The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles (11 page)

Everyone tried to do something at once. Lindy stuffed the handkerchief into her mouth. Ben bent to pick up Lindy's shoe, still keeping one hand across his mouth. The professor caught his umbrella handle in his pocket, and Tom suddenly gave such a loud
hic
that the surprised Whiffle Bird took off. The professor dived for her and caught her just as she was flying past him. His umbrella and the shoes scattered in all directions.

"Dear Whiffle Bird," he breathed fervently,
"please
don't make a sound."

By now all three children were hiccoughing violently.

The professor signaled for everyone to stand still. He stroked the Whiffle Bird and looked up at the Tree Squeaks. In spite of the noise, they remained undisturbed.

"I'm going to tie your shoes together so that you can hang them around your necks," he whispered. "That will leave your hands free to cover your
mouths." He gathered up the shoes and gave a pair to each child.

"Now then, we will start again. Follow me, and please
try
to keep quiet," at which point he gave the loudest hiccough the children had ever heard.

The professor looked so startled, it was all they could do to keep from laughing. The professor lifted up the collar of his jacket and pulled the coat above his head. Muffled sounds came from beneath it as he struggled to stem the attack.

The children waited, twitching and shaking, trying desperately to rid themselves of their own fearful spasms.

Presently, the professor emerged from beneath his coat, his face beet-red. He gasped, "We should never have eaten—hic—those berries. Take a deep breath and—hic—hold it as long as you—hic—can."

The children did as they were told until they thought their lungs would burst, then they carefully exhaled. To their surprise the hiccoughs seemed to have gone.

They all looked at each other. Everything was silent again. Not a sound, not a single peep came from any of them. They smiled with relief.

"Everybody okay now?" the professor whispered. They nodded.

"Right. Let's get out of here."

They moved off. Without warning, each one of them let forth an explosive, unguarded
hic
at exactly the same moment.

The noise was so loud that it seemed to split the forest wide open. The result was disastrous. Every Tree Squeak rose up into the air, squealing, squawking and screeching, and the entire place rang and throbbed with the terrible sound.

Lindy screamed. Tom covered his ears. "The Whiffle Bird cried, "MAYDAY!" and the professor grumbled, "Fiddlesticks.
Hic.
Fiddlesticks."

Ben watched the black cloud of Tree Squeaks swirling above him. To his amazement, he realized they were screaming "PEOPLE, PEOPLE, PEOPLE, PEOPLE!" as loud as they could. The Prock and every other creature in the land could not fail to hear such a warning.

The Whiffle Bird's voice cut through the frightful din. "CHEER UP!" she squawked.

"Well, that's a stupid thing to say," shouted Ben angrily.

The professor hugged Lindy close because she was sobbing with fright. "Cheer . . . up. Up. Up.
Cheer.
That's it," he cried. "Let's cheer. Let's drown out the noise. I refuse to be intimidated by this racket."

"What's intim-hic-idated?" asked Lindy.

"Oh never mind, darling. Just sing. Sing as loud as you can. All of you. Remember when we went on our picnic and sang in the rain? Sing louder than that."

The professor started to sing a rousing march. The children joined in, stomping and banging their shoes together, making so much noise that the Whiffle Bird got quite excited and flew around shrieking ferociously, "SHOOT THE WORKS!" The terrible clamor above them diminished and their hiccoughs grew less as the professor, waving his umbrella like a baton, led the way through the forest. Quite suddenly, they emerged from the trees and into the daylight. The morning sun was so bright that it took a moment or two to get used to it. They continued singing until they were well away from the forest. The sound of the Tree Squeaks subsided and gradually faded away altogether.

The professor sank into the grass. "My great godfathers!" he said with feeling. "I have never been through such a frightful experience. Those miserable Tree Squeaks and those
ghastly
hiccoughs." He clasped a hand to his stomach.

"Was it the berries that made us hiccough?" asked Tom.

"Of course," replied the professor. "That's what the Whiffle Bird was going on about when we were
eating. When she said 'Shut your mouth' she meant `Don't eat.' "

Ben stroked the Whiffle Bird's beautiful feathers. "You always know the right thing to tell us, don't you, Whiffle Bird?"

The Whiffle Bird made her humming sounds and strutted around proudly.

The professor said, "I really must pay more attention to her. That's the second time I have missed the sense of what she was saying, and both times we got into trouble." He prodded Tom. "There's a lesson in that, young man. Learn to listen well when people are talking. First, it's a great art, and second, it's quite possible that when people say one thing, they mean another." He rubbed his forehead wearily and looked at the children. "You know, we haven't a hope now of reaching the palace without trouble of some kind. I am quite sure the Prock heard the Tree Squeaks and is already making plans to stop us."

"But we are going on, aren't we?" asked Ben hopefully.

"I'd like to—that is, if you all agree," said the professor. "We're really so close . . ."

"I say it's the Prock or us," Tom declared.

"How do you feel about it, Lindy?"

"Oh, I feel fine," she said in a small voice. "I just wish we could stop being surprised all the time."

The professor nodded understandingly and looked around. The region was very different from anything they had seen before: a white desert with cherry-red cactus plants growing out of the sandy ground. There were small foothills in the immediate area and beyond them, the giant mountains and the Whangdoodle's palace.

The professor got to his feet. "Well, if we're going to continue we'd best be on our way." He strode off at a good pace and the children followed.

TWO

It was a warm sultry morning. The pink road wound through the desert
-
like country, and quite suddenly, in the middle of nowhere, it divided. One way went northwest, the other northeast. Signposts at the junction pointed both ways and each sign read
To the Palace.

"Here's a dilemma," said the professor. "Which way shall we go?"

"WATCH YOUR STEP," squawked the Whiffle Bird.

The professor looked at her closely. "You couldn't possibly explain that remark, could you?" he asked.

She remained silent.

"There's only one thing to do," the professor declared. "We must take a gamble. Come along."

They took the road heading northwest. Having traveled for some time, they turned a corner and there, sitting in the middle of the road, was a creature. He was staring at his very tiny toes and singing a sad mournful song.

He had a small head and a large body; in fact, he was completely pear-shaped. He was the color of early-morning mist and had two soulful brown eyes with extremely long, silky eyelashes and a topknot of hair that stuck out of his head like the bristles of a scrubbing brush.

The professor pulled the children to a halt. The creature obviously had not seen them, for he continued to sing and stare at the ground.

Oh . . woe . . woe is me.

Pm fat, and my toes are so ti . . . neee.

Hi diddley, dum de din,

I wish I knew what place I'm in.

Ho . . . alas . . . alack . . hooray,

I'm here tomorrow, gone today.

The professor cleared his throat and tapped the whatever-it-was on the shoulder. The creature looked up quite unsurprised and stared for a long time. Then he simply said, "Oh. Hello."

"Good morning," said the professor brightly. "We were wondering if you could give us some help."

"Help? Oh yes, it would be nice," the creature replied absently.

"My nam
e is Savant. May I know yours?"

"Know my what?"

"Your name."

"Ah. Yes. I have a name. Somewhere." He looked around vaguely. "I think I'm a Grick. Or is it a Dunk? I'm sure I'm somebody. It's on a piece of paper. I don't know where I put it."

"Would it be that paper in your hand?"

"What hand?" The creature looked startled. "Oh yes, here we are." He peered at a piece of faded parchment which he had been clutching. "Yes. This is definitely what I am. I'm an Oinck."

The professor was excited. "I thought you probably were, but I wasn't sure. It's a great pleasure to meet you."

"Is it?" said the creature. "I've never met me, so I wouldn't know."

"Could you tell me if this is the correct way to the palace?"

"What palace?"

"That one up there." The professor pointed.

"Gracious. What
is
that?" The Oinck peered at the mountain. "I don't see very much, you know. Only my toes." He looked back at the ground and began singing again.

If I had eleven toes

I would use one for a nose, Which I haven't got

Because it's much too hot.

He looked at the professor and said, "It is too hot for a nose, isn't it?"

"Well, it certainly is warm," agreed the professor.

"Yes, indeed." The Oinck rolled his eyes up to the sky and rocked slowly backwards and forwards. "No doubt about it. A nose would be miserable in this heat."

The children burst out laughing.

The professor decided to try again. "Is this the road to the palace?"

The Oinck jumped. "You startled me. Who are you?"

The professor sighed. "I'm just trying to find out if this road leads anywhere."

"Ah. Well, I'll tell you nothing for something," said the Oinck solemnly. "If you follow this road long enough, you're definitely going to get somewhere. You haven't seen an Oinck by any chance, have you?"

The professor grinned. "Funny you should ask. I was just talking to one."

"Were
you?" The Oinck seemed very impressed. "I haven't been in touch since I left the Whangdoodle."

"When did you last see the Whangdoodle?"

"Ooh. Perhaps it was yesterday."

"Which direction did you come from?"

"I came from where I was," said the Oinck. "Did you take
this
road, or the other road back there?" pressed the professor.

"Yes, definitely," nodded the Oinck, and he began to sing again.

It's left or right to anyplace,

Depending on the way you face.

And when you're left and looking 'round, Then right seems much the better ground. But just when right is Paradise,

The left appears to be as nice.

"That fellow isn't as absentminded as he makes himself out to be," the professor confided to the children. "He can't remember anything, yet he su
d
denly spoke of the Whangdoodle. I'm sure that last song was meant to confuse us."

"I'll bet the Prock sent him," said Ben.

"My guess, exactly. Come on."

The professor led the way around the Oinck, who continued singing to himself, apparently oblivious of everything but his toes. However, after they had gone a short distance, the professor and the children turned for a last look and the Oinck was nowhere in sight.

"Ha," said the professor. "I thought as much. He's probably gone straight to the Prock."

"Oh, dear." Lindy suddenly felt anxious.

"Don't worry, Lindy. Look how content the Whiffle Bird is. I'm sure we're doing the right thing."

"Could I take off my scrappy cap ?" she asked. "I'm feeling awfully hot."

"I should say not," the professor replied. "You must all keep your hats on. I told you how important they are." Then he cried excitedly, "Well, look at that. No wonder you're feeling hot."

The pink road ahead wound its way among a number of steaming, bubbling pools. Surrounded by the white desert, they heaved and swirled like cream in a mixer, making the most wonderful bubbly, squelchy sounds. Suddenly, one of the pools began to rise like
a cake in an oven, swelling and expanding, and finally exploding in a shower of white foam. Another pool exploded and then another.

"We must be in a kind of geyser basin," declared the professor.

"What's a geyser?" asked Lindy.

"Just what you see—a series of fountain
-
like jets coming from boiling water underground that has turned to steam."

Lindy moved around to the far side of a pool just as a plume of water rose into the air.

"O000h, Professor," she cried. "I can see you through the water. You look all wavy. Can you see me?"

"I can indeed." The professor peered at her through the fountain. "It's like looking through the mirrors at a fun house, isn't it?"

Ben and Tom walked on down the road. The Whiffle Bird gave a squawk and flapped around the professor's head.

"WATCH IT," she called. She flew to the top of the fountain and balanced on the crest, tumbling over and over on it, looking like a multicolored spinning ball.

"I am watching, my friend," the professor called out to her, "and very pretty you look, too."

The boys were a considerable way down the road.

Ben said, "Look. There's another signpost. Let's see what it says."

The sign read:
To the Stump.

"I've heard of that," said Tom.

"Yes, of course," cried Ben excitedly. "Don't you remember the first signpost we ever saw . . . back in the Blandlands? The professor said then that we would have to pass 'The Stump.' Now this really proves we're on the right road."

"That must be it over there." Tom pointed to a large rock, shaped like an anvil with a flat smooth top. Beyond it was a grove of stringy-looking trees, ash-grey and without foliage, standing like ghostly sentinels guarding the foothills.

Ben said, "Let's run and tell the professor."

"No, wait." There was a quality in Tom's voice that Ben had seldom heard. He followed his brother's gaze. His mouth fell open and his legs felt as though they were turning to jelly.

Standing a little way from "The Stump," glittering and gleaming in the sunlight, were two of the most beautiful mini-motorcycles the boys had ever seen. They had thick, deeply grooved tires and bold, upswept handlebars. The powerful engines were slung beneath a backbone of gleaming silver tubing, and the jet-black gas tanks had orange and red and acid-pink flames painted on them.

A large sign near the bikes proclaimed:

TRY THE GAZOOK 200.

WORLD'S MOST POWERFUL MINICYCLE.

NO BETTER WAY TO GET WHERE YOU'RE GOING. FREE RIDES FOR ALL.

Ben forgot all about being the oldest and the fact that he ought to be responsible and set a good example for the other children. "Come on . . ." he said ecstatically.

The professor, who had been hurrying to catch up with the boys, saw them running towards the minicycles. It took only seconds for him to grasp the situation.

"No, boys! No!" he yelled at the top of his voice. But one of the geysers erupted behind him and his warning was drowned by the noise.

Ben and Tom swung into the thick leather saddles and kicked the starters. The Gazooks sprang to life with a roar—crackling, growling, snarling, quivering with suppressed power.

With sure instinct the two boys opened the throttles and let out the clutches. The bikes leaped forward, spitting flames and belching clouds of exhaust that hung like an ominous black snake over the white sand.

The professor came to a halt, with Lindy beside him.

"Oh, fiddlesticks," he said angrily.

"What great minibikes," said Lindy. "Ben has been wanting one for ages."

"Unfortunately, Lindy, those are not what they seem; they are Gazooks."

"What are Gazooks?"

"Some of the most diabolical creatures in Whangdoodleland. I warned you all that the Prock would stop at nothing . . . that when all else failed he would use our weaknesses for weapons. The boys' desire completely overcame their sense of caution and they walked right into his trap."

Lindy was stunned. "You mean that they aren't motorbikes? They're actually creatures?"

"I mean just that."

"Wow."

The boys careered past her in wide, sliding turns, the tires gouging out deep furrows of flying sand.

"What's so terrible about Gazooks, anyway? The boys are just taking a ride."

"No they're not. What they don't know is that once you get on a Gazook you can never get off."

The noise was deafening. Lindy put her hands over her ears.

The boys raced back and forth across the desert, laughing and joking, mowing down the little red cactus plants and generally causing havoc.

When they finally tired of their high-speed maneuvers, they tried to slow down and discovered, to their horror, that they could not. The brakes would not respond at all.

Ben's Gazook turned sharply and raced towards "The Stump." As it came abreast of the professor, the Gazook reared up, giving Ben a split second in which to yell, "I can't stop this thing!"

The creature crashed down and roared off across the sand with Ben bouncing hard in the saddle. He saw Tom heading directly towards him and swerved to avoid a collision.

Tom was shouting, "What do I do, Ben? What do I do?"

The Whiffle Bird flew into the air and screamed, "UP A GUM TREE!"

"What does she mean?" asked Lindy.

"It's an expression meaning there's no place to go," said the professor, looking very bewildered.

"Is that
all
it means?"

"Don't bother me, Lindy. I'm trying to figure it out."

"UP A GUM TREE!" shrieked the Whiffle Bird again. She flew around and around frantically.

The professor covered his face with his hands. Lindy tugged at his sleeve, but he seemed not to notice her. She tugged again.

"What is it?" His voice was sharp with annoyance.

"I'm sorry, Professor, but I just want to say one thing." She waited until the Gazooks had roared past. "Are you sure that the Whiffle Bird doesn't mean something else? Perhaps it's like you told us . . . you know, she's saying one thing and meaning another."

The professor looked at Lindy. Then he looked around and spotted the grove of weird-looking trees behind "The Stump."

"My gosh, Lindy!" He clapped a hand to his head. "You're an angel. An absolute angel!"

He ran across the sand, waving his arms and yelling to the boys as loudly as he could, "Head for the trees! Head for the trees!"

Ben heard him and nodded in understanding. He could feel the creature beneath him straining to pull in a different direction. It took all his strength to keep the Gazook pointing towards the trees. They crashed headlong into the grove and a remarkable thing happened.

The Gazook sank into a thick, sticky-looking substance that covered the ground. Long bands of rubbery pulp became enmeshed in the spokes of the wheels, clogging and slowing them down until the bike was forced to a halt.

The professor ran to the edge of the grove. "Get off, Ben, get off now!" he yelled, and jumped neatly to one side as the Gazook carrying Tom shot past him and also plunged into the mire. The boys leaped from the thrashing, churning creatures.

"Try to climb the trees!" the professor cried.

Stumbling, plunging, dragging themselves along through the thick gum, muscles trembling with fatigue, the boys managed to pull themselves into a tree.

The Gazooks roared with frustration and lay on the ground in paroxysms of rage. Their wheels were jammed, their fenders dented and buckled from the crash. They lunged and struggled until they were upright once more, then shook themselves and spat and choked on the cloying gum.

Slowly, laboriously, they heaved themselves out of the grove and onto dry land. With a howl of rage they raced away towards the foothills, snarling, snapping and belching black exhaust until they became mere specks on the horizon and finally disappeared.

The professor stood gazing up at the boys.

Ben saw the anger written on his face. "I'm sorry, Professor. I'm really sorry."

"I should hope so. You could have been killed . . . or you could have broken something. Any one of us could have been run over."

The professor was
shaking with mingled relief and
rage. "Seldom have I seen such a brilliant display of enthusiasm and daring. What a pity that you wasted it on a mere self-indulgence. How much better it would have been had you channeled all that energy and directed it towards something constructive." He sat down and put his chin on his hands and gazed moodily across the desert.

Ben discovered that however he tried he could not get down from the tree. The more he moved, the more he was trapped by the horrible sticky substance.

After a few moments, he cleared his throat and called tentatively, "Professor, I I. . . er . . . I'm having a bit of a problem. I'm stuck."

"I'm not surprised," the professor replied. "You're up a gum tree."

"I am?"

"You both are."

Tom asked, "How are we going to get out of this mess?"

The professor did not look at them. "I can only think of one way right now, and that is to chew your way out. It'll take a while. You'd better get started."

There was a pause. "You mean we have to chew this stuff? The whole tree?" Tom was appalled.

"Well, it's gum, isn't it? I thought all boys liked gum. If you can think of a better way down, then by all means try it."

Benjamin reluctantly picked a piece of the bark and chewed on it. His eyes widened with surprise. "This tastes like bubble gum. It really does. Try some, Tom."

Tom took a bite. "It is bubble gum. It's delicious. This is going to be easy." He took a whole sticky fistful.

Lindy sat down beside the professor. Seeing him so upset made her quite tearful. She slipped her hand into his. "I've never seen you so angry before," she said quietly.

"I've never been so angry before."

Lindy thought about it for a while. Then, with her usual candor, she said, "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but I think you're being a bit unfair." She struggled to find the right words. "I don't think Ben and Tom did anything so really terrible. I mean . . . they are boys, and boys just love machines and powerful things like motorbikes. Didn't you feel that way when you were a boy?"

The professor looked at her for a long moment. He slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Yes, Lindy, I felt exactly that way when I was a boy, and I did many things that were foolish. But occasionally an angry, sensible adult showed me the error of my ways. Tom and Ben were foolish and irresponsible. Their actions put u
s all in great danger and, as a
sensible adult, I think I had a perfect right to get angry and, thereby, teach them an important lesson."

At that moment there was a very loud report behind them, and they turned in alarm to look at the boys, whose cheeks were bulging with gum.

"What was that noise?" inquired the professor sharply.

Ben pointed to his brother and, with his mouth full, he mumbled, "He just blew the biggest bubble you ever saw." He was beginning to look green. "I don't think I can chew much more," he said. "I like bubble gum and this stuff is great, but it's awfully sweet."

Lindy, astonished, said, "Look at Tom."

He was blowing another bubble. They all watched in amazement as it grew and grew. Tom was going cross-eyed in his effort to expand the bubble, which was already the size of his head and still growing.

The Whiffle Bird flew into the air and flapped past the boys. "KEEP A STIFF UPPER LIP!" she squawked.

The professor looked startled. Then he said, "Do exactly as she says, Tom. Keep a stiff upper lip and don't let that bubble burst, whatever you do."