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* -- denotes soonish.
Since Grrr was officially hiding, the mismatched duo remained outside the station, which suited Pickle just fine, considering how ludicrously loud it was outside, and how queerly quiet it was inside. To pass the time, Pickle explained to Grrr why she was running away. I was just about to tell you what she said (really, I was honest! I am a decent and caring narrator. I would never just lead you along. Well, maybe a little...), but I just got news that Onion was being brought before the Great and Idleized Figurehead of Odur Island, the grand poobah, the Friend of the People, the Happy-Go-Lucky Diplomat, the Man With Many Hats Though He Preferred None At All, the Big (But Not Smelly) Cheese, Father of the Porcelain Princess, Husband to Two Wives (it was legal, just look it up: Code Pull Leg Gama Amy Section II, Article II, point B clearly states that a man may have up to and including two wives, so long as the wives know of it, approve of it, and agree not to be nasty to the other's children), Greatest Piano Player Outside of N'Orlins, and all around excellent devourer of cheese pastries. This last quality had a queer effect on him, making his body rather roundish, his moustache blondeish (though the Head of the Figurehead remained full of dark black hair, with perhaps a few strands of grey that no one dares mention in his presence), and his breath smell ... well, just don't get too close to him, okay? It isn't so pleasant.
Onion was brought to the Figurehead's headfourth's, which was nothing like a castle or anything fancy like that: it was simply four square buildings all connected by tube-shaped walkways between each building. The main walkways went diagonal-wise, and there was a large circular meeting area in the middle of all these buildings, and this is where the great and noble Figurehead spent most of his time, for, it should be noted, this area of the tubular walkways was directly above a small building where an old woman cooked various kinds of cheese pastries. and there was, if one looked closely enough, a sort of pulley system that seemed to go from the small hut and up up up into the floor of the great circular meeting area of the Figurehead's headfourths, but which didn't actually go into the floor but through it, and where it came out, only three people knew, and I not being one of them, can't share it with you.
Onion was brought through Building One of the headfourths, which housed the Figurehead's security personnel. This was also called the West Building, which was somewhat confusing because there were two West Buildings and two East Buildings. Of course, one of the Wests and one of the Easts was also a North, and the other two were Souths. But on that infamous day several years ago when a certain snooty snotty Scientist declaimed that the building names were so fizz-backwards that he was going to rename them himself, dubbing each in turn SouthEast, NorthEast, NorthWest, and SouthWest, there was such an uproar from the crowd, that the swell-headed, self-imported, self-centered, self-cisstic, stuck-up megalomaniac Scientist was forced to leave the Island post-haste, and from then on there has been no further discussion on the names of the headfourths buildings. It simply means that on occasion (about half the time), a piece of mail or a person ends up in the wrong building. Since the buildings are so close and connected by tubes that have moving walkways on them, no one seems to mind this, and people are generally happy to get mail and visitors, even if it's not for them.
So where were we? Onion was being dragged screaming ...
No, that's not right.
Onion was walking patiently along, following the chatter of Number 1, Number 2, and Number 3, and was careful not to listen to anything they said. They had entered through the West Building, which is also sometimes (about half the time) referred to as the South Building, and up several flights of escalators, which only struck Onion as odd when he realized that the escalators all only moved in one direction, and that the people who were going in the opposite direction had to use the stairs, and then onto those moving walkways, which also all only moved in one direction, which was in the direction of the Figurehead, and finally Onion arrived, without much ceremony, to the favorite chamber of the Figurehead of Odur Island. The slow-paced walk, the escalators and the walkways were so easy on Onion that he was in a much better mood when he finally met the Figurehead, much better than he was an hour or so ago, when he was very close to drowning and wearing an absurd old hat.
Number One cleared his throat and began, "Official Island Patrol, Tarroc Division, bringing with them one captured felon, who has stowed himself upon our island illegally, and who also refused to answer a direction question from a Tarroc Officer. We await your judgment, O Figurehead."
There were several people milling about the great circular domed room, Onion noticed as the officer spoke. They all had been chatting among themselves in quiet voices, and still were, but they now seemed mildly interested in what the Figurehead might say. Many of the people were sitting in chairs or couches, and so the room had more of a living-room feel to it than a court-room, if that indeed was what it was. Onion wasn't really so sure. Then something bright glinted off to the side, and Onion glanced over and saw something unbelievable. The prettiest girl he had ever seen in his life. She was seated in a low chair that was surrounded with pillows, and she had a face of pure white, so white in fact, it almost looked, well, statue-like. Her golden hair fell from her head in thick locks, and there was a hint of freckling about the cheeks, which made her look even more beautiful. She was wearing a dark green emerald dress that contrasted with the paleness of her skin just perfectly. Her small pretty hands, fingernails matching her dress, sat resting upon her legs. There was just the faintest glimmer of a frown on her face, though, and Onion suddenly had the crazy notion that all he wanted to do for the rest of his life was to make this girl smile. Briefly he tried to catch her eye, but she seemed to be enrapt by the Figurehead, and stared at him with an unnerving steeliness. Something tickled the back of Onion's brain, but before he could think further, the Figurehead was standing on his stout little legs, a cheese danish in his small thick fingers, and was saying, quite loudly, what should be done.
"While it is my general opinion, not to be confused with General Oppinyon, who bravely defended our beautiful island during the Invasion of the Peacocks, that Odur Island is a paradise, and that many should seek its calm waters, white sandy beaches, beautiful architecture and delectable and delicious cheese products, none of us are above the law, not even myself, for though many women have come wooing me, I cannot take a third wife anymore than anyone else can, and therefore it is my decision that this young trespasser be punished most severely, to set an example to those who might consider attempting to sneak onto this island. Thus and air-go, I hereby declare that this young boy be forced to wipe the window of every house on this island, starting here with this very room."
A general applause went up when the Figurehead said "very room" and Onion was too shocked to speak for several seconds. As the applause died down (and taking a sneaky furtive glance toward the pretty young girl, Onion noticed with some relief that she was not one of those clapping), Onion spoke loudly to the Figurehead.
"Mr Figurehead, sir, I beg your pardon, but there appear to be several holes in your decision." A small gasp from a few of those watching. "Firstly, sir," Onion began, not sure exactly how to address the Figurehead, "I was not trying to sneak into your island. I was mislead here by a strange set of circumstances. Secondly, as I am not a citizen of your island, it seems rather funny to me that you should be able to sentence me to any sort of punishment. And thirdly, sir, please allow me to point out that while washing the windows in this room does seem like it needs to be done, I hardly see how it would discourage further people from attempting to sneak onto this island. Or, for that matter, would washing any of the windows so do. So I beg you to reconsider punishing me. Thank you."
There was an eerie silence in the room. Onion swallowed hard. His mouth felt dry. He was not good at speaking in front of crowds, and that last speech had taken a lot out of him. He just hoped that the Figurehead would see some sense in his argument. Otherwise, he was in for trouble.
"So, so, I spoke too soon. I spoke too soon," the Figurehead finally said. "What is your name, young man?"
"My name is Onion, sir Figurehead."
"Very good, sir Onion. Let me see here. I will need some time, I fear. I will need some time to think this through. And some more cheese, too. Give me some time, and in a few snacks we'll be back on track. Say, hey, what's this, you look rather hungry my young man. Where is our three-star cook? Where is General Rook?"
"Here sir!" a man stood up from a chair beside the pretty girl.
"General Rook, just take a look. This young man is clearly famished. Take him with you to the mess hall and let him sup. This will give us time to clear things up."
As General Rook showed Onion the way, Onion felt all the tension from the day slowly drip drop dripping away. As they walked down the corridor toward South Building (sometimes called West Building), Onion screwed up the nerve to say, "General Rook, who was that girl in the emerald green dress?"
General Rook gave Onion a look like he had something terrible to confess.
"It's the Figurehead's daughter," the general enlightened. And then he endarkened, "The Porcelain Princess."
* * *
"All Aboard!"
Somehow above the din and confusion going on outside the Teapot Depot, someone managed to shout even louder, letting all these milling about know that it was time to depart. Pickle was just finishing her story about running away to Grrr, and Grrr was wiping his nose and sniffling a bit and saying, "Pickle and Grrr both go away."
"Okay, Grrr, c'mon, let's go, that's our train!"
Pickle clutched the two tickets in her hand, and approached the station. She was nervous, imagining all sorts of policemen there looking for either her or Grrr. But all it appeared to be were passengers, all with their varying hats on, scurrying about, trying to get on the train.
Pickle and Grrr headed for the train cars near the rear of the train and hopped aboard without a hitch. The train was much roomier than it appeared to be outside. There was a long corridor, and it looked like there were rooms on each side for passengers to sit in. There was just enough room for Grrr to fit, if he bent down a little. The little girl and the big Grmph quickly found an unoccupied room and sat down. Grrr stretched out on the seat across from her, taking up most of it. Pickle had her side all to herself, and she put her backpack beside her and realized she still had both tickets clenched in her hand. She handed Grrr his ticket, just in case someone was coming to check on them. But Grrr simply took the ticket and popped it in his mouth.
"Grrr, no!" Pickle shouted. What were they going to do now? With only one ticket?
Grrr looked at her quizzically.
"Grrr do bad?" Grrr asked.
"You just ate your ticket! What will happen when the conductor asks for it?" "Train asks. No conductor."
"No conductor?" Pickle quietly asked. Well, then, who ran the train. "Pickle eat ticket too. Made of lotus."
Pickle looked at her ticket more closely, and sure enough, it felt more like a flower than a piece of paper. She nibbled the edge, and it actually tasted quite good. Oh, why not? She popped the whole thing in her mouth and chewed. It was so good, she almost wished she had a few more lying around.
Whoooooo-whooooooooooooooooo!
The train engine whistled, and Pickle braced herself to take off. Only, nothing happened. Then she hiccupped. "Hup," she said. "Excuse me," she added, trying to be polite.
Then once more, "Hup," and before she could excuse herself, she noticed that her feet were beginning to tingle.
"Grrr?" she said. When she looked up, however, Grrr wasn't sitting in his seat. He was floating directly over it.
"Grrr, I feel funny," Pickle said, then the tingling in her feet, which was like being poked with a pen very gently, started spreading up her legs, up her torso, out to her arms and then up to her head. Her backpack, which her hand was wrapped around, began feeling unbearably heavy, even though it was resting in the seat, so she let go of it, and then something something quite unusual happened. She began floating, just like Grrr, several inches off the seat.
Pickle couldn't help herself: she giggled.
Just then a man wearing an official-looking hat and official-looking moustache knocked on the door and then peeked in.
"Ah, good, you're all set in here," he said, and started to close the door. "Sir, um, sir, can I ask you a question," Pickle said, fighting back giggles. "Certainly young lady. How can I be of assistance?"
"Well, sir, you see, hee hee, I have never, hoo hoo, been on one of these trains before, ha ha, and I was wondering if this floating thing, (snicker), is normal?"
"Ah yes, you are experiencing lotus-herb for the first time, I see. Very good. Well, it's all very simple, really, nothing to worry about. Never been an accident by a train this well trained. You see, we teach the loco-motives to disbelieve in gravity, you see. Start them at a real young age, you know, and slowly as they're learning, we slip in a few leaves of lotus-herb along with it. Generally, one or the other should work, but together, it's a sure thing. So, of course, you see, if you're travelling first class, like this, in one of our floating trains, you yourself mustn't be weighing it down, naturally. So, there you have it. The engine will be fed shortly, young lady, and then the ground will begin moving beneath us. Very simple science. The simplest, really. Just make the Earth do all the work. Okay, I must check on the other passengers. Enjoy your journey."
With that, the conductor tipped his cap, smoothed his moustache, and closed the door.
Pickle giggled long and hard.
"Why, I feel about as carefree as a baby bird who has just learned to fly," Pickle said.
Snort snurkle chort.
Grrr was enjoying himself across from her.
To test out her levitating, Pickle tried spinning around in a circle. But it didn't quite work. It was more like she was suspended by strings. But she just felt so light. Especially her head. It was as though it weren't even attached. Whoooo. Whooo-whoooo-whoooooooooooo.
"That must mean, hee hee, that we're starting to leave, hee hee." Pickle said. The train shifted as the brakes were let off, and there was a curious rolling motion, like being inside a wave.
Then the train began stretching, or so it seemed, the roof becoming farther away, at first, then Pickle getting closer to it, but the floor being far away. Then everything was back as it was, only, something was different. Pickle looked out the window and realized that the entire train was slowly, gradually, lifting off the ground.
"What would Onion say about this?" Pickle muttered to herself.
Then, instead of the train beginning to move, there was another Whoooooo from the engine, and the ground started to move. At first it was hard to tell the difference, but then Pickle realized that she wasn't moving at all, because there was no shaking or rolling or bumping or creaking from the train. The train simply sat motionless while the ground beneath it began to slowly move, then pick up speed, then start to really go. Trees and hillsides and birds and flowers were all beginning to zip by so fast that they became a blur. Pickle stopped trying to look at it, and noticed her faint reflection in the window. Her eyes were much bigger than she remembered them being.
"Oh, Pickle, how big your eyes have become," Pickle said aloud. "The better to see you with, my pretty," Pickle answered herself back. Then such a violent giggling fit overcame her, that she was unable to think for several minutes. Finally she calmed down enough to look at Grrr, who was napping happily several inches above his bench. Well, perhaps a little nap wouldn't be so bad. Just so long as they didn't miss their stop.
Just then, as if to ease her worries, a voice came through the intercom (though she couldn't see any intercoms anywhere in the room) and announced, "Next stop, Mezmeration Station. Mezmeration Station, next stop. After Mezmeration Station, there will be several more mainland stops, then final stop, Odur Island. Please enjoy the ride."
Pickle let herself doze as the train quietly sailed along. It wasn't clear how the train stopped, but Pickle imagined some sort of intricate sail atop the train, or else air-brakes. Yes, air-brakes made perfect sense. She had no idea what air-brakes were, but at the time, they made perfect sense. In her doze, she was pretty sure she heard some funny sounding names for stations: Levitation and Gravitation Station, Misappropriation and Taxation Station, Animation and Claymation Station, Deviation Station, and one that she was pretty sure was Decapitation Station, but when she briefly looked out the window, all she saw were several hats blowing around in the breeze. She finally dozed off completely, and was having a weird dream about Onion where he was trying to tell her something important but her mind kept wandering off and then Onion floated away on a magic carpet that was shaped like a bagel. She awoke to Grrr nudging her arm.
"Pickle," Grrr said quietly.
"Hmm, what is it? Time for breakfast?" Pickle said groggily. She was lying in her seat, using her backpack as a pillow, which was rather lumpy as far as pillows go.
"Last stop, Odur Island, all passengers please exit the train. Thank you for using El Loco-Motives, and please recommend us to your friends."
Grmph and Pickle slowly disembarked from the train. A warm wind swept up against them, and the first thing Pickle did was cover her face to protect her nose from the breeze.
"Oh, what is that horrible stench?" she asked. "It smells like rotten cheese."
Grrr simply sneezed.