by Mark Crilley
Gax gave a little squeak of surprise, and even Poog whirled around to see the man’s reaction. Mr. Beeba glared at Spuckler in irritation.
“You idiot!” he said through his teeth.
The restaurant man’s face twitched and his whole body shook from side to side. Slowly his eyes fluttered open and his jaw dropped slightly. As his eyes began to focus on us, his face quickly took on an expression of great surprise. For a second or two I was afraid he’d be angry, but then a gentle gleam appeared in his eyes and he smiled from one ear to the other.
“Customers!” he said happily.
His voice was high-pitched and squeaky, not exactly the sort of thing you’d expect to hear coming from a man his size. He thumped his feet down on the floor and stood up as fast as his body would allow him.
“You,” he continued, suddenly sounding a bit more cautious, “you are customers, aren’t you?”
“Actually—” Mr. Beeba began, clearing his throat in preparation for a lengthy explanation.
“Darn right we’re customers!” Spuckler interrupted. “And we’re real hungry, too!”
Spuckler was right: We were hungry. Well, I was, anyway.
The restaurant man clapped his big hands together and rubbed them gleefully.
“Oh, this is marvelous!” he said, doing a little jig. “Customers!”
I wondered how long it had been since he’d had customers. Months? Years? In any case, he seemed determined to make the most of the occasion.
“Please, take off your coats and sit down,” he said, apparently not noticing that we weren’t wearing any coats. “I’m going to fix up a feast the likes of which you’ve never seen!
“Sit! Sit!” he repeated as he hustled through a pair of swinging doors into what appeared to be a tidy little kitchen. The doors creaked back and forth just once before he burst back through with an apologetic smile.
“The lights!” he announced by way of explanation. “How could I forget the lights?”
He flicked a switch on the wall, quickly barged back through the doors, and vanished from sight. With a bit of flickering and buzzing, the lights on the ceiling burned bright white, making the whole room seem even shinier and cleaner than it had before. Then, after a second or two of silence, a wonderful clattering noise came forth from the kitchen, sounding more like a dozen cooks at work than just one.
Spuckler lifted Gax onto one of the stools while Mr. Beeba and I sat down next to each other. Poog just hovered near my shoulder with a contented look on his face. No one was in a better mood than Spuckler, though. He licked and smacked his lips loudly, causing Mr. Beeba to shudder with an exaggerated expression of embarrassment.
Before long we heard something sizzling and popping on a grill, and a greasy but pleasant aroma floated out from the kitchen.
“Smell that, ’Kiko?” Spuckler asked, greedily inhaling as much of it as he could. “That’s what made this place famous: Smud Burgers!”
Mr. Beeba grimaced as if he’d have much preferred something along the lines of filet mignon.
I don’t know why, but while I was sitting there I started thinking about the cafeteria at Middleton Elementary. The food there was generally pretty decent. Well, everything except the squishy little burritos wrapped in plastic that they served on Wednesdays. Yuck! I always tried to give mine to someone else, and if I couldn’t manage that I’d just toss the whole thing right into the nearest garbage can.
Suddenly I had this ridiculous vision of the Smudko’s restaurant guy coming back with a whole plateful of those very same Middleton Elementary burritos. I was so hungry, I’d have gladly eaten five or six of them! I’m not kidding, either.
Soon the kitchen doors began flying open and shut as the restaurant man bustled in and out, bringing food to us by the trayful. There was a wide, round plate with big flat burgers stacked up into a miniature pyramid. A big bowl was piled high with shiny green meatballs, rubbery things that looked as if they might bounce if you dropped them on the floor. There were several little plates of fried wormy-looking stuff that may or may not have been some kind of vegetable. Next to that was an enormous football-shaped thing that looked a lot like a baked potato, but when Spuckler cut it open it was all purple and slimy on the inside. And there were big paper cups for all of us (even Poog!) filled with a black liquid that looked a lot like something I once saw my dad pour into the engine of our car. I’ll be honest: It all looked extremely unappetizing.
But the smell! It smelled fantastic. At least ten times as good as most of the fast-food places back in Middleton, and maybe even better than my mom’s cooking.
“Eat up, folks!” the restaurant man said proudly, as if he couldn’t wait to see what we thought of it. “And keep your money in your pockets,” he added. “It’s all on the house!”
Thank goodness. I didn’t even have any money in my pockets.
Spuckler didn’t need to be told twice. He picked up two Smud Burgers, one in each hand, and stuffed both into his mouth at once. It was a pretty impressive sight, and it made me curious to try one myself.
I’ll never forget my first bite of Smud Burger. The bun was quite soft and spongy, but the meat was, well, crunchy! It was sort of like eating a mouthful of peanuts, except it was also very juicy, like a big, ripe tomato. There were all kinds of flavors in it, from sour and salty to sweet and spicy. I finished the whole thing in under a minute, then started on another.
Mr. Beeba seemed more impressed with a doughnut-shaped food that was as soft and light as cotton candy but tasted a little like some sort of baked fish.
“Heavens, my good man,” Mr. Beeba said, his mouth still full of food, “these are some of the finest Moolo Rings I’ve ever had.”
“Please,” the restaurant man replied with a great big smile on his face, “call me Yabby.”
“Yabby,” Spuckler declared, half rising to his feet, “I reckon you’re the best cook in the galaxy, and I ain’t jus’ sayin’ that, neither!”
Yabby beamed and blushed both at once. You could tell he was very proud of his cooking.
“So where are you folks headed?” he asked us.
“Just to the end of the bridge,” I said, glancing at Mr. Beeba to make sure it was okay to talk about our mission. He nodded and waved a reassuring hand, his mouth stuffed full of Moolo Rings.
“You can tell him more if you like, Akiko,” he said, swallowing loudly. “I’m sure we can trust Mr. Yabby not to tell anyone what we’re up to.”
“That’s for sure,” Yabby chuckled. “I get very few customers, as you’ve probably guessed.”
“We’re on a mission to rescue Prince Froptoppit,” I explained. “He’s been kidnapped by Alia Rellapor.”
“Oh dear,” Yabby said, a worried expression coming over his face. “I hope you have warm clothes.”
There was an awkward pause as I tried to figure out what he meant by this. I glanced at Mr. Beeba and Spuckler, who both gave me an I don’t know either look in return.
“And, uh, what if we don’t?” I asked Yabby.
“Well, Alia Rellapor’s castle is surrounded by miles of snow and ice,” Yabby explained. “Without proper clothing you’ll all freeze to death before you get anywhere near it.”
Spuckler turned to Mr. Beeba, pointing an accusing finger at his face.
“You never said nothin’ ’bout no snow and ice!”
“Yes, well, the books I read on the subject were, um, more concerned with the topography than the climate, you see. . .”
“Well, of all th’ . . . ,” Spuckler fumed. “What’re we gonna do now?”
“Relax, my friends,” Yabby said. “I’ll have a look around back. Maybe I can find some coats for you.”
Yabby went back into the kitchen and reemerged a minute or two later with his arms full of coats, blankets, and other pieces of cloth. He also produced a needle and thread and a measuring tape and began taking my measurements.
“I haven’t got anything in your size, little girl,” he said
to me, “but I think we can work something out.”
We spent the next several hours chatting about this and that as Yabby made a coat for me. Spuckler told a bunch of exciting stories about things he’d done when he was younger: rocket races he’d won, monsters he’d fought. Some of it sounded as if he was just making it all up, but it was very entertaining anyway.
Mr. Beeba went back into the kitchen and made some tea for us. It was kind of orange and extremely sweet. I didn’t really like it, but I tried to drink it all anyway so he wouldn’t feel bad. Unfortunately, Mr. Beeba thought this meant I really liked it, so he refilled my cup! From then on I just took tiny little sips.
I asked Yabby if he’d ever seen Alia Rellapor or the man called Throck.
“No, no, I never have,” Yabby replied. “I saw a dark little spaceship fly overhead the other day. I wonder if that might have been this Throck fellow you’re talking about.
“But no, I’ve never seen either of them,” he added with a wink, “and I hope I never do!”
Yabby was very nearly done with my coat. He even managed to take some leftover scraps and make coats for Poog and Gax. We all complimented him on his craftsmanship as we tried our new clothes on.
“You are a man of many talents, Mr. Yabby,” Mr. Beeba said respectfully, refilling Yabby’s cup with tea. “It’s a shame you can’t join us on our mission. We could use a man of your resourcefulness!”
“Yeah, Yabby,” Spuckler agreed. “We’d love to have ya along. Ya gotta admit it’d be a whole lot more fun than hangin’ around this borin’ old restaurant.”
“I wish I could,” Yabby replied, blushing at the praise. “I’m a cook, though. Not an adventurer.”
Spuckler and Mr. Beeba tried pretty hard to convince him, but it was clear he was determined to stay. So we all stood up and prepared to say goodbye.
Carrying our coats folded under our arms, we all went outside and stood in front of the restaurant for a few minutes. A cool wind swept across the bridge, making the little flags surrounding the building flutter wildly.
“Do take care of yourselves, now,” Yabby said with a slightly worried look on his face. “The realm of Alia Rellapor is very inhospitable. You shouldn’t stay there any longer than you have to.”
“Believe me, Mr. Yabby,” Mr. Beeba said, looking only slightly less worried himself, “we’re hoping to spend as little time there as we can!”
“Oh dear, I almost forgot!” Yabby said, hurrying back into his restaurant. “Wait right here!”
A moment later he came back holding a large brown paper bag with the Smudko’s logo on it.
“I’ve packed a few sandwiches for you,” he explained, handing the bag to Spuckler, “for the road.”
“Why, thank ya, Yabby!” said Spuckler. “I was sort of hopin’ we might be able to get a little carryout. . . .”
I gave Yabby a big hug and thanked him for the coat, the food, and everything else he’d done for us. Spuckler and Mr. Beeba each shook Yabby’s hand, and Gax said goodbye with a little nod of his helmet. Poog also thanked Yabby, which Mr. Beeba said was a pretty big deal since Poog usually remained silent in this kind of situation.
Finally we all waved goodbye and continued along the bridge, turning back every so often to wave at Yabby one more time. A half hour or so later, Yabby and the restaurant were nothing more than little dots in the distance.
With our bellies full of Smud Burgers, we were all in a very good mood as we walked along the seemingly endless bridge. From the look of the sun in the sky, I figured it was early afternoon. Our goal was to make it to the end of the bridge by nightfall, but since we had no idea how long the bridge actually was, it was hard to tell how long it would take. We walked as fast as we could, though, just in case.
The longer we walked, the cooler the wind seemed to get. After an hour or two it definitely started to get colder. The sky began to cloud over, and the wind had a damp, chilly sting to it that hadn’t been there before. Mr. Beeba and I put our coats on first, followed by Gax and Poog (actually, I had to help Poog put his coat on, since he couldn’t do it by himself). Spuckler kept insisting that it wasn’t that cold, but finally even he gave in and put his coat on.
The sky got grayer and grayer, making it difficult to tell how late it was. Every once in a while the sun would break through the clouds, lighting up portions of the bridge and the water in dramatic bursts of white light. The surface of the Moonguzzit Sea became dark and very rough, with choppy little waves rippling under the bridge from one side to the other. I pulled the collar of my coat up against my cheeks and blew on my hands to keep them warm.
“Mr. Yabby was right,” Mr. Beeba said, half burying his head in his coat. “We are most definitely heading into a cooler climate.”
“Cold is good, Beebs,” Spuckler said optimistically. “Gets the blood churnin’.”
“THE TEMPERATURE IS FAST APPROACHING THE POINT OF FREEZING, SIR,” Gax announced with a jittery clicking noise. I wondered if the lower temperatures would be hard on Gax. I remembered this big ice storm we had in Middleton one time, and how hard it was for my dad to get our car started. Gax seemed to be doing pretty well, though, and I should probably have been more worried about myself. After all, I didn’t have any gloves or even a hat.
“Uh-oh,” Spuckler said, pointing a finger down the length of the bridge. “Looks like old Throck’s got another message for us.”
“Another message?” I asked.
“I think I see another of his li’l signposts down there in the middle of the bridge.”
Sure enough, there in the distance was a small wooden sign with the same scratchy writing on it, creaking back and forth in the icy wind. We all quickened our pace until we were close enough to read it. There was a part of me that really didn’t want to read it, to tell the truth.
It said:
STOP! TURN AROUND! GO BACK! RETURN TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM! IT WILL SOON BE TOO LATE TO RECONSIDER. THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING.
“F-final warning?” Mr. Beeba sputtered. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“We must be getting closer to Alia’s castle,” Spuckler said, his breath making little white clouds in the air. “I wish old Throck would just come out and face us, ’stead of puttin’ up these corny signs.”
“I don’t want to face him,” I said, my voice trembling a little. “I don’t ever want to see him again!”
“Don’t you worry, ’Kiko,” Spuckler said, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “I’ll protect ya. I won’t let Throck touch a hair on your head.”
“Yes, Akiko,” Mr. Beeba joined in. “Spuckler will protect all of us, you can be sure of that.”
“Hey, I didn’t say nothin’ about protectin’ you, Beebs,” Spuckler said with a wink.
“Hmpf!” Mr. Beeba snorted. “Come on, let’s keep moving. It’s the only way to stay warm.”
So we stepped around the sign and left Throck’s “final warning” behind us. A few minutes later it started to snow.
Soon the entire surface of the bridge was covered with a fine dusting of white. It seemed to grow thicker by the minute, and before long there was a good inch or so of the stuff. With some amusement I glanced back at the various tracks we were making: my own waffle-textured sneaker prints; Spuckler’s single footprint alternating with the little dash made by his peg leg; Mr. Beeba’s enormous round footprints; Gax’s narrow, wobbly tire tracks. If someone was following us, they’d be scratching their heads trying to figure out what sort of creatures we all were!
Every once in a while the wind would suddenly die down for a minute or two. Then we would find ourselves strolling through an oddly peaceful scene, surrounded by big white snowflakes against a charcoal-gray sky. It was almost totally silent, apart from the muffled crunch of our footsteps and the soft patter of the waves lapping up against the bridge. I could almost believe that there was nothing at all to be afraid of.
“Are my eyes playing tricks on me,” said Mr. Beeba as he peered th
rough the drifting snowflakes, “or is that the end of the bridge up there?”
It was so dark that I couldn’t see much of anything. But as we continued walking, the outline of a faraway shore gradually became visible, with the dark outline of a mountainous horizon beyond it. We walked even faster, and before long the end of the bridge was plain for all of us to see.
We’d done it. We’d made it to the realm of Alia Rellapor.
“Hot diggity dog!” Spuckler cried, obviously very pleased with our progress. “Get ready, Alia!” he added at the top of his lungs, cupping his hands around his mouth and sending his voice echoing over the hills. “We’re on our way!”
Gax buzzed and squeaked cheerfully. Even Poog had a big smile on his face.
I wasn’t happy at all, though. I know it doesn’t make much sense, but even though we’d spent days and days doing everything we could just to get here, now that we’d arrived I wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back.
“Don’t worry, Akiko,” Mr. Beeba whispered, almost as if he were reading my thoughts. “I’m just as frightened as you are. I’ve had moments when I secretly hoped we’d never even make it this far. But I’m sure that in the end everything will be okay.”
“Really?” I asked. “You promise?”
“Well, er,” he replied, gesturing nervously with his hands, “if you mean ‘promise’ in the sense of ‘guarantee,’ I’m afraid it would be rather disingenuous of me to imply, er—”
“Look, Mr. Beeba,” I interrupted, “just say yes, okay?”
He gave me a confused glance, then cleared his throat and spoke with a great show of confidence.
“Yes, of course I promise, Akiko. I promise, I promise.”
“Thanks.”
We stepped off the end of the bridge and into the blanket of snow covering the shore. There before us was the faint outline of a road stretching out over the hills.
The snow was thicker here by several inches, and it occurred to me that we might eventually have trouble following the trail. Not only that, but we had nowhere to spend the night! Surely we couldn’t just sleep out in the open. But we couldn’t keep walking all night, either. My head was starting to hurt and I began to really wish I were back at home in my bed, tucked under the covers, where I could just lean over, turn out the light, and—
