sometimes to the left and sometimes to the right,
and sometimes in a figure-of-eight.

In interviews these two would make quite the team,
put the poor suspect's head in a spin.
For while Smith would perambulate slowly clockwise,
his limp would proceed widdershins.

As the villain attempted to follow Smith's path
his composure would crack by-and-by,
for sitting behind him the steely McNab
would be staring him square in the eye.

McGuffin, alas, had no knack for the job;
red herrings would lead him astray.
Since his latest wild goose chase he hadn't been seen for
three years and eight months and a day.


Section 4 - The Hunt

McNab and Smith flew down to Al-Aqalaz,
just to question the staff on the scene.
While the luggage they had went its own merry way
onto Oslo, Rome and Aberdeen.

"Walk this way," ordered Smith while arranging the staff
in a straight line that snaked round the floor,
as the silent McNab stood impassively by
with his eye fixed on every door.

"What's your name?" barked McNab, staring hard at the first.
Said the third guard "My name is Ali."
"Be quiet, wait your turn!" snapped McNab, spinning round.
Asked the eighth man "You talking to me?"

They assembled the troops to embark on the hunt,
riding camels as in days of yore.
Though forming a camel train did take some time
as they often got stuck in the doors.

They left the old city, passed through the East Gate,
as many who saw would attest.
An unfortunate choice, for at that precise time
The Jewel Thief was heading due west.

With Smith at the head the troop soon turned due south,
resolutely north-westerly bound,
on a course that would take them all east-by-north-east,
where The Thief would most surely be found.

Day turned into night, which turned back into day
(as is often the case in these parts),
while they slogged through the desert in silence except for
the odd curse and loud camel farts.

On the sixth day they re-entered Al-Aqalaz,
having lost their way during the night.
At this juncture the camels (who'd had quite enough)
now stampeded and quickly took flight.

With the trail now stone cold the detectives flew home
(all their luggage now in Rimini),
but due to bad weather the plane was diverted
and landed at Paris-Orly.

The pair took two rooms at a top class hotel
(well it was on expenses, you see),
unaware that, by chance, on the very next floor
The Thief was in room sixty-three.


Chapter 5 - The Reveal

They went down for dinner, dressed up to the nines,
or in Smith's case the eight-and-a-halves.
(For, due to a rain shower, his cheap suit had shrunk
and the trousers now just reached his calves.)

The rich and the powerful were frequently seen
when one dined at this famous hotel.
Tonight no exception, the detectives encountered
the cream of elite clientele.

Here, le Comte de Prout-Prout et Chi-Chi-sur-Frou-Frou,
(about whom such wild rumours were rife!).
There, le Duc de Gascoigne with a pert young 'Duchesse'
(whom no-one believed was his wife).

Madame Blanc crossed the room like a ship in full sail,
And she creaked like a mast in a gale.
For her corsets, through straining to keep her in check,
always seemed on the verge of a fail.

But all talking ceased and the crowd's heads all turned,
when into the room strode a man:
a proud Danish prince with fair hair and blue eyes...
and suspiciously dark winter tan.

This prince was bejewelled with the signs of his rank,
leaving all of the diners agog.
And hung round his neck, on a chain of pure gold,
was a ruby the size of a frog.

The jewel sparkled colours from deep red to scarlet,
vermilion, port wine and maroon.
But a light-bulb switched on when McNab saw it shone like
the rear of a horny baboon.

"J'accuse!" screamed McNab, pointing straight at The Star,
knocking over the sherries and ports.
And a startled garçon on the end of his glare
had a drastic mishap in his shorts.

"Sacré Bleu!" cried le Comte as he fell off his chair.
"Ah, mon Dieu!" said le Duc de Gascoigne.
"Bloody hell!" hollered Smith as a waiter, in shock,
spilled a bowl of hot soup on his groin.

As she swooned, Madame Blanc's flagging corsets gave way,
and they whirred through the air like an axe.
As they all ducked and covered, in fear of their lives,
The Jewel Thief turned tail and made tracks.


Episode 6 - The Chase

"Arrêtez le bâtard!" roared an enraged 'Duchesse',
letting slip her façade of quiet charm.
And le Comte, who'd been brought round with strong smelling salts,
squealed and jumped up into le Duc's arms.

McNab blew his whistle, Smith joined on kazoo;
the alarm was thus tooted and quacked.
The flippant house band played the theme from 'Born Free'
and were all peremptorily sacked.

Staff covered the exits, their arms spread out wide,
to stop The Thief dead in his tracks.
So he left through the entrance with barely a pause,
with McNab and Smith right at his back.

The Gendarmes arrived on the scene with all haste,
Policiers without delay.
A discussion on precedence promptly ensued
in the form of an all-in mêlée.

As these fine institutions swapped fine points of law
(not to mention fine insults and blows),
The Thief, at high speed, chose to exit stage left,
with the British detectives in tow.

They charged o'er the rooftops, they splashed through the sewers;
the pace would make lesser men quail!
If The Thief darted leftward, Smith veered to the right,
and thusly kept hot on his tail.

They flew up the alleys, they ran down the streets,
they jogged round the great Eiffel Tower.
They walked rather briskly while gasping for breath,
then crawled on all fours for an hour.

They queued through the Louvre, all shuffling with haste,
and cutting in line where they could.
Until they encountered the show of crown jewels
and The Jewel Thief just froze where he stood.

His pupils dilated, his eyes bulged on stalks,
he moaned and he frothed and he gaped.
By the time he'd snapped out of it, it was too late;
they'd cut off all lines of escape.

The Thief's shoulders slumped as he turned to his foes,
acknowledging his race was run.
And a jubilant Smith, in a voice tinged with glee, cried:
"You're facking well nicked, me old son!"


Instalment 7 - The End?

The news of the capture flew all round the world,
from Greenland to far Singapore.
From Hither to Thither and onwards to Yon,
and thence to the Joneses next door.

"Huzzah!" wrote The Times, and then "Jolly Good Show!"
and The Telegraph cried "Spiffing Stuff!"
(While The Guardian's headline read "Jewle Theif Cuaght!"
and The Mail spewed celebrity guff.)

McNab he was knighted for his vital role,
as everyone thought that he should.
Though, through an unfortunate mix-up somewhere,
his colleague received a damehood.

In their absence the long-lost McGuffin returned,
and he made for a terrible sight.
Long-haired and wild-eyed, with an odd earthy smell,
like some awful fell beast of the night.

The Thief was deported to Al-Aqalaz
to be tried for his heinous misdeed,
with the cleaned-up McGuffin employed as escort
(just to get the fool back up to speed).

But when the plane landed and guards came aboard,
they were met with a staggering scene.
McGuffin was handcuffed to Joe, the head steward,
and The Jewel Thief was not to be seen.

They looked high and low and they searched inside out,
top to bottom and then side to side.
As McGuffin just sat there and drooled down his shirt
and alternately giggled and cried.

Some thought that he'd jumped and some talked of escape,
and some of a daring rescue.
And some talked of spacemen and strange UFOs,
and some of a CIA coup.

The authorities stated The Thief must be dead,
and many folks sighed with relief.
But, in lieu of a body, most feared that they'd not heard
the last of the famous Jewel Thief.
...

Some months later, an emerald went on display;
a source of great Mexican pride.
As 'The Green Eye of San Taclos' gleamed in its case,
a skylight above opened wide...