Katrina said, “Well…” as she nodded her head.
“Our adventure is finished. It’s over,” she said.
She regarded her friend with a wavering smile.
She put out her hand. It hung there a while.
Morty reached out and he gave it a tug,
and their handshake, abruptly, turned into a hug.
Then Morty stepped back. He mumbled and frowned.
He explained it was time to go back underground.
He’d had more than his fill of adventuring stuff.
It was time to go home, back to Underwood Bluff.
He was long overdue at the Hospital Shop.
He had to return and check on his Pop.
With the gleam of a tear in each of their eyes,
Katrina and Mortimer said their goodbyes.
Then Morty turned round, moving terribly slow,
as Katrina stood wistfully watching him go.
His shoulders were slackened. He shuffled his feet,
approaching the steps that went under the street.
He followed them down, going lower, and then:
he vanished. He was back in the shadows again.
By now, my good reader, the crowd had so thinned,
the only things left were the whispers of wind.
And Katrina recalled, in a moment of woe:
that she, of all others, had nowhere to go.
It was just as she pondered this worrying fact,
that somewhere nearby, something rattled and clacked.
A sound like a dustbin of rubbish and soot,
being clumsily kicked by a ham-fisted foot.
said a voice from the past.
The voice had a screechy, contemptible tone,
and Katrina could tell:
It was Mrs. Krabone!
She came out of the dark, where she’d carefully hid.
“I missed you,” she said. “I mean, really I did.”
Her expression was odd. It was haggard and bleak.
She was unlike herself. She looked humble and meek.
she said. “I’ve been rather a brute.
I’ve been spiteful and vile, and a villain to boot.
But seeing those creatures, those beasties and things,
they tugged at my heart—at its innermost strings!
Those magical creatures untangled my knots.
I was lit from within! And with thousands of watts!
It changed me for good. It made me think twice.
No more nasty, I thought. Instead…I’ll be nice.”
She spread out her arms. She opened them wide.
She smiled and invited Katrina inside.
Katrina, of course, didn’t know what to do.
She hoped that the words she was hearing were true.
She wished that Old Krabby had honestly changed,
and was no longer hateful or cruel or deranged.
What Katrina most craved, as I’m sure you can tell,
was someone who loved her and treated her well.
She wanted some semblance of family ties,
upon which a childhood so greatly relies.
So she took a step forward, with hope in her heart: This moment,
Chapter 19
say goodbye to your brain
Katrina, however, had made a mistake. Old Krabby’s compunction was utterly fake. “Gotcha!” she cried, with a snatch and a grab, with a pinch and pull, like the claw of a crab. Things only got worse, I’m afraid to report, when out of the murk, came a snickering snort. It was followed by figures, and each of them foul. They surrounded Katrina, like wolves on the prowl.
“Katrina, hello there,” said Doctor LeFang.
“Look who we met. Such a nice little gang!”
Katrina looked left. Katrina looked right.
Both sides held an equally worrying sight.
There was the ruffian, Sickly VAN Puke,
his nose spilling over with gobbledygook.
Selena the Slash was waiting as well,
to exact her revenge on Katrina Katrell.
And those two, of course, were never without:
BUGSY MCCROOK, that unbearable lout!
He was wearing a typically simpering leer.
He took a step forward and said, with a sneer,
“Your weird little pals—they ain’t here anymore.
So I’d say it’s time that we settled the score!”
In seconds, the villains were closing the gap.
It was clear she’d been caught in a terrible trap!
Selena and Sickly snuck up from the rear.
They captured Katrina by elbow and ear.
They twisted her arms, holding her tight,
while Dr. LeFang stood off to the right.
In his hand were the blades of his wicked device,
especially made to puncture and slice.
In the lamplight it flashed with a sinister gleam,
like the teeth of a beast in a hideous dream.
He raised up his Mincer, holding it high.
“I shall enter,” he said, “just here, by your eye.
So don’t move a muscle, or you may feel some pain,
because now, my dear girl,
came a voice. It came from the street.
It seemed to rise up from under their feet.
A manhole popped open and clambering out,
came Morty himself, like a flowering sprout.
“Hey, grimwits,” he said. “Whatever you planned,
you’d better just quit it, do you understand?”
This time, however, the gang was prepared.
BUGSY was grinning. He didn’t look scared.
“So it’s you again, is it?” he said with a sneer.
“Well, listen, I’ll make myself perfectly clear:
You frightened us once, way back in our den,
but trust me, you freak, you won’t do it again!”
BUGSY stepped forward, the head of the gang,
and so did that lunatic, Doctor LeFang.
He was staring at Morty (or rather his head).
“What a curious beast!” he excitedly said.
“How I would certainly love to obtain
such a wholly unique and unusual brain!”
“Well, sorry,” said Morty, “to mess with your plot,
but I’m using my brain, believe it or not.
And BUGSY, you’re no longer frightened of me?
Well, how ’bout my friend? He’s as big as a tree.”
All of a sudden, everything shook
(including the nerves of BUGSY MCCROOK).
The buildings, the cars, and even the street,
went tharumpah-tharump to a walloping beat.
The Behemoth, of course,
that voluminous chap,
whose footfalls were each like a thundering clap,
stepped into the alley, his hands on his hips.
He was looking half-starved. He was licking his lips.
“I’m famished!” he boomed, surveying the scene.
“And I love eating folks who’re nasty and mean.
Their blood is so salty! Their livers so firm!
Whenever you eat them, they wriggle and squirm!
Their skin has a scent like the stinkiest cheese!
And their heads—
they go pop like the plumpest of peas!
You can bake them in pastry to make a soufflé,
or perhaps for dessert, a meanie parfait!
Whichever the case, I chew them to pulp!
I guzzle them down, with a slurp and a gulp!”
“Well, then,” said Morty, a smile on his face.
“Let me tell you, my friend—you’re in just the right place.”
BUGSY MCCROOK, and the rest of his gang,
and Mrs. Krabone and Doctor LeFang,
they didn’t stand gaping for even a flash.
Instead, they ran off in a blundering dash.
The Behemoth, meanwhile, that insatiable brute,
he chased them away in tharumping pursuit.
“Come back here,” he cried, “You sumptuous bums!
At least let me nibble your fingers and thumbs!”
But they didn’t come back. They were brisk!
They were brusque!
They went scampering off in the darkening dusk,
weeping like babies and shaking like leaves,
wiping their snot on the ends of their sleeves.
As they ran, all you heard were their pitiful moans,
for the fear in their hearts had spread into their bones.
Their running was clumsy, with twitches and hops,
as they stumbled and bumbled in blundering flops,
wailing and whining and yelping and then:
They were gone.
They weren’t ever heard from again.
Turning to Morty, Katrina said, “Hey!
You know something, Mort? You just saved the day!
That’s pretty heroic. It’s terribly brave.
What a very adventurous way to behave!”
“Aw, shucks,” Morty said. “Well, maybe you’re right.
You could say I put up a pretty good fight!
Or maybe not me,” he said with a smirk.
“I suppose the Behemoth did most of the work.
Besides, if whatever you’re saying is true,
any courage I showed—I learned it from you.”
Katrina was flattered, but she didn’t agree.
“No, Morty,” she said, “it wasn’t from me.
If we’re speaking of courage, you got it all wrong.
You’re just like your Pop. It was there all along.”
No words could make Morty feel better than those.
He was pleased, from his horns to the tips of his toes.
Katrina, however, felt sullen and low,
recalling, again, she had nowhere to go.
She looked up at Morty, and then looked away.
In her heart, she wanted to ask him to stay.
But instead she looked down, her chin on her chest.
It’s over, she thought. It’s the end of our quest.
She looked up again and thought, with a smile:
But maybe I’ll visit him, once in a while.
“Now wait,” Morty said, “There’s no need to be glum.
You ought to remember:
I’m always
your chum!”
Then he chuckled a bit. “I should really have known
you’d end up in a jam if I left you alone.
So listen, Katrina, come live underground,
under the streets, where us zorgles are found.”
Katrina was pleased. She nodded her head.
“I’d like that,” she whispered. It was all that she said.
“Well, great!” Morty beamed. “In that case, let’s go!
Let me show you my home in the tunnels below!
I can see it already! You and me and my Pop!
That’s the first place we’ll go—to the Hospital Shop!
So we better get moving, it’s already late,
because visiting hours are over at eight!”
Chapter 20
the rest of their days
Bortlebee Yorgle lay under the street. Or more to the point, he lay under a sheet, tucked in like a child, from his chin to his heels, in a bed that could travel on four little wheels.
So yes, he was cozy, but sick to his bones;
his words, when he spoke, were like pitiful groans.
His pallor was pale, he was barely alive.
His doctors were certain he wouldn’t survive.
But when he saw Morty step into his room,
the pink of his cheeks came back into bloom.
“Pop!” Morty gushed, and ran to his side.
“This adventure we had was one heck of a ride!”
He started recounting the tale to his Pop,
who silently gestured for Morty to stop.
“I already know,” said his Pop, with a laugh.
“I heard the good news on my radiograph:
You bravely set off and when you were through,
you’d rescued the zorgles of Zorgamazoo!”
“Well, yes,” Morty said, “the zorgles and more!
There were all sorts of creatures from legend and lore.
There were thousands of others we rescued, as well,
all thanks to Katrina—Katrina Katrell.”
And so she came in. She stood by the wall.
All along, she’d been waiting, just out in the hall.
She came forward, approaching old Bortlebee’s bed.
“It’s an honor to finally meet you,” she said.
Bortlebee groaned. He shifted his weight.
He coughed and his throat seemed to rumble and grate;
his lungs made a noise like a wheeze or a whine.
“The honor,” he sputtered, “is entirely mine.”
Katrina was blushing. She looked at her feet,
and soon, she was nearly as red as a beet.
“Please, sir,” she said, “I hope you can see
that Morty’s as much of a hero as me.
He saved me not once, but actually twice.
He’s given me constant support and advice.
He’s taught me that sometimes you’ll land in a jam,
when you’re hasty and brash…in the way that I am;
and I think that I’ve learned that life can be rough
if you’re overly drawn to adventuring stuff.
But that’s what I love: An adventurous quest!
In some ways, I know—I’m sort of obsessed.
Not Morty, mind you. He hates having ‘thrills.’
If he’d had a choice, he’d have run for the hills.
But that’s not what he did. No, Mortimer stayed,
in spite of the fact he was clearly afraid.
In that way, I think, he’s different from me.
In that way…he’s braver than I’ll ever be.
I guess what I mean is, I think you could say,
that Morty’s the number-one hero today.”
Bortlebee smiled. “He’s a hero. It’s true.
It’s something, you see, that I already knew.”
Wincing with pain, he looked up at his son.
“In my eyes,” he whispered, “he’s second to none.”
Bortlebee beckoned, with a quavering hand.
“Now, both of you listen. You must understand:
Soon I’ll be gone. I’ll cash in my chips.
My very last breath will pass over my lips.
And son, after that, you’ll be all alone.
You’ll be just like Katrina: You’ll be on your own.
Adventures, however, turn strangers to kin,
and kin stick together, in thickness and thin.
So I want you to promise, I want you to vow,
you’ll look after each other. You’re like family now.”
Katrina leaned forward. She nodded her head.
“We know what you mean. And we promise,” she said.
“Pop?” Morty asked. “Hey, Pop, you okay?”
But his Pop didn’t move, in the bed where he lay.
Had it happened? thought Morty. Had it finally come?
Just to think it made Morty feel utterly numb.
But then Bortlebee smiled—just the tiniest grin,
a smile that belied a great glowing within.
“I’m proud of you, son,” he happily sighed.
And then Bortlebee Yorgle…he quietly died.
Don’t worry, my reader.
No need to be sad.
A death isn’t always entirely bad.
Among zorgles, for instance, a life that is long,
is a life best remembered with dancing and song.
Any Zorgledom funeral bubbles with fun—
when the life-before-deat
h was a jovial one;
and since Bortlebee died so delightfully old,
his interment was hardly unhappy or cold.
Instead, it was bursting with music and mirth,
celebrating his life, from the day of his birth!
His casket was spangled in ribbons and flags
and streamers emblazoned with ziggles and zags.
They flapped as his coffin was carried away,
up to Zorgamazoo, on the following day.
The guests in attendance had gathered around
a great swelling of earth: the burial mound.
And oh, what a crowd! One thousand, or more,
and not only zorgles, but creatures galore!
When they heard it was Bortlebee Yorgle who died,
they came from all corners, from far and from wide!
The yetis arrived with the dragons and elves;
and the ogres, of course, who came by themselves.
There were flubbery creatures from various lochs
and phoenixes, flaming in flurrying flocks.
Winnie, as well—she came with her clans,
Zorgamazoo Page 12
