The Plight of Trampbill the Goomba continues...
Tossing the knife in the air,
Anguriel chuckled and grinned. He caught it again as it came down and stepped closer to
The Phantom and
Hookbill. Several tables were upturned as the other occupants of the Inn fled, tossing their drinks into the air.
Phantom narrowed his eyes as the ale seeped into the ground. The floorboards creaked as their attacker approached, tossing the knife from hand to hand and bobbing his head.
With a swift turn,
Phantom gripped Alien and pulled him in front as a barrier between him and Anguriel. The slimy creature had ice-cream all around his mouth as well as melted cheese and bits of soil. A small child wailed as Alien dropped him.
“Make yourself useful!” shouted
Phantom, “Do something!” he pushed Alien forward. Shaking his head to relive himself of the ice-cream and cheese, Alien picked up a chair and slimed forwards. He lifted it up and then… he began to eat it.
Phantom slapped himself on the forehead and dragged his hand down his face. Shoving
Hookbill out of the way he ran out of the Inn through one of the nonexistent walls. Anguriel swore and threw the knife after
The Phantom, but he was already too far away.
Darting over the rocks and fallen trees lining the path towards the Barrow Downs,
Hookbill panted and groaned. The shadow of
The Phantom was already turning a corner into a valley between two hills. Turning his head
Hookbill yelped.
Anguriel was sprinting along at an alarming speed, sending dust up in front and behind. The Goomba turned around again only to run into the back of
The Phantom.
Coughing, they got up off the ground. Before them was a net. It was badly disguised under a pile of leaves. They traced around it and continued to run. They went four steps before they heard a ‘snap’ followed by muffled cursing.
Anguriel’s knife clattered to the floor as he wriggled and writhed in the net. There was a rustling sound above and out of the bushes, a tall, slender Penguin appeared, dressed in bright blue robes and carrying a spear. She was accompanied by a smaller Penguin with green feathers and clothes. The first Penguin began poking
Anguriel with the blunt end of her spear.
“Is this yours?” she asked,
“No,” replied
Phantom, “I thought you were helping more Wights escape the concentration camps,
Lommy.”
“I was,” she continued poking
Anguriel, “but as soon as I heard you’d been spotted breaking
Hookbill out of jail, I knew they’d send
him after you.”
“I am here you know!” shouted
Anguriel, “I do have a name!”
“Shut up,”
The Phantom prodded him, “traitor!”
“Oh that’s nice!” he groaned, “I’d like to see you refuse the promise of your own clothes-”
“That doesn’t sound so special,” said
Hookbill,
“Let me finish! Clothes made of GOLD!”
“Fair enough.”
Lommy and
Greenie spoke in whispers for a moment before wandering to where the ropes suspending the net were attached to the ground. Taking out small, clean knives they cut them and
Anguriel plummeted to the ground and landed with a thump. The dust covered him over for a moment and he lay groaning and fidgeting.
“Any news from
The Doctor?” asked
Lommy, staring into
The Phantom’s bizarre eyes, “I’ve not seen him since Tuesday.”
“Me neither. I think he may be dead.”
“Where’s Alien?”
Greenie looked around apprehensively, “I don’t want another trip to Bree Hospital!”
The Phantom shrugged and waved vaguely in the direction of the Inn. The two Penguins tied Anguriel’s hands and put another rope around his neck. Greenie made a remark about him looking like ‘a Gollum’.
Hookbill sat on a rock and put his head in his hands. The sun was fading over the horizon and the storm clouds over the Downs were getting thicker. Thunder rolled and the sound of stereotypically evil laughter was carried along the freezing winds.
Lommy clambered up into the bushes above and rustled around for a moment before returning with two packs. She removed from one of them a pair of fish and set them down on a cloak
Greenie had laid down.
The Phantom grumbled as he was handed a tinder box. Just as he got a fire going, light rain began to drizzle down like a thin curtain. Shouting with rage, he stamped on the fire and sat down with folded arms.
Lommy picked up the tinder box and began striking it onto the driest wood; hiding it under some further wood and dried grass proved enough to set it going. Huddling around it they sat in silence for some time, their eyes ever on the embers and flames as they licked higher and higher.
Once they had eaten some fish and had a short rest, they turned their attention to
Anguriel. He was fumbling with the rope, but
Lommy poked him again.
“What do we do with him?” asked
Hookbill, “Will he really talk?”
“Eventually,” said
Greenie with a wink, “Pengish people have ways of opening closed tongs… Literally.”
Anguriel made a muffled shriek.
“Just tell us,” began
Lommy, “where are they keeping
The Saucepan Man?” Anguriel shook his head and tried to run away. The Phantom pulled on the rope and yanked him back by the neck.
“In a warehouse!”
Anguriel coughed as he rubbed his sore neck, “But you’ll not get close! It’s guarded by… Well, you’ll find out.”
Hookbill was pulling some sticks together and attaching them with bits of string. Laying leaves on top of it he managed to make a crude umbrella. Trotting forward he stood near the others as they interrogated
Anguriel. He was fretting and mumbling most of his answers, begging them not to take away his gold.
“Why do we need
The Saucepan Man?” asked the Goomba,
“Not now!” shouted
The Phantom, “I’ll explain later!”
At that moment,
Anguriel leaped up and dived past them, landing on the little fire. His bonds (as well as his clothes) burst into flames. Screaming, he darted off up the hill, waving his arms in the air.
Greenie gave chase, but her little Pengish legs could not keep up. She lent forwards and put her flippers on her hips, puffing and panting with annoyance.
“See what you did?”
Phantom bellowed, gripping
Hookbill by the shoulders, “He was about to break! Now we’ll never know what’s guarding the Warehouse!”
“Oh come along,” said
Lommy, “we’ll find out sooner or later.”
The rain was pounding on their heads like drops of led.
The Phantom stuffed his hands deep into his pockets and hunched his shoulders while
Lommy and
Greenie plodded on in front.
Hookbill’s umbrella was falling apart; the ferocity of the rain was tearing through the leaves and forcing large gaps to open up.
All of a sudden,
Lommy signalled for them to get down on the ground. They crawled up the hill and peered down into the next valley; there, standing behind the thick rain curtain, was a wooden warehouse. It looked like a cottage, but larger and with a flatter roof. There were dark shapes moving around it. A flash of yellow eyes would occasionally startle them.
Hookbill gulped and lowered his umbrella; the wet ground had already drenched him and he groaned a little as the rain began to hit his head.
Lommy scowled.
They crept down, shuffling through the slippery grass, tall enough to conceal them for now, but the closer they got to the house, the shorter the blades became.
The Phantom closed his eyes; their glow was sure to attract unwanted attention.
Lommy stopped and turned her head back and forth.
“Something’s not right,” said a voice,
“Shh!” said
Lommy, “we don’t want them to find us.”
“Who? Us?”
“Yes, us!”
“No, I mean,
you don’t want
us to find
you.”
A long, hairy face poked out over the top of the grass. The bright yellow eyes flickered like candle flames.
Hookbill quivered and turned to run away. He fell flat on his face in front of another large, hairy shape.
“Blast,” said
The Phantom, “It wasn’t a Warehouse; it was a
Were-house!”
TO BE CONTINUED’ED
Tune in tomorrow for the excitement, adventure and annoyance of... The Story So Far!