"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."
&nbs
p; 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 us 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."
Tom could only wave a hand to show that he understood. He had to concentrate very hard, for the huge bubble was now bigger than he was. He felt a tugging sensation and realized that the bubble was pulling him, lifting him out of the tree. He kicked his legs as hard as he could. There was a loud squelchy pop and Tom suddenly floated up into the sky.
Lindy, the professor and Ben witnessed the amazing spectacle of a boy soaring through the air at the end of a giant balloon.
"Keep it up, Tom! Keep it up!" cried the professor.
Ben stopped his chewing for a moment and observed his brother with considerable respect and awe.
A little way out of the grove, Tom floated gently down to earth, landing near the professor. The tremendous bubble collapsed in a sticky heap on top of him. Lindy and the professor quickly cleared it away and the boy sat up, greatly relieved to be on firm ground once again.
The professor called out, "All right, Ben. You know what you have to do. Let's see if you can blow a bigger bubble than Tom."
Ben chewed hard and tried a number of times before he produced a bubble with any promise of success. He blew it up very, very carefully, and everyone sent up a terrific cheer as he rose out of the tree and high into the sky, up and up, until he was eventually just a dot among the clouds.
Then a terrible thing happened. The huge bubble exploded and Ben tumbled towards the earth.
Lindy screamed, Tom gasped and the professor shouted, "Blow another bubble!"
Ben worked frantically at the wad of gum in his mouth. It was difficult because he was rolling over and over as he fell. It was only a matter of seconds, but it seemed like an eternity before he was able to blow another bubble large enough to break his fall.
He made a very bumpy landing. He looked pale and uttered strange, garbled sounds. It was apparent that he had swallowed his gum.
The professor gave him a tremendous thump on the back and Ben coughed the gum up. He drew in deep breaths of fresh air and it was not long before his color returned to normal.
"We have wasted valuable time," said the professor. "The Gazooks will certainly have used this delay to go to the Prock, and that means more trouble." He tipped his head and said, with gentle scorn, "It would be such a help if we could stay together from now on and work as a team. Do you think we might manage that?"
The children nodded fervently.
"Right. Then let's get out of this miserable spot."
THREE
They were glad to be on the move once more. Ben said, "Professor, I meant to tell you something. When I was up in the air I had quite a good view of the palace."
The professor was intrigued. "What did you see?"
"There's a long bridge over a deep chasm."
"Ha. That's good to know. Did you see a path going up the mountain?"
"Yes, it's the same pink trail that we're on now." Tom sniffed the air. "I smell something good." Lindy's nose twitched. "It's like honeysuckle."
A wonderful smile appeared on the professor's face. "It is honeysuckle—it's coming on the breeze," he said. "I've heard that the Whangdoodle's palace has the perfume of honeysuckle around it all the time. We are getting close."
They were almost at the base of the Whangdoodle's mountain. Through a natural rock arch, the pink road wound its way to the summit. They could see the gleaming turrets of the palace above the scudding clouds.
"Not long now, Professor," said Ben encouragingly.
He had no sooner spoken the words than they were echoed by a chorus of soft voices in the surrounding hills. "Not long now. Not long now."
The professor said distractedly, "Fiddlesticks. What is that? What's going on?"
"What's going on? What's going on?" said the voices, and they grew a little louder.
The children moved close to the professor. They could see nothing to account for the voices and there was no clue as to where they were coming from. The echoes chased themselves around and around.
The professor rubbed his head irritably. "This is too much. I mean, a fight is a fight, but the Prock goes too far." He raised his voice. "Come on out. Come on, whoever you are. Let's see you."
"Let's see you. Let's see you," mocked the voices, laughing shrilly.
Lindy took the professor's hand, her face white with fear.
Ben felt the anger welling up within him. "Now stop that," he cried.
"Stop that. Stop that. Nyaa! Nyaa! Nyaa!" The voices grew louder yet.
Then, quite suddenly and with tremendous energy, a large furry creature hurtled out of nowhere and landed on the path in front of the professor, who gasped and recoiled with shock.
The creature was a bright bilious green, with shaggy fur and apelike features. It had a hideous grin and displayed a startling array of sharp pointed teeth. It was screaming and dancing up and down, hurling abuse at the professor and the children.
"Get out of here. Get out. Yaaa! Miserable people. Miserable!"
The Whiffle Bird panicked and screamed her traditional "MAYDAY!" as a horde of identical creatures swarmed over the hilltops towards them. They were shrieking and skulking and leaping and lurking and saying the most appalling things.
Horrid people! Go away—Don't come back another day.
Ugly busybody!
Sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong.
Beastly human, leave this place; We can't stand your silly face.
This last remark was directed at the professor. He spoke calmly over the noise of the jeering mob. "Children, try not to be frightened. Stand perfectly still and do not answer back."
"What are these awful things?" Ben gasped as one green monster poked his arm with a sharp finger.
"Awful things! Awful! Awful!" yelled the furry horde.
"They're called Swamp Gaboons, I think," said the professor. His head was beginning to pound from the noise.
Swamp Gaboons. Swamp Gaboons.
Handsome, happy, crazy loon
s.
The creatures linked arms, completely blocking the archway. They executed a series of precision high kicks, and the sight of them bobbing up and down like a chorus line with their shaggy green fur shaking and shimmying was almost funny.
But the abuse was hard to take. One Gaboon skipped forward and pushed its face close to Tom. "Blaaah . . . silly boy," it said, sticking out its tongue and waving its arms.
Tom couldn't help himself. He stuck out his own tongue and yelled back, "Blaaah to you too."
The Swamp Gaboon was delighted. "Oooo . . . isn't he rude!" he screamed, and danced away to join his laughing companions.
The professor spoke sternly. "Thomas, that is not the way to behave. I warned you not to answer back. It only encourages them."
The Gaboons bunched together and chanted in hideous harmony:
We don't care, we don't care.
Sleek of fur and green of hair.
Tough of tooth and sharp of nail.
Legs that kick and arms that flail.
Even if you scream and fuss
We've no feelings. Can't hurt us.
They began hurling twigs and small stones at the professor and the children.
Lindy said through clenched teeth, "I hate them. I absolutely, positively hate those bullies. They're gross!"
"Gross. Gross. Gross. Gross. Oh . . . isn't she cute?" The creatures simpered and sneered.
The Whiffle Bird flew onto Tom's shoulder. She too was disturbed by the shrieking mob and she screamed, "MIND YOUR MANNERS!" in an angry voice.
The Swamp Gaboons rolled on the ground in delight. "Mind your manners. Listen to Mommy. Listen to Mommy."
Lindy could contain herself no longer. She took a step forward. "You know what I think?" she shouted. "I think you're all very, very rude. You have no right to speak to people like that."
One Gaboon blew her a loud raspberry. Another stood on its head and wiggled its ears.
"Lindy, that's enough!" said the professor sharply.
But Lindy had been pushed too far. "If my mummy were here right now, do you know what she'd say to you?"
The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles Page 12
