Things had gone exactly as James had planned.

He was back in London, enrolled in an exclusive boarding school once again. But more importantly, it was one with overly indulgent teachers and easily manipulated minders.

His parents, who had initially watched him like hawks when he first returned to London, had been successfully lulled into a false sense of security by his pretence of contrition and good behaviour. He knew all those theatre and drama classes he had taken would come in useful one day.

It was actually much easier to fool his parents than he had expected. At first, he had kept his guard up, expecting a trap. Perhaps his parents were still in cahoots with that pesky Singaporean kid detective, the dastardly Sherlock Sam, and his minions, Watson and the Supper Club. But as time went by, he realised that it wasn’t the case. In fact, it seemed like his parents wanted nothing more than to put their entire time in Singapore behind them.

He had fooled everyone! MUAHAHAHAHAHA.

“Are you feeling all right, Master Mok?” a voice next to him enquired.

James realised that he had been evillaughing out loud again.

He coughed and straightened.

“Minion One,” he said.

The boy who had asked the question turned and looked around. Then he looked back at James and pointed at his own chest. “Me? Minion what? I’m Mark.”

“No. You were Minion One, but now you are Minion Five. And you are dismissed. Send in Minion Two,” James said, flicking his hand towards the door.

The boy, who was dressed in the same boarding school uniform as James, looked confused, but did as he was instructed. He glanced over at the two other boys in the classroom who stood at rigid attention behind the seated James—Minion Three and Minion Four. They did their best to avert their eyes. Finding no sympathy from his fellow minions, he had no choice but to make his way to the exit and leave, in disgrace, as Minion Five.

It was hard to get good help these days, James thought as he brushed a piece of lint off his perfectly tailored, dark blue uniform jacket. Some days, he sorely missed the unquestioning loyalty of his robotic butler. His access to technology had been severely restricted by his parents—but he was working on it. They had already relented and allowed him his smart phone back.

Through the door, James could hear the ex-Minion One (now-Minion Five) trying to explain to the current Minion Two what had transpired. Minion Two seemed confused. Abruptly, there was silence. Hesitantly, the door slid open a fraction and a head poked out from behind it. It was Minion Two. He tried not to let the apprehension show in his eyes as he walked over, while tugging his collar, to where James was sitting.

“Yes, Master James,” still-Minion Two croaked. “You wanted to see me?”

“Indeed,” James responded, waving his hand at the seat next to him, indicating that the boy should sit. “You are now Minion One.” It sounded like a royal decree.

There was an audible gulp from the recently promoted young man in question.

James narrowed his eyes. “Do not fail me.” A significant pause. “Minion One.”

The newly-appointed Minion One quickly nodded, wiping away a bead of sweat that was sliding down the side of his temple despite the autumn chill. He tugged on his collar once again.

The classroom was empty. School was over for the day. It was the perfect time for James to plan his next daring deed.

Since he had been back, he had successfully engineered a series of crimes through a variety of proxies, none of whom even knew of his existence. To ensure that he did not make the same mistake as he had back in Singapore, he did his research thoroughly every time and made sure that none of the proxies that he used had any ties to genius kid detectives. The chance of that happening again was slim, but a fiendish mastermind could never be too careful. He had also been careful not to pick crimes that would make international news— yet. He did not want the attention—yet. But that was going to change very soon.

“Did you get the information I asked for?” James questioned the newly minted Minion One.

“Yes. The fish and chips shop was right where you had said it would be. And the batter was just as excellent as you had described,” Minion One replied, grinning.

James sighed audibly. His eyebrow twitched.

The three Minions in the room with him froze. Minion Three gestured frantically at the new Minion One while Minion Four closed his eyes and held his breath, trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible.

“And—and… Erm… I also obtained the information you needed on the Lewis Chessmen currently on display at the British Museum,” Minion One hurried to add, taking a tablet out of his backpack and handing it to James.

“Did anyone see you?” James asked, his voice emotionless as he accepted the gadget.

“No. I asked my little sister to buy the fish and chips, and the data chip was wrapped in the paper that came with it. It was a little oily, but I cleaned it as best I could—”

James made a sound of disinterest and Minion One immediately fell silent. James was pleased. It had taken him at least three days to teach the ex-Minion One to fall silent on cue. It bode well for new Minion One’s future.

James looked through the data on the tablet and could not help the smile that spread across his handsome face.

Yes, everything was going exactly as planned.

∗ ∗ ∗

“What do you mean they’ve been stolen?” James said, looking up from the floor plans of the British Museum that he had been studying. It was quite late in the evening and the school was almost empty.

Minion One had run into the vacant classroom with Minions Three, Four and Five hot on his heels. He slammed the newspaper he had been carrying down on the desk that James was seated at. That had earned him a deadly glare from his master.

“Look at—at, the front page, Ma—Master James,” Minion One stuttered, pointed at the words at topmost portion of the newspaper.

“LEWIS CHESSMEN STOLEN FROM BRITISH MUSEUM! SCOTLAND YARD STUMPED!” the headline read.

“No!” James shouted, slamming the desk with both fists. The floor plans that he had been looking at fell to the ground in a crumple. “How could this have happened?!”

He glared at the trembling minions in front of him. They turned to look at each other, then back at James. Simultaneously, they shrugged and immediately backed away.

“The security codes are changed every four days. And the guards are on a different patrol schedule every day. Unless the thief was able to hack into the security system and obtain that information, there should have been no way for him to pull this off,” James muttered to himself.

“But you did,” Minion Three whispered.

James immediately swung towards him, surprised.

“Is that what you sound like?” James said, raising his eyebrow. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak.”

Minion Three fell silent once again.

“And yes, I did obtain that information, but no one else should have been able to. And definitely not in the time frame that allowed him to beat me to the heist.”

James was furious. The theft of the Lewis Chessmen pieces was to be his big return to fiendishness. It was his announcement to the world, and specifically to Sherlock Sam and his irksome band of followers, that he, James Mok, the most fiendish of all masterminds, had returned! And he was looking forward to once again meeting his Singaporean nemesis for a detective rematch so he could prove, once and for all, that he was the bigger genius! Brainwise, that is—he could never eat as many chicken wings as Samuel Tan Cher Lock could.

Then something caught his eye. The article right below the news about the theft had ink marks on it—a lot of ink marks. At first, it looked like smudges from poor printing quality, but something didn’t look quite right. James leant in closer and stared, muttering silently to himself. The Minions looked at each other and slowly moved in closer to their leader.

Dots and dashes. Dots and more dashes.

The words of the article had been deliberately circled with dots and crossed out with dashes!

“What’s the matter, Master James?” Minion One asked, wringing his hands nervously. It was never good when Master James fell silent. It meant that he was thinking, and a thinking Master James was a dangerous Master James.

“Morse code…” James whispered. “This is written Morse code.”

“What?” Minion Four asked, taking step forward to look at the newspaper as well.

James stood up and grabbed on to Minion One’s jacket. He snarled, “Where did you get this newspaper from?”

Minion One squawked, “From…from the newsstand in front of the train station near our school, Master James!”

“You take the train?” Minion Three asked, looking aghast.

“Of course not!” Minion One gasped, outraged. “I had my driver pick up a copy on the way to school.”

The gears in James’ brain were turning rapidly.

“So he knows where I go to school,” James muttered. “And the newspaper seller must have been one of his proxies because this paper was meant for me, and me alone.”

“Who? What? Who knows where you go to school, Master James?” Minion One asked.

“This message was meant especially for me,” he said, gesturing at the series of dots and dashes on the newspaper. “It’s a list of all the ‘adventures’ I’ve been on since returning to London. In chronological order, no less.”

“I don’t understand what is happening,” Minion Four said, frowning.

“Of course you don’t,” Minion Three replied. “That’s why you’re only Minion Four. Minion Five isn’t even allowed in the room.”

“And he has also issued a challenge,” James continued, almost as if to himself.

For the first time since the Minions had known him, James Mok looked worried.

“Who? What challenge?” Minion One asked.

“I have seven days to unmask him,” James replied, “or he’ll tell my parents exactly what I’ve been up to since I’ve been back in London.”

“I still don’t understand what is happening,” Minion Four whispered to Minion Three who shushed him.

“This cannot be happening,” James said, clenching his fists. “I cannot be foiled now. Not when I’m this close…”

He continued to mutter to himself, pacing around in agitation. The three Minions fretted close (but not too close) by.

Suddenly, James came to a complete stop. The look on his face was resigned, pained even. He sighed heavily.

“I guess I don’t have a choice,” he said, straightening his jacket. “Give me my mobile phone.”

Minion One scrambled to do as asked.

James took a deep breath and dialled.

The Minions waited with bated breath.

The call connected.

“Good afternoon, Sherlock Sam,” James said, his accent crisp, his voice measured. Then he paused. “Oh. Erm. Oh. Hello, Auntie. No, I am sorry, I did not realise what time it was. I am so sorry. I was looking for Samuel—oh, he is asleep? You are all asleep? Yes, I do know about time difference. I am so sorry—”