“It looks grim,” said Arrowroot.
Suddenly the Wizard sprang to his feet. “The knob,” he cried, and leading the pack sheep over to the base of the gate, stood on its back on tiptoe and turned the great knob with both hands. It turned easily, and with a loud squeaking the door swung open a crack.
Goodgulf quickly scrambled down, and Arrowroot and Bromosel tugged the door open a few more inches. At that moment, a great gurgling and belching arose from the center of the pond, and a large corduroy monster slowly lifted itself above the surface with a loud hiccup.
The company stood rooted to the ground in terror. The creature was about fifty feet tall, with wide lapels, long dangling participles, and a pronounced gazetteer.
“Aiyee!” shouted Legolam. “A Thesaurus!”
“Maim!” roared the monster. “Mutilate, mangle, crush. See HARM.”
“Quick,” cried Goodgulf. “Into the cavern,” and the company hurriedly slipped one by one through the narrow crack. Last of all came Spam, who tried to squeeze the protesting sheep through the’ opening. After two frenzied but unsuccessful attempts, he picked up the annoyed herbivore and threw him bodily into the beast’s gaping mouth.
“Eatable,” said the giant creature between munches, “edible, esculent, comestible. See FOOD.”
“I hope ye choke on it,” said Spam bitterly, as a clear image of a winged loin of lamb fluttered across his mind. He wiggled through the doorway and joined the rest of the company in the cavern. With a loud belch that shook the ground and filled the air with an aroma such as one meets concurrent with the rediscovery of a cheese that has long since gone to its reward, the beast slammed shut the door. The heavy boom reverberated into the depths of the mountain, and the little party found themselves in total darkness.
Goodgulf hastily withdrew a tinder box from his robes, and frantically striking sparks off the walls and floor, he managed to light the end of his wand, producing a ifickering glow about half as bright as a dead firefly.
“Such magic,” said Bromosel.
The wizard peered ahead into the darkness, and perceiving that there was only one possible route, up a flight of stairs, he led the way into the deep gloom.
They traveled a considerable distance into the mountain along the passageway, which after the long flight of stairs leading up from the gate worked its way for the most part down, with countless changes of direction, until the air became quite hot and stuffy and the company very confused. There was still no source of light save for the ificker from Goodgulf’s sputtering wand, and the only sound came from the sinister patter of following footsteps, the heavy breathing of North Koreans, the rattle of gumball machines, and the other hurly-burly of deep, dark places.
At length they came to a place where the passage divided into two, with both leading down, and Goodgulf signaled for a halt. Immediately there came a series of ominous gurgles and otherworldly tweets that suggested that the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were having a friendly rubber of bridge not a yard away.
“Let’s split up,” said Bromosel.
“I’ve twisted my ankle,” said Pepsi.
“Whatever you do, don’t make a sound,” said Arrowroot.
“Wa-zoo,” screamed Moxie, sneezing violently.
“Now here’s my plan,” said Goodgulf.
“Bullets won’t stop them,” said Bromosel.
“Whatever happens,” said Arrowroot, “we must keep a close watch.”
The company, as a man, fell asleep.
When they awoke, all was quiet once more, and after a hasty meal of cakes and ale, they addressed themselves to the problem of which passage to take. As they stood debating, there came from deep in the earth a steady drumbeat. Dribble, dribble, dribble, shoot, swish.
At the same time the air began to get hotter and thicker, and the ground started to tremble beneath their feet.
“There’s no time to lose,” said Goodgulf, jumping to his feet. “We must decide and quickly.”
“I say to the right,” said Arrowroot.
“Left,” said Bromosel.
Upon closer examination, the left way proved to be lacking a floor for some forty feet, and Goodgulf quickly set off down the other, with the rest of the company following close behind. The passage led precipitously down, and there were omens of an unappetizing nature along the way, including the whitening skeleton of a minotaur, the body of the Putdown man, and a rabbit’s battered pocket watch with the inscription “To Whitey from the whole Wonderland crowd.”
Before long the passageway sloped more gently down until with a final plunge it led into a great chamber lined with huge metal lockers and dimly lit by a fiery glow. As they entered, the rumblings grew louder: Dribble. Dribble. Fake. Dribble. Fake. Shoot.
All at once a large body of narcs burst into the hail from the passage the company had followed and charged at them, waving hammers and sickles.
“Yalu, Yalu,” shouted their leader, brandishing a huge faggot.
“You dieth, G.I.,” cried the faggot.
“Stay here,” said Arrowroot. “I’ll scout ahead.”
“Keep me covered,” said Legolam, “I’ll head them off.”
“Guard the rear,” said Gimlet, “I’ll take the passage.”
“Hold the fort,” said Goodgulf, “I’ll circle around.”
“Stand fast,” said Bromosel, “I’ll draw them off.”
“Pyongyang panmunjom,” shouted the narc chieftain.
The company stampeded across the hall and out a side passage with the narcs at their heels. As they rushed out, Goodgulf slammed shut the door in the narcs’ faces and hastily put a spell on it.
“Hawley Smoot,” he said, striking the door with his wand, and with a smoky “foof” the door disappeared, leaving the Wizard face-to-face with the puzzled narcs. Goodgulf quickly produced a lengthy confession, signed it, and thrusting it into the chieftain’s hands, raced away up the passage to where the rest of the company stood at the far end of a narrow rope bridge which spanned a sharp chasm.
As Goodgulf stepped onto the bridge the passage echoed with an ominous dribble, dribble, and a great crowd of narcs burst forth. In their midst was a towering dark shadow too terrible to describe. In its hand it held a huge black globe and on its chest was written in cruel runes, “Villanova.”
“Aiyee,” shouted Legolam. “A ballhog!”
Goodgulf turned to face the dread shadow, and as he did, it slowly circled toward the bridge, bouncing the grim sphere as it came. The Wizard reeled back and, clutching at the ropes, raised his wand. “Back, vile hoopster,” he cried.
At this the ballhog strode forward onto the bridge, and stepping back, the wizard drew himself up to his full height and said, “Avaunt, thin-clad one!”
Arrowroot waved Krona. “He cannot hold the bridge,” he shouted and rushed forward.
“E pluribus unum,” cried Bromosel and leaped after him.
“Esso extra,” said Legolam, jumping behind him.
“Kaiser Frazer,” shouted Gimlet, running up to join them.
The ballhog sprang forward, and raising the dread globe over his head, uttered a triumphant cry.
“Dulce et decorum,” said Bromosel, hacking at the bridge.
“Above and beyond,” said Arrowroot, chopping a support.
“A far, far better thing,” said Legolam, slicing through the walkway.
“Nearer my God to thee,” hummed Gimlet, cutting the last stay with a quick ax stroke.
With a loud snap, the bridge collapsed, spilling Goodgulf and the ballhog into the abyss. Arrowroot turned away and, stifling a sob, ran along the passage with the rest of the company close behind. As they rounded a corner, they were dazzled by a sudden shaft of sunlight, and after dispatching a sleeping narc guard in a few short minutes, they scrambled out the gates and down the eastern stairs.
The stairs ran along a syrupy stream in which large gobs of multicolored goo were ominously bobbing. Legolam stopped and spat in it wistfully.