“I have a message for you, Mr. Bugger,” said the stranger.
Frito’s burger rose at the sound of his true name.
“But—but I theenk you are meestaken, señor,” began Frito lamely, “I velly solly but my honorable name not—”
“This message is from Goodgulf the Wizard,” said the stranger, “if the name by which thee calls thyself answers to the title of Frito Bugger!”
“I are,” said Frito, confused and frightened.
“And thee hast the Ring?”
“Maybe I do, and maybe I don’t,” countered Frito, stalling for time. The stranger lifted Frito by his narrow lapels.
“And thee hast the Ring?”
“Yes, already,” squealed Frito. “So I’ve got it! So sue me.”
“Be not afraid, allay thy fears, quail not, and hold thy horses,” laughed the man. “I am a friend of thine.”
“And you have a message for me from Goodgulf?” gulped Frito, feeling his burger settling a bit. The tall one unzipped a secret compartment in a saddlebag on his shoulder and handed Frito a slip which read:
“Three shorts, four pairs socks, two shirts, chain mail, heavy starch?” Impatiently, the stranger snatched the ancient gag from the boggie’s paw and replaced it with a folded parchment. Frito’s glance at the Michaelmas Seals and Goodgulf’s X-rune imprinted in hardened bubble gum verified the sender.
Hurriedly he tore it open, saving the gum for Spam. For later. With difficulty he deciphered the familiar Palmer Method characters. They read:
Frito-lad,
The halberd has fallen! The fewmets have hit the windmill! Sorhed’s Nozdrul have gotten wind of our little dodge and are beating the bush for “four boggies, one with a pink tail.” Doesn’t take any abacus to figure out somebody’s spilled the gruel. Get out of wherever you are fast, and don’t lose the you-know-what. I’ll try to meet you at Wingtip, if not, look me up in Riv’n’dell. In any case, don’t take any oaken tuppences. And don’t mind Stomper, he’s a good egg, ut-bay ot-nay oo-tay ight-bray, if you know what I mean.
Must close, left some thing on the Bunsen,
P.S. How do you like the new stationery? Picked it up for a plainchant at Hambone’s Dept.!
Once again Frito’s Oink-Oink Burger rose to the occasion. Fighting down its untimely reappearance, Frito gasped, “Then we are not safe here.”
“Have no fear, lowly boggie,” said Stomper, “for I, Arrowroot of Arrowshirt, am with thee. Goodgulf must have spoken of me in the letter. I have many names—”
“I’m sure you do, Mr. Arrowshirt,” Frito broke in, panicking. “But it’s mud and then some if we don’t get out of here. I think somebody in this cheap joint wants my scalp, and not for a lanolin massage, either!”
Returning to the booth, Frito found the three boggies still feeding their faces. Ignoring the masked stranger, Spam grinned greasily at Frito. “Been a-wonderin’ where ye ha’ gone,” he said. “Want a bite o’ my Bow-Wow?”
Frito’s Oink-Oink sought repatriation with Spam’s BowWow, but he fought it back and made room for Stomper’s long knock-knees under the table. The boggies looked at Stomper with torpid disinterest.
“I didn’t be thinkin’ it was time for trickin’ an’ treatin’ so soon,” said Spam.
Frito stayed Stomper’s wrathful hand. “Listen,” he said quickly, “this is Stomper, a friend of Goodgulf’s and a friend of ours—”
“And I have many names—” began Stomper.
“And he’s got many names, but what we have to do now is—” Frito felt a great hulk looming behind him.
“Youse jerks want t’ pay now?” rasped a voice hidden beneath a mass of blond hair and a paper snout.
“Uh, sure,” said Frito, “now your tip would be, aaah...” Suddenly Frito felt a strong, clawed hand reach into his pocket.
“Don’t bother, bub,” snarled the voice, “I’ll just ring this up! Haw haw haw haw haw!” With a shrill scream, Frito saw the wig fall from the head of the false piglet, revealing the burning red eyes and foul grin of a Nozdrul! As if hypnotized, Frito stared at the huge wraith’s slavering leer, noticing that each tooth had been sharpened to a razor point. Hate to have his dental bills, he thought. Frito looked around for help as the giant fiend lifted him and rifled his pockets, searching for the Great Ring.
“C’mon, c’mon,” the monster growled, growing impatient, “Let’s have it!” Eight other huge waitresses closed in, each flashing a menacing set of well-honed choppers. Cruelly they held down the three boggies, white with fear. Of Stomper there was nothing to be seen, save a pair of spurred heels shivering under the table.
“Okay, chipmunk, give!” hissed the evil one, drawing his huge black mace. “I said—yeeeeowtch!” cried the Nozdrul in pain, simultaneously letting go of Frito and jumping straight up in the air. From below the table rose a sharp, barbed blade. Stomper leaped up.
“Oh Dragonbreth! Gilthorpial!” he yodeled, waving his cleaver around like a madman. He lunged at the nearest wraith with his unwieldy sword. “Banzai!” he screamed. “No quarter asked or given! Damn the torpedoes!” Taking a vicious swipe, Stomper missed his mark by a good yard and tripped on his scabbard.
The nine stared at the writhing, foaming maniac with round, red eyes. The sight of Stomper filled them with awe. They stood speechless. Suddenly one of the stunned creatures began to titter, then chuckle. Another guffawed. Two more joined in, chortling loudly, and finally all nine were in the throes of hysterical, side-aching laughter. Stomper, puffing and enraged, stood up and tripped on his cape, spilling his silver bullets all over the floor. The whole dining room roared with unbelieving hilarity. Two Nozdrul collapsed to the ground, helplessly giggling. Others staggered about, great red tears rolling down their scaly cheeks, gasping for air and incapable of holding their maces. Haw haw haw! Stomper got to his feet, his face beetred with anger. He lifted his sword, and the blade fell off the handle. Haw haw haw haw haw! The Nozdrul rolled and writhed on the ground, clutching their ribs. Stomper replaced the blade, took a mighty wind-up, and firmly embedded the point in the cement pig. HAWHAWHAWHAWHAWHAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW HAW!
At this point, seeing that no one was paying any attention to him, Frito picked up one of the heavy, discarded maces and calmly proceeded to beat some heads in. Moxie, Spam, and Pepsi followed his example and went among the gibbering wraiths administering random kicks to groins and breadbaskets.
Finally, the deranged Arrowroot accidentally cut the pulley ropes to the room’s main chandelier, simultaneously fixing the wagons of the semiconscious wraiths directly below and plunging the room into total darkness. The boggies dashed blindly for the door, dragging Stomper after them through the temporary blackout. Bobbing and weaving past the glowing eyes, they escaped and ran breathlessly down back alleys and past the snoring guards until they crossed the drawbridge and hit open ground. As Frito ran on he felt the curious eyes of the villagers upon him and his frantic companions. Frito hoped that they would not inform the tools of Sorhed. Thankfully he saw that they took little notice of them and went about their evening chores, lighting signal fires and releasing carrier pigeons.
Once outside the town, Stomper led them into a thick sedge and bade them to be small and quiet lest they be seen by Sorhed’s agents, who would soon revive and mount the hunt.