Adventures of a Cat-Whiskered Girl (18 page)

We thanked Jake and his mother for the unsatisfying and intoxicating magic bean soup, and left them, and Harold Boonstengel the giant, in the little house.

"Once the strangeness wears off, this mixed-up plane really isn't any more interesting than the regular Poughkeepsie one," Molly said.

"I agree," the Wolluf said. "Generally, one place is like another—it's what happens and what you observe that make the difference, wherever you are."

"And the idea of being here is because certain things can happen here, and be observed?" I asked.

"Perfectly right," the Wolluf said. "If I wanted to choose a plane of existence on the basis of having a pleasant excursion, I would have picked one with a lot of very good bakeries and restaurants."

"Are there such planes?" Molly asked.

"Certainly."

"Too bad this isn't one, specially if magic bean soup is any indication of the quality of the local cookery," I said.

We were just about to turn the corner onto the road that led back to the equivalent of downtown Poughkeepsie when three little kids appeared. They were all exactly the same height, wearing blue smocks, and barefooted. They had curly blond hair and faces like frogs.

"Attend us, strangers," the kids said in unison.

"Attend them," the Wolluf said. "This may be one of those things."

"You are in peril," the three little kids said all at once. I noticed the three little kids' feet were suspended two or three inches above the ground.

"What sort of peril?" the Wolluf asked.

"Beware!" the three little kids said. "Beware! Beware!"

"Is there something in particular we should beware of?" Molly asked.

"Beware the birdheads!" the three little kids said. "And keep with you the magic bag."

"Birdheads?"

"Magic bag?"

The three little kids produced a bag like a pillowcase. The bag was tied with cord.

"This bag is magic. Keep it with you always. It will lead you to your destiny."

"What is in the bag?"

"Never open the bag!" the three little kids said. "Never open the bag! Open the bag and you are doomed!" They handed us the bag. It contained something soft and moderately heavy.

"Do not lose the magic bag or leave it unattended in any way," the three little kids said, and then floated up into the treetops. "And beware the birdheads!" Then they were gone.

"We've got a magic bag," I said.

"Do we know what birdheads are?" Molly asked.

"Not a clue. What do you suppose is in the bag?"

"Let's open it and have a look."

"Think we'll be doomed if we do?"

"I don't believe in doomed. We'll just have a fast look."

"What do you think? Should we look?" I asked the Wolluf.

"I might," the Wolluf said. "But I am the Wolluf. I think the bag has to do with your destiny, not mine—so it's really up to you."

The three little kids appeared again, just over our heads. "Never open the bag!" they shouted in unison. "What's in that bag will spell your doom! Seriously!"

Then they were gone.

Then they were back again. "And remember about the birdheads too. Good luck."

Then they were gone.

We stood around for a while, waiting to see if they would come back. When it looked like they were done admonishing us, and not returning, we headed for downtown again.

We found out what birdheads were. They were proctors, which was the name for cops in Apokeepsing. They wore black tailcoats and top hats, carried policemen's nightsticks, and of course had heads like birds, with beaks and feathers.

"Pull over, please," the first birdhead said.

"Pull over? We're walking. What do you mean, 'pull over'?"

"Just come to a stop, and answer our questions," the second birdhead said. "What's in the bag?"

"We don't know. It's supposed to be a magic bag. Some little kids gave it to us."

"Open the bag, please."

"We're not supposed to open it. It's a magic bag. The little kids said we'd be in trouble if we opened it."

"You'll be in trouble if you don't open it," the birdheads said.

"Better do what they say," the Wolluf said. "They are the law."

I undid the cord, opened the bag, and found myself looking into the eyes of Harold Boonstengel's pet.

"Where did you get the golden gooser?" the birdheads asked.

"As we told you, some little kids gave it to us. We 207 didn't know it was the golden gooser in the bag."

"And you didn't steal it, I suppose?" one of the birdheads asked.

"No. Not stole. Never stole."

"And it comes as a complete surprise that one Harold Boonstengel, a local giant, reported his golden gooser missing not ten minutes ago?" the other birdhead asked.

"No. I mean, yes. I mean, we didn't know. We didn't take it."

"I told you not to do it," the Wolluf said. "I told you crime never pays."

"What?"

"Of course, we know you had nothing to do with
it, Mr. Wolluf," the birdheads said. "But the girl and the pussycat are under arrest."

"I'm a girl too," I said.

"The girl and the alleged girl, who is obviously a pussycat," the birdheads said. "We're taking you in."

"Clap the darbies on them," one of the birdheads said to the other, producing a pair of ugly-looking iron handcuffs.

"Are those the darbies?" I asked.

"There will be no need for those," the Wolluf said. "I guarantee they will come along quietly—and I will come with you myself."

"Well, seeing as how it's you that says it," the birdhead said. "We will accept your word, Mr. Wolluf, that these desperate criminal girls will not try anything funny while we march them off to gaol."

"By 'gaol' you mean jail?" Molly asked.

"That's where we take people who take things," the birdhead said.

The birdhead proctors marched us through the streets to the gaol. A few citizens noticed us but didn't show any particular interest. One thing that interested me was seeing myself, or someone just about identical to me, coming the other way. I only saw her for a moment, before she turned a corner. The gaol was the building we knew as Susie's Chop Suey, a Chinese restaurant, on the Poughkeepsie plane. There they handed us over to the town gaoler, Moon Stoats. Moon Stoats was spectacularly ugly and evil-looking. He was short and fat and squat and brawny, with big bulging muscles and a face like an insane owl's.

"Wrongdoers!" Moon Stoats said. "If you try to escape or make noise, or just for no reason at all, I will
torture you horribly, whip you, kick you, freeze you, fry you, squash you under a big stone, or pinch you without mercy. Here is your cell. You will await trial. I hope the court decides to hang you. I am also the town hangman, so I get extra for stringing you up." He locked Molly and me in, and went away, laughing like a maniac and rubbing his hands.

"He's unpleasant," Molly said.

"I have to agree," I said.

The Wolluf was not locked in. "I will go and find out what will happen to you. Do not worry about Moon Stoats—he's a monster and behaves like that with everyone. Don't think it is anything about you personally."

"What about just taking us off this miserable plane?" I asked the Wolluf. "Couldn't you do that?"

"What? You want to go home already?" the Wolluf asked.

"Well, yes! Anyway, before they hang us."

"Oh, I hardly think they hang people for stealing a golden gooser," the Wolluf said.

"Okay, before they whip us or pinch us, then. Besides, we did not steal the golden gooser."

"Hence they are going to give you a trial!" the Wolluf said. "Where you can prove your innocence. You don't want to leave before your trial."

"Of course not! What were we thinking?" I said. "Who would not want to stay in a cell in a jail run by a sadistic monster, and then be tried for a crime and probably subjected to some barbaric punishment?"

"Exactly!" the Wolluf said. "I will go now and see if I can arrange some kind of defense for you."

"I was being sarcastic," I said. But the Wolluf did not hear me. He was already at the end of the corridor, and by way of going out the door.

At the door, the Wolluf stopped, turned, and called to us, "Moon Stoats's daughter, Queenie, will be along later with something for you to eat. Bye!"

"Wait!" we shouted. "Get us out of here!" But the Wolluf was gone.

"He is not taking this seriously," I said.

"Which means that maybe it is not serious," Molly said.

"Or it means that the Wolluf is crazy, like so many people we meet," I said.

We looked around our cell. It was made of big, heavy, rough boards of wood, and the door was iron bars. There were two wooden benches, which we supposed were our beds. There was a bucket in the corner.

"Nice," Molly said.

"Deluxe," I said.

When it got to be night, Queenie showed up. She
did not look anything like Moon Stoats. She looked more or less like an idiot. She brought us some disgusting gruel.

"Here is some disgusting gruel," she said. She sounded more or less like an idiot.

"Are you cruel and horrible like your father?" Molly asked.

"No, I am nice. If it were up to me I would help you to escape. You should eat your gruel—you'll need your strength for the trial and ghastly punishments."

"Tell us about the trial," I said. "You can leave out the ghastly punishments."

"Basically, you're doomed," Queenie said. "Do you know who your judge will be?"

"Some judge?"

"Baas Kwaadwillig," Queenie said.

"Isn't he supposed to be bad?"

"He is a monster and a tyrant. He runs everything around here. My father admires him, if that tells you anything. You may be sure he will condemn you and sentence you to something horrible."

"But we're innocent. We didn't do anything."

"That makes no difference to Baas Kwaadwillig," Queenie said. "You know what you should do? You should assassinate him."

"What?"

"Do him in. Knock him off. Put an end to him. Bash him on the head with something heavy. Everyone will thank you for it."

"What are you talking about? You want us to kill somebody?"

"If you don't he will sentence you to an eternity in some icky pit. You don't want that, do you?"

"Not much, but we are not killing anybody."

"Just think it over. It's the right thing to do,"

Queenie said. "I have to go now. My father wants his disgusting gruel. I'll bring you a dagger or something just before the trial."

"When is the trial?"

"Midnight. You'll be in some terrible place by dawn. Your best chance is to kill Kwaadwillig." Queenie left.

"She's the weirdest one yet," Molly said.

"I wonder what's next," I said.