Feeling certain that he’d figured it out, Andy moved over to the two piles of skulls. Looking at each one closely, he was relieved to see that the red ones weren’t covered with blood, and the black ones weren’t burned.
It was paint.
Andy gathered the red skulls and arranged them in two neat rows, placing one skull on each of the alternating-color tiles at the back of one side of the room. Then he did the same with the black skulls on the opposite side.
When the rows were complete, he stared down at the giant-size checkerboard he’d created. He didn’t have to wait long after that for something to happen. Slowly, almost majestically, a red skull from the first row rose into the air and moved a single square toward the black side.
The game had begun.
Andy liked checkers. But he soon found that this game was like none other—for, if Andy was jumped by his invisible opponent, the entire tile disappeared along with the skull resting on it, opening a gap in the floor that went down, down, down into nothingness.
Andy didn’t want to know what would happen if he made too many mistakes. The thought that the floor he stood upon could disappear made his knees weak. When he went to advance one of his skulls, he tiptoed across the board, fearing that at any time one of the squares might open beneath him and he would find himself falling into an endless pit!
During the tense game, Andy found that he made very few mistakes after his first one. He only missed one other opportunity—a move that crowned his opponent, who had moved into his back row. When it happened, Andy was standing directly next to the tile that disappeared and watched, horrified, as the white square tumbled down into the infinite blackness.
He shuddered and continued the game. Fortunately, he had no further incidents. Finally, at the end of the game, Andy executed a magnificent triple jump on his invisible opponent and couldn’t help shouting “Yes!” when he saw both piles of skulls reappear where they had been when he’d first discovered them.
Then, like a fog disappearing before a blazing sun, the walls around him evaporated into thin air and he found himself standing back in the temple in front of Bungalow Bob. The witch doctor’s face showed astonishment. But then, to Andy’s surprise, his face crinkled into an amused smile.
“You’ve beaten me, Andy Stanley,” he said. “Which only shows that both you and your grandfather have exceeded my expectations.”
With a simple flick of his wrist, Bungalow Bob restored Rusty, Betty, and Dotty back to their previous forms, much to their collective relief.
“Blast and burn that witch doctor,” cursed Rusty. “I’ve never felt so small-minded.”
Andy chuckled. “You sound like Grandfather,” he said.
Rusty, as always, was the last to see the humor. He just stared at Andy, confused, as if he didn’t know he’d said anything remotely funny. Andy grinned and shook his head. Some things never changed.
Turning to Bungalow Bob, Andy asked, “Why was my grandfather here, anyway?”
The witch doctor’s expression turned sour. “It wasn’t to consult with me about magical cures, I’ll tell you that much.” He leveled his gaze at Andy. “He was searching for magical artifacts. He was using an interesting pair of boots at the time, ones that always led the wearer toward sources of magic. Those boots led him here, and now they are in my collection. He lost them fair and square.…”
Without saying more, Bob motioned for them to follow. Andy walked next to the witch doctor as he led the group from the room filled with shrunken heads down a twisting stone hallway that led inside the darkest recesses of the crumbling temple. As they descended several sloping hallways, the air around them seemed to get thicker and more humid. And when they finally reached the end of the hall, Andy saw the reason why.
An underground river was lapping at the stone banks. And beside the banks was anchored an unusual boat. It had obviously been designed by sorcery, because it glowed with its own mystical light.
“All aboard,” Bungalow Bob said and motioned for them to step inside the boat. Andy noticed that the small boat’s seats were positioned so that the passengers in front and back both faced forward. There was no motor or way of steering it that he could see.
“I would suggest that you keep your hands and arms inside the boat at all times. The water that this boat floats upon is filled with a particularly deadly species of piranha.”
And then, with a flick of Bob’s hand, the boat immediately began to move downriver.
The water was so dark it almost looked black. Soon, the stone dock gave way to earthen banks upon which strange dark trees grew upside down. Andy took note of the unusual plants with their trunks that stretched upward to the high dirt ceiling, their roots presumably emerging somewhere aboveground. Big juicy oranges grew on their underground branches, and Andy couldn’t help remembering the similar tree he’d seen when he and Abigail had found each other in the jungle.
At that time, he’d seen nothing but the tree’s roots. But seeing the full treetops flourishing underground filled him with curiosity. How it was possible that an orange tree could grow and bear fruit in a place like this, a damp tunnel of earth and stone with no sun?
“Those aren’t actually oranges,” Bungalow Bob said, noticing where Andy was looking. “It is a very unusual type of fruit known to the learned as the Citrus Star. It has mild magical properties, such as granting the taster purple skin and golden eyes. It has also been known to cure the common cold.”
Andy nodded in reply. He’d forgotten that magic could take the place of reason when something could not be explained any other way.
As they floated farther downriver, he noticed a beautiful brick terrace that was positioned on a nearby bank. Tables and chairs were gathered around a large platform, and the walls were covered with ornately painted masks and artwork. It looked like a rather nice place to entertain company…something friendly and definitely out of place when Andy considered the grim temple.
“What’s that place?” asked Abigail.
“Ah, that, ladies and gentlemen, is my Tahitian Terrace. I used to entertain kings, queens, the highest-ranking magicians, sorceresses, magi, and alchemists there. They came seeking my knowledge and protection. I knew them all. Yen Sid, Merlin…they all were here at one point or another.”
The old man’s gaze grew distant at the memory. Andy noticed that the terrace was very clean and that there was a simple broom sweeping lazily at some dust, seemingly of its own magical accord.
Fireflies danced around the bank of the river as the cavern in which they traveled narrowed down to a stone tunnel and soon grew so dark that Andy couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.
Whoosh! A gust of air hit Andy as the boat suddenly plunged down a small but steep waterfall. It caught Andy and the others off guard, and even Abigail let out a little squeal (which, in Andy’s opinion, was rather unusual for her).
When the boat leveled out, they all found themselves in an illuminated cavern. Colored lights from an unknown source flickered on the walls, producing a beautiful but eerie effect.
Bungalow Bob directed the boat to stop at a small dock. Andy and the group stepped out of the boat and followed him to a small door so carefully crafted that it seemed to blend directly into the cavern wall itself.
“Clever,” said Betty.
“Impressive,” added Dotty.
Both of the assassins obviously appreciated secretive hiding places from which a person could attack without being observed.
Bungalow Bob didn’t seem to notice. His face was fixed with an expression of fierce pride, but Andy wondered if there was a little bit of concern there as well. It seemed pretty evident that the witch doctor seldom had company in recent years and that showing guests around was something of a novelty. Andy wondered if he’d grown so used to his lonely existence that it felt like a bit of an intrusion to share his inner sanctum with strangers.
“Now, this is something that not many people have ever seen,” said Bungalow Bob. “A
s you’ve witnessed, I enjoy collecting things.”
“We noticed,” said Rusty Bucketts, massaging his neck.
“Andy Stanley, the objects behind this door were of particular interest to your grandfather,” said Bungalow Bob. “It is the reason he sought me out, and also the reason the Collective wanted me to trap him here. I don’t usually allow guests to see this area of my temple, but these are extenuating circumstances.”
Bungalow Bob clapped his hands together and the door swung open. Andy felt a surge of curiosity and anticipation as they walked inside. As they passed the doorframe, the darkened room was suddenly illuminated by a bright green glow. Andy gazed around at what he saw in complete awe. Situated on every available table, bench, shelf, and chair were artifacts the like of which Andy and the others had never seen before.
“Wow,” said Abigail quietly.
Bungalow Bob beamed with pride and motioned for them to follow him to a nearby table where an object that looked like a small coffin was positioned.
“Let’s start with this one. This is my Sar-cough-agus. I found this rare item in a Phoenician tomb. Upon opening that lid”—he indicated the lid of the coffin—“I can effectively wipe out almost a third of the jungle population with a terrible consumptive sickness. Out with the old, in with the new!” he quipped.
Andy leaned close to Abigail and whispered, “Definitely a psychopath.”
She nodded grimly. “We need to be careful,” she mouthed back.
“And over here is my hurricane creator.”
The others oohed and aahed as the sorcerer led them through the rest of the room. Abigail suddenly noticed something perched on a nearby pedestal and ran over to it with an excited expression. She pointed at the object and said, “Andy, look! That’s the Hand of the Kraken! Everyone in the J.E.S. told me it had been lost at sea!”
Bungalow Bob hardly had time to comment before Abigail had dashed to a second pillar, this one with a small carved kangaroo placed upon it. To Andy, it almost looked like a child’s toy.
“The Jarjum. It will age a person thirty years at a single touch!” Abigail looked so excited that she seemed about to touch it herself. The others were all feeling as astounded as she was.
“Besides the J.E.S. headquarters, I have to say that there are more powerful artifacts here than I’ve ever seen in one place!” exclaimed Rusty. “No wonder Ned came looking for them.”
“Precisely,” said Bungalow Bob. “And once I found that he was considering taking them from me, I decided to shrink his head.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t going to steal them,” Andy began, sticking up for his grandfather. “Once he found that you had them in your collection, he would have offered you a trade or something.”
Bungalow Bob gave him a suspicious look. “So you say,” the witch doctor said, “but I’m not one to take any chances.”
“Neither is he,” agreed Andy. “Do you know anything about the J.E.S. and what we stand for?”
“I know that you have a, shall we say, fondness for rare artifacts of power,” said Bob.
“There’s more to it than that,” Abigail chimed in. “Our whole purpose is to keep them safe from the Potentate and her Collective. If they ever found what you have here”—she motioned to the room filled with antiquities—“they’d attack. There would be so many of those cutthroats at your door, you couldn’t shrink all their heads at once.”
Bungalow Bob straightened and, after folding his arms, glared down at Abigail. “The entire reason that they don’t ‘attack,’ as you say, is because between my proximity to the Eternal Tree, my shrunken heads, and my artifact collection, I could repel any attempt with more magic than the Potentate could possibly imagine!”
“But that’s the whole point to the Potentate having the Doomsday Device,” explained Andy. “She’s trying to eliminate the Jungle Explorers’ Society so that she can steal all our artifacts. She wants to take over the world! If she gets the J.E.S. artifacts, she’ll have enough power to confront even the likes of you.”
Bungalow Bob looked thoughtful. After a moment, he spoke. “I knew that she had the Doomsday Device. Hmm. So that’s her plan, eh? Well, I’m unwilling to allow that.”
Rusty turned from the table where he was inspecting a strange artifact on a chain that looked like a mummified lizard’s head. “What are you saying? Whose side are you on?”
“Nobody’s side,” the witch doctor grunted. “But I can’t allow one person to keep me from locating more items for my collection. If she were in control, then I would have my work cut out for me. She wouldn’t have anyone standing between her and whatever artifacts remained for the finding.”
The witch doctor seemed to have come to a decision. Turning to Andy, he asked, “Before you stumbled upon my temple, where were you trying to go?”
“We were looking for a leprechaun named Patrick Begorra. He supposedly resides in the oldest tree on Earth, one that is almost impossible to find. My grandfather said that he possesses knowledge that will help us stop the Doomsday Device.”
“Well, I’ve never heard of such a person myself,” Bungalow Bob confessed. “However, if he resides in the Eternal Tree, I believe I can help you locate him.” The old man walked over to a large armoire that was carved with figures of flying snails. He opened the doors and took a folded piece of parchment from a drawer inside.
“This artifact is called the Finders’ Map. It can locate anything the searcher is looking for if asked. Locating the leprechaun would be impossible for most magicians and extremely taxing for even one such as I. But with this artifact, even the impossible is possible.”
The witch doctor waved his hand over the parchment and murmured a magic word. Suddenly, lines appeared all over the parchment where there had been none before.
Andy and Abigail stared down at it. For the life of him, Andy couldn’t make heads or tails of the scribbles upon it.
“They’re roots!” Abigail suddenly said. “That’s not a linear map. Those are tree roots!”
“Brava,” said the sorcerer. “These are the roots of the Eternal Tree. They stretch deep underground and cover nearly the entire planet. Such a map would be of priceless value if it were discovered by the right person.”
“But how does it help us?” asked Andy. “With so many roots, how could we ever know how to follow the one closest to us to the tree itself?”
Bungalow Bob smiled. “That’s where your jujus come in handy.” He pointed at the jujus hanging around Betty’s and Dotty’s necks, one shaped like a tree and the other shaped like an eye. “Used together, the juju of discovery should show the pathway, and the juju of knowledge should show the precise location of what you seek.”
He spread his arms wide. “When you use them in conjunction with the map, even the leprechaun cannot keep himself hidden.”
Andy and Abigail exchanged glances. Then Abigail took the two jujus from Betty and Dotty, who turned them over willingly. Holding them in her hands, she marched back over to the map.
“Take us to what we seek,” she said.
And the lines on the map that led to the Eternal Tree suddenly began to glow.
“We’re in for it now,” Rusty grumbled.
Andy had to agree. The plan they’d come up with was going to stretch them all to their limits. He only hoped they would survive.
While Andy and Abigail sought Patrick Begorra and hoped to obtain knowledge that would destroy the Doomsday Device, Rusty, Betty, and Dotty would join Bungalow Bob in battling the Potentate. If they could use Bob’s magic artifacts, they might be able to surprise the Potentate and clear the way for Andy and Abigail to get to the Doomsday Device and destroy it.
“Now, just to be clear, I don’t want to risk losing any of my artifacts to my enemies, is that understood?” Bob said sternly. “Those working with me must use them under my direct supervision.”
Everyone nodded in solemn agreement. Andy knew that Bob wasn’t helping them out of the goodness of his heart. Protecti
ng his artifact collection was obviously the only thing that mattered.
They stood at the edge of the docks from where they had journeyed to the sorcerer’s secret rooms. This time, instead of ushering them onto a boat, Bungalow Bob had taken five Persian rugs from his collection and laid them next to each other. Each was about the size of a doormat, but far more elegant. They were beautifully stitched with woven patterns of red, gold, and blue.
“These artifacts are magic carpets from Ali Baba’s Cave of Wonders,” Bungalow Bob said. “They’ve appeared in all kinds of stories, so don’t be too disappointed when you try the real thing. They’re not as maneuverable as a modern airplane and tend to act up quite a bit in air turbulence.”
Rusty raised up his hand in a placating gesture. “Don’t tell me about turbulence, old man,” he said. “I’ve been a bush pilot all my life.”
Instead of being offended, Bungalow Bob looked mildly amused. “Well, watch your stabilizers and hang on tight. By leaning left or right, you control the pitch and yaw…but I shouldn’t have to tell an expert like yourself.”
“Of course not,” huffed Rusty, who still hadn’t completely forgiven the sorcerer for shrinking his head.
“Oh, and I almost forgot,” Bungalow Bob said as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out two rings and offered one each to Andy and Abigail.
“Because the others will be in my proximity, they won’t be affected by the Doomsday Device. However, with the help of these rings, the same should apply to you. Each gemstone is an artifact of protection. Wonderful little treasures. They should provide you with the protection you need…at least temporarily,” he added. “And, of course, I’ll be wanting them back when you’re done with them.”
“Of course,” replied Andy automatically.
Andy and Abigail both thanked him as they slipped the ornate rings onto their fingers.
“Now then, Mr. Bucketts, if you will please activate your juju’s tracking,” said the sorcerer.
Tales from Adventureland the Doomsday Device Page 9
