[Encaitare]

Wilhelmina stepped out of the car. She was quite shaken, yet miraculously unscathed. And now, she was very, very wet.

“Mr. Swanky!” she called again and again, the sound of her own voice swallowed up by that of the thunder. She could barely make out anything in the darkness, not even the monolithic billboards, let alone a comatose ape.

Lightning flashed, making each pelting raindrop shine brilliantly. She thought she spied something out of the corner of her eye: a large shape on the ground, though it might have been part of the landscape. Thunder crashed once more, and it was followed by another bolt of bright light. Yes, that had to be Queen Quon!

The old woman ran towards the shape, holding her hat firmly by the brim to keep it from flying away in the chill wind. If her pet were dead… she couldn’t bear to think of it.

The giant ape lay upon the muddy ground as desolately as only a furry and possibly deceased animal could. Anxiously, Wilhelmina ran around to Queen Quon’s right fist, where Mr. Swanky had been tenderly nestled. The hand was closed tight, but after all that screaming, Wilhelmina found herself in a logical mood.

“If she’s dead,” she said to herself, “then she can’t have been dead long enough for rigor mortis to set in. So I should be able to get this ginormous hand open. I think I can.”

Ten minutes and much more nonstandard English later, the Little Old Lady That Could had pried the fingers apart. Curled up in a little ball was the motionless ferret.

Wilhelmina let out a sob. This little creature had been her friend and companion for many, many years. He was one of the few creatures in the world who didn’t think her to be a complete nutter… and now he was no more.

“Nooooooooo!” she cried, falling to her knees and turning her face to the raging sky in a manner so melodramatic that it would have made Karís Mâtiktwít dance in delight. The orchestra swelled, the choirs sang heart-wrenching minor chords, and tears mingled with the rain.

There was a familiar squeak, and orchestra, choirs, tears, and rain all stopped abruptly.

“Mr. Swanky!” Wilhelmina shouted joyously as he shook himself a bit and then jumped into her hands. “You’re alright!” They both looked solemnly at the corpse of Queen Quon. “Queenie gave her life but saved yours! Isn’t that nice?” She screwed up her face contemplatively. “Perhaps ‘nice’ isn’t the best word. But even so, ‘tis better to have played Scrabble and lost than to never have played Scrabble at all, as they say. Or something like that. Let’s get back to the car and see if nice Mr. Fléin is alright.”

~*~*~*~*~

Nice Mr. Fléin was, in fact, alright, once he had been awakened and told that his beard had suffered no damage. He had a gash on his forehead from hitting the steering wheel, though, and Wilhelmina told him that he was certain to bruise as well.

“A fascinating bruise, probably, with all different colors in it. The rainbow after the storm will manifest itself upon your forehead!” she told him brightly, tearing off a scrap from one of her many petticoats to sop up the blood.

“How wonderful,” Fléin said dazedly.

“And look!” she said, holding up the hideous beaker. “Your free gift wasn’t damaged at all, either!”

“That’s impossible,” the Dwarf said. “That defies the laws of wotsit… fizzix.”

“I’ll bet that Mârtha Stewârt had something to do with it,” Wilhelmina decided. “Unbreakable glass – she’d think it was a good thing.”

“I think she’s right, in this case, at least,” said Fléin. “Even if it is ugly, it’s still a nice bit of glassware.”

“I think I’ll have to drive us to Mount Doom, and pronto,” said the old woman, prodding Fléin so he’d move into the passenger seat, and taking the wheel.

~*~*~*~*~

At this time, some of you may be wondering about the fate of the kamuraorc. Then again, some of you may not be. But if this poor creature is a friend of yours, be comforted to know that he is unconscious, but is currently deep in a very pleasant dream about an Orc-friendly and politically-correct world.

Let us hope he keeps dreaming.

~*~*~*~*~

Wilhelmina’s hat was still dripping water on her, but it didn’t matter – she had just seen a sign that read “OnE mIlE tO tHe BeSt GaMeS aNd EnTeRtAiNmEnT iN MoRdOr: MoUnT dOoM cAsInO aNd ReSoRt!!!!!1one!!!1”. The red glow in the sky gave further sign that they were close.

“HuRrAh!” she said. Then she cleared her throat loudly. “I mean, hurrah!”

In just a minute they passed through a pair of brightly lit gates and underneath a giant flashing marquee, declaring that although they were tired, wet, more than a little shaken, and driving a car with hardly any aesthetic qualities left to speak of, they had made it, and everything was going to be just fine.

Actually, what the sign said was “WeLcOmE tO mOuNt DoOm CaSiNo AnD rEsOrT,” but to them it meant something much different.