[Hookbill the Goomba]

(A shorter episode today as I’ve been feeling a little unwell…)

Sitting on the damp bench, Legate opened his lunchbox. The rain was beginning to fall once again, hard and fast, thumping against his head with ferocity. The three bundles of crossbow bolts hidden within the box were freshly sharpened and polished. He handed a bundle to The Phantom, The Saucepan Man and Lommy; they loaded their crossbows and bowed to Legate.
“Be back before six,” he said, “otherwise you’ll miss lunch.” He chuckled, but The Phantom rolled his eyes.
Hookbill shivered, wrapping his newly acquired cloak around his shoulders and pulling the hood over his already soaked head. Turning to the left, he made a double take at a figure in the distance; he was dressed all in white with a white face mask. When he looked again, the figure was gone.
“What was that?” he asked,
“Oh, probably nothing,” said The Doctor, as if to someone else.
The Penguins marched on up the hill and waved goodbye to the others. Greenie shot down the next hill like a lightning bolt and Lommy followed close after. The Saucepan Man waved as they vanished and then turned to the others. They all nodded and plodded on in the other direction.
The path was broken and dirty; mud slimed over their shoes, slurping as they walked. Thunder rolled overhead, shaking their bones, which was quite painful. The Phantom strode on ahead, the bottoms of his robes were already blackened by the dirt and he hung his head as the rain hurtled down at them.
Over the next hill they crawled, hiding in the long grass. A tall building loomed in the next valley; it bore long glass windows and three stories. One of the rooms at the top was blackened, the windows smashed and flames dancing within. Outside the entrance three Werewolves prowled. The Phantom aimed his crossbow, but The Doctor pushed it down and shook his head. He held up a small, white paper bag and grinned.
The Wolves noticed a bright yellow object. It hit one of them on the nose. Picking it up, the central wolf sniffed it. The shape was like a human child, but no bigger than a pebble, what’s more it seemed to be made of jelly. Several more came raining down. With wide eyes, they began eating them. After one or two each, their heads began to grow heavy; their eyes wandered this way and that. They collapsed in a heap.
“They are vulnerable to Jelly babies?” said Hookbill,
“Sounds like a bit of luck to me!” said The Doctor,
“Sounds like lazy writing to me.”
They slunk past the sleeping Wolves and in through the entrance. The lobby was deserted, the main desk covered with dust and newspapers with graffiti all over them. Hookbill picked one up, ‘Wizard Menaced by Ghost of Ex-Beard’, it read. But over the picture of Narfforc, glasses and a moustache had been drawn in crayon.

“Why can’t we be doing the exciting stuff?” asked Greenie, “It’s just not fair.”
“What do you mean?” Lommy poked her in the stomach, “this IS exciting! Information gathering is an important part of taking down any government.” She adjusted the focus on her binoculars.
The Great Barrow was shrouded in hair. The tendrils flicked this way and that; waving like ghostly hands grappling at the air. Besides that, the place was utterly still. The rumbling thunder continued, louder here, drilling into their Pengish heads. Greenie shivered, sipping some tea from a flask with a picture of Legate’s face stitched on the side. She groaned as the eyes stared out at her.
Fumbling in her pocket, Lommy grasped an old fob watch and opened it up. The time was approaching dawn, even though the skies were still pitch dark. Lifting her head, Lommy’s beak tapped against something in front of her face. It was a metal leg. It belonged to a short bearded figure dragging a large sack up the hill.
“Make yourselves useful,” he said, “grab the other-” he examined the Penguins and closed his mouth with a snap. Stroking his thick beard, the Dwarf groaned and then sat down. “Please don’t kill me,” he said.
Lommy and Greenie turned to one another with raised eyebrows. Lommy nodded at her sister and then winked.
“Alright,” said the Green one, “but you’d better start talking. What’s your name?”
“Groin,” he moped, “Groin Bread Beard.”
Lommy prodded the sack and then pulled it open. She staggered back and held her beak. The stench was like a thousand rotten eggs mixed with the foulest dung available to humanity. It smelt like that because that’s what it was.

The Saucepan Man clattered down the corridor, tiptoeing and leaning against the wall. The others strode along behind with frowns as he kept trying to ‘shush’ them. The Doctor offered The Phantom a Jelly Baby, but he declined because it wasn’t wine flavoured.
On the walls several paintings were hung. There was one of a moustache, one of a beard and another, larger than the others, of a wig. Hookbill scowled at them.
“What have they done with my pictures of stamps?” he cried over the noise of The Saucepan Man, “And my painting of that interesting stone I once found in my bath! They’ll pay for every one!”
The Phantom paced up to The Saucepan Man and tapped him on the shoulder.
“What are we looking for?” he asked,
“Mr Goomba’s Office. I’m not sure where it is.”
“It’s over there,” said Hookbill, “Why didn’t you ask?”
“I just don’t like you.”
“Fair enough.”
They marched down towards the still burning door of Hookbill’s office. Papers, broken pots and a mangled typewriter were scattered on the floor and ceiling. The Saucepan Man held his nose as they stepped over the threshold. Wooden beams were smouldering on the ground at their feet; several things appeared to be moving in the ashes below. There were scratch marks in the walls and the wooden beams, even splats of blood could be seen here and there.
“If the cure is in here,” said Hookbill, “I think I’d have known about it. Besides, if you hadn’t noticed, it has been firebombed."
“And searched, no doubt,” said The Doctor, “see, here’s a note saying they’ve searched the room. ‘Found two bins, three embarrassing photos of The Master, but no cure as yet’… Hmm. Well, that’s encouraging, I suppose.”
“They didn’t know what they were looking for.” The Saucepan Man bent down in the corner and lifted one of the bins, “Here is the cure! In here!”
“You’re a loony.” Said The Phantom, “That’s a bin.”
“Indeed! You see, the complex social-economic system of bacteria and flies was so complex that it was sentient! The bacteria will be able to fight the virus off if we can get enough of them!” he removed the top of the bin and yelped, “It’s gone! Someone has taken all of the rubbish!”
“Yes,” said a voice, “that would have been the cleaners. Now, that is where I may have to take you lot.” Lalwende stepped into the room, tapping her hand with her truncheon, she began to laugh. Around her arm was a long strip of hair, glowing and writing as if it were alive. “The Master will be happy to see your heads on spikes.”

TO BE CONTINUED’ED

Tomorrow's BIG FINALE to The Story so Far will probably be extra long to make up for this one being a little brief. Sorry about that, folks. I've been having some problems with my medication after coming out of hospital so I was pretty much bed ridden today and couldn't write that much...