The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles (10 page)

He grabbed Lindy's hand and began the steep ascent, scrambling over rocks and stones. The boys followed. The Whiffle Bird flew above them and shrieked again, "GET TO THE POINT!"

Dazed and completely frustrated, the Splintercat picked himself up and looked around. As his vision cleared, he saw the children and the professor. With a demented howl he streaked towards them, legs churning, his powerful high behind propelling him up the hill in giant leaps and bounds.

"He's gaining on us!" gasped Tom.

"Don't look back!" the professor yelled. He put on a burst of speed and Lindy, who still clung to his hand, felt herself momentarily lifted off the ground.

They were almost at the top of the hill, but the Splintercat was horribly close. Ben felt the ground shaking and he heard the cat panting behind him with murderous fury.

With a last mighty effort the creature sprang.

"Got you! Got you! Got you!" he roared triumphantly, his huge paws spread wide, the wicked-looking claws flashing like steel knives in the sun.

The professor grasped the narrow rock and swung around it, pressing himself and Lindy flat against the rough stone. The boys flung themselves to the ground, and the cat sailed over their heads, a crazed, fearful look on his face.

"Whoa . . . oh . . . ow . . . eeeow!" he shrieked, his back legs trying desperately to brake his tremendous speed. But it was too late.

On the other side of the rock the hill fell away sharply and the Splintercat sailed over the edge, and landed on the steep incline. His long back legs pushed him forwards and upwards and over and he rolled and bumped and crashed from side to side, trying desperately to gain a foothold. Great furrows of earth appeared as he dug in his heels. Billowing clouds of dust rose behind him as he plunged, howling at the top of his lungs, all the way down. At the bottom of the hill, he tumbled into a field of bright mustard-yellow flowers, and completely disappeared.

The professor began to chuckle. Relief and exhaustion flooded over him.

"It's a well-known fact," he explained, "that Splintercats, with their high behinds, are very good at climbing up hills, but they're very bad at going down. Good old Whiffle Bird. She knew what she was doing when she told us to get to the point."

"I can't help feeling sorry for the Splintercat," said Lindy.

"Don't, my dear. If I'm not mistaken, our furry friend just landed in a field of catnip. He should be ecstatic for quite some time."

"What's ecstatic?" she asked.

Suddenly, with a squeal of happiness, the Splintercat exploded out of the flowers. He did a double somersault, and landed in the blossoms again. His head popped up with one of the blooms clamped idiotically between his teeth. There was an intoxicated, happy grin on his face and he began to leap about as if dizzy and delirious.

"O
ooo
. . . wheeee!"

The children and the professor watched as he yelped and bounced.

"Sssstop. Sssstop it, I
like
it!" He rolled on his back, kicking his legs in the air.

"Oh . . . ha . . . ha! Ssssweet, ssssibilant Ssssplintercats!" He howled with laughter as though he were being tickled unmercifully.

The children began to giggle as well.

"Help! Help! I
love
it. I love it. I love it," they heard the cat mumble passionately, and he went tearing off around the field, tumbling and turning, sniffling and sneezing, twittering and fluttering in an absolute dither of delight.

"That, Lindy," said the professor, "is a perfect example of the word 'ecstatic.' "

PART THREE

Conquest

ONE

The professor and the children discovered that the other side of the mountain descended in a series of gentle, rolling hills. Streams and waterfalls poured forth, splashing, leaping, and gurgling down the slopes to join the Golden River. The grass was lush and thick, of a sparkling aquamarine blue.

Ben noticed a mass of plum-colored trees in the distance. "What are they?" He pointed.

"I'm not sure," replied the professor. "But if my sense of direction is right, that's the Forest of the Tree Squeaks. I would say that right now, we are in the heart of Whangdoodleland."

The Whiffle Bird flew around them and landed in a tree. She fluffed out her beautiful feathers. "EASY DOES IT," she said.

The professor looked around. "Let's take the Whiffle Bird's advice. This seems a good place to rest for a while. There's lots of shade and I don't think we'll be spotted here."

"You know, I'm hungry," said Lindy. "I haven't had anything to eat for ages."

"Yeah, I'm starved," said Tom.

The professor reached into the low branches of a strange-looking tree. "That's easily put right." He pulled down a soft fruit that resembled a large maroon pineapple.

Lindy bit into it. "That's fabulous. What kind of tree is that?"

"It's a Fruit-of-the-Month Tree," replied the professor.

"You mean each month it grows a different kind of fruit?" asked Tom.

"My first trip to Whangdoodleland the trees were growing Tangerangos. A few months ago it was Passionanas." The professor plucked one for himself and took a bite. "Mm. This month it's Razzapple. Have some," he said to the boys. "It'll do you good."

They ate their fill of the delicious fruit, then relaxed in the shade of the tree.

The professor said, "You know, I've been thinking. It might be wise to stay here for the night. It's getting dark, and it will be difficult finding our way back."

The children loved the idea of camping out in Whangdoodleland. The boys rolled up their jackets and used them for pillows. Lindy covered herself with her cape and rested her head in the professor's lap.

They watched a pale, translucent moon rise in an emerald green sky, while brilliant stars sparkled overhead. The Whangdoodle's palace gleamed in the night like a huge chandelier.

Lindy said wistfully, "I wish we were up there looking down here, instead of the other way around."

"So do I, Lindy. Oh, so do I." The professor's voice was full of longing.

Ben pushed himself up on an elbow. "Professor, how close have you come to seeing the Whangdoodle? I mean before you met us?"

The professor reflected for a moment. "I only came close enough to know that he was there, Ben. Of course, I talked to the Prock a lot and I met our good friend the Whiffle Bird." He looked at her perched in the tree close to Tom. She appeared to be fast asleep, although it was hard to tell.

"I never really got much beyond the Gambit region," he continued. "I discovered that it wasn't possible for me to reach the Whangdoodle by myself. I needed youthful minds to help me." He smiled. "That's why I was so thrilled when you came to my door at Halloween, for I had almost given up hope."

"It was kind of a miracle, wasn't it?" said Lindy sleepily.

"Well, I'd call it more of an opportunity," said the professor. "Miracles, contrary to popular belief, do not just happen. A miracle is the achievement of the impossible, and it is only when we put aside our greed, anger, pride and prejudice so that our minds are open and ready to accept it, that a miracle can occur. The Whangdoodle managed to think and do the right things, and look at the miracle he brought about for himself and his friends."

"He surely must have tried hard," said Tom thoughtfully. "Do you suppose we will ever get to meet him?"

"If you want to badly enough, the chances are it will happen. Actually, I've been doing some thinking. Since we've come this far, how would you feel about making one last all-out attempt to reach the Whangdoodle? If we are careful and lucky we might reach the palace before the Prock has any idea we are in the vicinity."

"How do you know the Whangdoodle will let us in even if we do reach the palace?" asked Ben.

"I don't. But I have a feeling the closer we are able to get, the more regard he will have for our determination."

"Let's do it," said Tom enthusiastically. "We haven't got that much farther to go, have we?"

"I don't believe so."

"Please, Professor," said Ben, "let's give it one more try."

Lindy was nearly asleep, but she managed to murmur, "Yes, please."

The professor smiled and opened his plastic umbrella with the yellow butterflies. "I guess it's settled then. Tomorrow we'll make an early start. I suggest we get some rest now." He pushed the umbrella handle into the soft earth and it made a perfect shelter from the gentle night breeze that was blowing across the hills.

He stroked Lindy's hair and talked quietly in the darkness, about the stars and constellations. He told them about the furry little creatures called Flukes, and how, when the Whangdoodle first left the human world, they had hidden away in a pair of his old slippers. When they were finally discovered, it was too late to send them back.

Lulled by his soft voice, the children pulled their scrappy caps down over their eyes and fell into an easy and comfortable sleep.

The professor woke them early. It was barely light and the sun had yet to show itself. Pockets of mist lay among the vivid blue hills.

He said quietly, "It is imperative that we get
through the Forest of the Tree Squeaks before they wake up. If they see us they'll warn the Prock. Let's go, keep very quiet."

He led the way down the hill and the Whiffle Bird flew onto Tom's shoulder.

"Professor," whispered Ben. "There's a road just over there."

The professor nodded. "Probably the main highway. What a bit of luck!"

The sky was beginning to redden. The professor quickened his pace. They reached the road and discovered that it was made of shell-pink flowers, clustered so tightly together that they were like a carpet. A signpost stood on a grassy bank. One arm pointed to the trees and read,
To the Forest of the Tree Squeaks.
Another arm below it pointed in the same direction. It read,
To the Palace.

"Not long now," the professor murmured happily. "Let's take off our shoes. We'll make less noise."

The road was cool and springy beneath their feet. Tom noticed some white star-shaped blossoms growing in a hedge with huge berries hanging beneath them. He tugged the professor's sleeve and asked if he could eat some.

The professor picked a berry and tasted it. "Delicious," he pronounced.

"Shut your mouth,"
muttered the Whiffle Bird.

"Why did she say that?" asked Lindy.

"She's saying we really must be quiet," whispered the professor and he handed Tom a fistful of berries.

"Yes. But does she have to be so rude about it?" Lindy picked one of the berries and popped it into her mouth.

By the time they reached the entrance to the forest everyone had eaten a scrumptious breakfast.

Their first impression of the forest was that it was dark and gloomy. But as their eyes adjusted to the light, they saw that it was unusually colorful.

The plum-colored trees had brown, gnarled trunks. Most of them were embraced by a vivid pink ivy, growing and twining around the tall columns and twisted limbs. Garlands of honey-cream flowers hung from the branches, linking one tree to another. The floor was mossy and bedded with ferns the color of amethyst. Huge pearl-white and crimson orchids grew at the side of the road, which pointed straight as an arrow into the dark interior.

Then they saw the eyes. There were thousands of them—large, unblinking, tortoiseshell-yellow orbs staring down through the leaves from every part of the forest.

It was such a chilling sight that the professor and the children came to a complete halt. Gradually, they were able to discern the bodies of the Tree Squeaks,
which were hanging upside-down by their tails from every tree. They were like little russet-colored monkeys, with wings folded at their sides.

Lindy took the professor's hand. "Are they awake or asleep?" she whispered.

"Asleep, I think. They have a strange characteristic of being able to sleep with their eyes open. Come on.

They moved forward again, clutching their shoes in their hands. The forest was full of soft rustling sounds and an occasional tiny squeak. The professor and Lindy led the way, with Ben and Tom and the Whiffle Bird bringing up the rear.

Suddenly Ben startled everyone by giving a clear, loud hiccough. He dropped his shoes and clapped a hand across his mouth.

The professor spun around. Ben's eyes were wide with horror. His shoulders heaved as he hiccoughed again.

The Whiffle Bird nervously fluffed out her feathers.
"Shut your mouth,"
she mumbled.

"Sssh," hissed the professor.

Everyone looked up at the Tree Squeaks. They had not moved. The professor picked up Ben's shoes and motioned to the children to follow him.

They had only gone a few more paces when Lindy made a high, squeaky sound, like a mouse with a
bad attack of the sneezes. She looked panic-stricken and started to apologize, but all that came out was another squeaking hiccough. "Oh . . .
heec .
oh! Professor . . .
heec . .
what shall I
,
I. . .
heec .
do?" She could not stop. The professor hurriedly pulled out his big spotted handkerchief. Lindy grabbed it and promptly dropped one of her shoes.