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Carrying a platter full of cheese and orange juice through unfamiliar hallways wasn't easy. Add to that Pickle's nervousness at being caught, the poor lighting, and the slight island breeze that seemed to flow in through the windows (windows never seemed to be closed around here), and Pickle was heading for disaster. Let us also not forget that Pickle wasn't really sure where she was going. She was just basing her movements on her dim memory of the place, and her gut instinct. Disaster almost struck her as she rounded a corner. Spillful disaster, that is. Luckily, however, she managed a little bob, then a weave, and before the guard could say anything, she was continuing on her way down the corridor.
That's when she got to an area that she definitely remembered.
"This is where Officer C took me from, and where Grrr was led away, that way," she mumbled to herself, and she set out in the direction of Grrr's cell. She came to a large door that looked very strong and sturdy. No breaking through it. Which was okay, because it was unlocked. Inside was a small room where a guard sat, dozing quietly in a stiff-looking wooden chair. Well, so much for needing to be sneaky. All she would have to do is swipe his key, and quietly creep away with Grrr.
But then things started to go wrong.
The guard began mumbling in his sleep.
"Mmmfff. No General Dread, no. Don't do that. That's terrible," he said in his sleep. Then his eyes popped open.
"Aaah! Oh, ahem, who are you then?" the guard asked, trying to regain his composure.
"Who me, I'm nobody," said Pickle. "Just the cheese-maker's 'prentice. I brought you and the prisoner a snack. Thought you might like some orange juice and bagels. Cheesy bagels. Er, sir."
"An apprentice, eh? I didn't know the old crone needed an apprentice," the guard said, raising an eyebrow and standing up.
"Oh, no sir, she don't. It's just that I need work, sir, what with my parent's both dead, and my brother out at sea. Sometimes he won't be coming back for a month, and I gets desperately hungry sir, I does. So she's letting me work nights for her, so she can get some rest. She has these corns on her feet, see, right at the bottom that flare up. She showed them to me, they're big as moths, they is, with little things sticking out..."
"Shut up, you wanta ruin my food, stupid girl?"
"No sir, I'm sorry sir, I'm stupid. Oh, but don't tell the old lady that I'm stupid, please sir."
"Yeh wouldn't like that, would yeh? Well, maybe I will and maybe I won't. Perhaps another one of those cheese-bagels, and a bit more of that juice, and I might forget how stupid you were."
"Oh, but this is for the prisoner, sir," Pickle began, but the guard just laughed.
"Ha, that prison ain't to be eating for three days. So why don't you just set it all down here like a good girl and run along."
Pickle began to worry. This was getting bad. She needed to stay around for a bit, to wait for the sleeping pills to kick in. The guard was munching down on the bagels and slurping his juice, so it should just be a matter of minutes. So she stalled.
"Is it true, sir, that there's a big hairy nasty mean monster in there?" Pickle asked, pointing to the hallway that led to the cells.
The guard grunted.
"Shows 'ow much you know, stupid little girl," the guard said. "There's no monster down there at all. Unless you call burning hair an monstrous crime. That little brat deserved what she got, is what I think. I think --" and then there was a thud.
The guard's face has fallen into the cheese tray. Pickle made sure that he was just sleeping peacefully and not hurt, and then took the key ring off his belt and walked down the hallway. All the empty cells had their doors open, which made it very easy for Pickle to find the one Grrr should be in.
"Grrr? Psstt! Hey Grrr," Pickle hissed.
She knocked on his door. It was the only door that was closed and locked, so it must be Grrr's, but still, she didn't want to unlock it until she got a response. Who knew what else could be lurking in there.
Rap rap rap. "Psssttt! Grrr! Grrr! Answer me, Grrr! Are you in there?"
"Hello, what, who's there?" a very familiar voice asked.
"Grrr, is that you?" Pickled whispered back.
"There's no Grrr here," the voice said back. "Just me and this bug-grrr-ous bag over my head."
"Onion?" Pickle gasped.
"Pickle?" Onion replied.
"Yes, hold on, I'm opening the door." She tried about three keys until she found the right one.
It opened with a quiet roar.
Onion stood there in this room, his shoulders frowning, his clothes sagging, and a black bag on his head.
"Take that silly bag off your head," Pickle said.
"But I'm being punished, so I'm supposed to wear it," Onion replied.
"Well, not any more. I'm busting you out of here," Pickle said, stepping into the room and pulling the bag up over his head. Onion stood blinking at her in the dim cell room light.
"Oh, Pickle, you're the best," Onion said, shuffling his feet on the cold concrete.
"Shut up and give me a hug, alright," Pickle said, and grabbed ahold of Onion of squeezed him tight.
"Let's get out here," said Pickle, her voice muffled by Onion's chest. "The sooner the better," said Onion. "Now would be best."
But they stood there a few seconds longer, holding each other, in the cold dark dank prison cell of Building South.
* * *
Through the buildings they ran.
Onion figured that since there was a dungeon in Building South, there would also be another dungeon in the other Building South. There they would find Grrr. Pickle agreed. She also insisted that they go In-cog-neato. Meaning, to Onion's great displeasure (and to all boys out there, I apologize, but Pickle was right to do this) that he was forced to wear Pickle's nightgown. She pulled it out of her blue backpack and said, "Here, put this on. Then no one should recognize you. And if someone stops us, we can just be two girls who are looking for their daddy, the guard, see?"
Onion's face was a weird mixture of paleness and revulsion.
"But but but..." he mumbled. "You want me to wear a girl's nightgown?"
"Yes, certainly, why not?" Pickle asked.
She had a way of asking a question where the question suddenly sounded a lot more like a statement. Onion pictured a great big question mark being crudely stretched out until it was an exclamation point. And it was wearing a girl's nightgown!
"Why can't we just be two kids, a son a daughter, looking for their dad?" Onion asked.
"Don't be stupid, Onion," Pickle said carelessly, and Onion's mouth clapped shut. Who was this new Pickle, who would talk to him so rudely.
"I'm sorry," she said, turning and looking straight at him. "It's just this: we're in a rush. We need to get out of here before they find that I've escaped. And that you've escaped. We don't have much time. And, besides, everyone on this stinking island has seen you: you're the wonderboy who fixed the princess! Now, put this on. Just hike up your pants, and put your shirt in my backpack. Let's go!"
Onion really, really, really wanted to argue further, but Pickle was making too much sense. And she had apologized for being rude. And it was not like he was wearing a girl's nightgown to school, or something. He just had to wear it as a disguise. It was almost like dressing up like a ghost for Halloween, he told himself.
He folded his shirt neatly and stowed it in Pickle's blue backpack. Then he slipped the light purple nightgown on over his head. It went almost to his ankles. It was rather comfortable, he was forced to admit. But before he could say anything, Pickle was putting a nightcap on his head and pulling him after her toward the exit. (Please also note this, young boys who are reading: Pickle was pulling Onion after her not entirely because she was in a rush. No no no. I wish it were so, but no. She was leading him away because she was biting her bottom lip very hard. So hard it hurt. Why was she doing this? You guessed it: because Onion looked so silly in a girl's nightgown that she was very dangerously near bursting out in a fit of laughter. So, yet another reason never ever to let a girl talk you into putting on her clothes! I warned you, so don't try to blame me later if your sister is reading this and getting ideas. And if worse comes to worse, my young friends, and she really is insisting, just pleasantly remind her of the last time you bathed. Girls, while stubborn, smart, and sneaky, are much much cleaner than us boys. If all else fails, try describing precisely what you were doing just a few hours before: digging up worms, throwing rotten apples at your friends, picking your nose, etc. That usually helps. Good luck!)
(P.S. If you're wondering whether I, the great and noble and fine and amazing author of this book, ever happened to don a piece of woman's clothing, well, yes, one time I did. But I had no choice, you see. I was visiting a place you've probably never heard of called France, and in France, besides it being customary to kiss girl's on their cheeks whenever you see them, it is also a custom to dress as your host commands. So, I once wore a pink nightgown, with pink slippers and a pink bow in my hair. I felt ridiculous. I looked ridiculous. But the slippers were rather cozy. Still no reason to ever do it again. But I just wanted you to know that I wasn't making Onion do it out of some sort of meanness on my part. I sympathized with him, you see. So it's okay. I survived it, somehow. And so will he. Even when a guard calls him a little girl, as you'll soon see.)
As they passed a sleeping guard, Pickle checked to make sure he was still dozing loudly. Then they rushed back up stairs until they came to a room where there were three doors. One should lead to the Council Room, and the other two should go to the other buildings.
"Which one do we take?" Pickle asked.
Onion furrowed his brow, then unfurrowed it.
"I have no idea," he said. There was a window in the room, and peeking out of it, he saw two moons drifting across the night sky. Moons usually moved the same direction as the sun, across the sky, he figured. Then again, there usually was just one moon. What the heck.
"This way," he said, pointing to the door on the right.
"Are you sure," Pickle whispered as they moved to it.
"No," he said, "but we won't get anywhere just standing here. Let's go!" Whoever had designed the buildings wasn't very imaginative, Pickle decided, because each one of them was exactly the same. After leaving the last building and walking the hundred feet or so it took to cross to the next, they found themselves in a room exactly like the one in the other building. Three doors, and a stairway leading down. So down they went. Pickle took a sidelong glance at Onion, and had to bite down, hard, again on her lip. She started to snicker, so she faked a cough. Onion shot her a sharp glance, but she was already running down the stairs.
Down the stairs, through two more doors, and over three minutes later, they found themselves in a room that must, they figured, lead to the guard chamber. "Okay," Onion whispered, "here we are. What's the plan?"
"I don't know," Pickle admitted. "I used all my sleeping pills on the food for the other guard. We'll have to make something up."
"What if I lured him out here, and then you snuck in and freed Grrr?" Onion asked.
"But how? He has the key ring."
"Don't you have a key ring, too?"
"So I do," Pickle said. She pulled it out of her backpack. "But do you think it works on these doors too?"
"One thing I've noticed about this place: it's very repetitive."
"Repetitive?" Pickle asked.
"Repetitive," Onion replied.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"It's just something I've noticed. It's very repetitive. So, I think the key will work."
"That's great, and maybe it will, but how will you lure him away. And how will we find you later? And how will you be sure that you won't get caught?"
"I can't be sure," Onion said.
"Then it's no good. No, wait, I have a better idea. Let's go," Pickle said, and started to grab the handle of the door.
"Wait," Onion hissed, "what's your idea?"
"Just come and see," Pickle teased, and opened the guard chamber door. A lone guard looked up from the book he was reading. (The book was titled, "How To Make Mulligan Stew.") He looked up to see two little girls, one rather pretty and one in a nightgown and looking rather ugly and following the pretty one. "I confess! It was me!" Pickle shouted as she entered. "I did it. I'm the one you want. We both are. Here we are. Come arrest us, sir. We are clearly guilty." She put her hands out, together, waiting for handcuffs.
* * *
"Well, it looks like he believed you," Onion sighed, as he looked out the cell door.
"Of course he believed me. I'm quite a good liar," Pickle responded. She giggled a little because of Onion's demeanor, and, well, because, if you can believe it, he looked even funnier as a dejected boy in a girl's nightgown. "Now all we have to do is wait a few minutes, until the guard goes back to his Stew book, and then quietly open the door with our key, sneak down to Grrr's cell, unlock it, and we'll be set."
"But what if your key doesn't work?" Onion said, his face puffing up a bit. He looked like he was ready to start getting mad. "What if we can't get out of here? What if we can? What then? Even if he doesn't see us unlocking Grrr's door, what then? How will we slip past him again? Will we say that we changed our minds, that we aren't guilty of, guilty of..."
"Of turning the princess into a china doll?" Pickle asked.
"Right!" Onion said.
"I admit, that was a bit of a stretch, but the guard ate it up, didn't he?" Pickle said, smiling impishly. "Never mind all that, Onion. Let's just do one thing at a time, okay? First let's see if this key even works."
Onion seemed to deflate. Pickle knew that about Onion. He could get huffy on occasion, but it never lasted long, and he always came around and saw sense in the end. It was one of his best traits. She, on the other hand, sometimes got carried away, way way way too carried away. It was one of her best traits, Onion once told her. He's very sweet when he wants to be.
Pickle pulled out the key ring.
"It's one of these three," Pickle said.
"One plus one plus one is four. To have a key, you need a door," Onion said. "What did you say?" Pickle asked.
"Never mind. Try this one," Onion said, pointing to the biggest of the three. The key went in. The lock went pop. The door came swinging in.
"Let me see what the guard is doing," Pickle whispered. Onion nodded. Pickle peeked out the door into the hallway. All she could see was the guard's feet, propped up on his small desk. Probably reading his book. Good. At that angle, he shouldn't even be able to see her if she crept across to the other side of the hall. That was where the only other closed door was, and where she figured Grrr must be. It would be risky, because there could be someone else in the cell, even a dangerous criminal. But she had to try it.
"I'll go across and open the door. You watch the guard. Make a hissing sound if you see him move," Pickle said. Onion nodded.
Pickle crept across the hall, tip-toeing, glancing over once to see if the guard could see her, but he was scooted all the way back in his chair, leisurely reading about thyme sprigs and grated nutmeg.
Then a loud sound erupted from the cell.
"Mmmmmmfffffffbbbbbbbttttttt!"
Pickle jumped at the sound. Grrr! It meant Grrr! She danced quickly back to her cell, pushing Onion back inside. She kept peeking to see if the guard moved, but he was too interested rutabaga and bay leaves to look up every time he heard something.
"He's in there!" Pickle asserted. Onion gave her a thumbs up, which might have been a bit funny, but what with the way he was dressed, it came very close to spoiling their whole get-away! Pickle bit down on her lip so hard that it was probably bleeding. That cleared her mind, and she was able to slide back across the hallway. She was holding the big key in one hand, and the other keys together in the other hand, to make sure they didn't jingle.
The key went in. The lock went pop. The door went swinging in.
"Someone must oil these hinges really well," Pickle thought. Then, "Which is a really stupid thing to do. Oh well. It's stupid for them, which means it's smart for us." Then she popped into Grrr's chamber. Grrr was sitting on his bed, which was much bigger than any of the other beds in the other cells, and he was just about to blow his nose.
"Grrr, no!" Pickle said very quietly.
Grrr looked up, and Pickle put her fingers to her lips.
"We're getting you out of here, Grrr," Pickle said. Grrr opened his mouth, Pickle shook her head, ran over to him and gave him a hug. Which was easier than normal because he was sitting down. Grrr patted her back gently with his giant hand.
Just then Onion popped into the room.
"Okay, the guard isn't paying attention, and, oh!" Onion said under his breath. There standing in front of him was a giant creature, the biggest thing with two feet that Onion had ever seen, and it was smiling while Pickle was hugging it. "Grrr, this is Onion. Onion, Grrr. Now, about escaping..."
* * *
Now, you'd think escaping from a dungeon of Building South (also sometimes called Building West) would be pretty hard. I mean, there's guards, and doors, and uncertainties, and Pickle and Onion are just kids, while Grrr, despite his large body, is not prone to violence. So, then, how would the three escape: a) without raising the alarm, b) without hurting anyone, including themselves, and c) while making it a clean getaway, giving them enough time to figure out how to get off the island.
Morning was approaching, and with it came two suns rising in the eastern sky. Pickle, Onion and Grrr had been debating, quietly, how to go about getting out of the cell. They knew they needed to act quickly, but they weren't sure how best to go about fleeing. That's when providence, in the form of a screaming princess, saved them the trouble. For, as you already know (aren't I nice, warning you in advance and bracing you for the inevitable) Porcina the self-labeled princess and also the author-labeled piggish and priggish preen queen, threw such a fit, acted like such a tit, that she threw herself from the Council Room's chamber, her final act of pig-headed defiance. The guards, to their credit, tried to stop her. The Figurehead leapt to his feet to intervene, but too many years of indulging in the sweet and salty cheeses had slowed his steps. And it was with alarm and aghast, that the princess tumbled through the window, and landed in the oven, the very oven that had brought her back to life just a few short hours before. Now, however, I have one more confession to admit to you, my most kind and generous and -- best of all -- forgiving readers: the princess does not die! I know, I know, I really made it seem like she died earlier on, but what kind of fair and decent author would I be if I let something so awful happen to an innocent little girl, right? Okay, so she is a bit piggish. She is rude sometimes. Sometimes she is down-right mean. But she is about to a learn a valuable life-lesson. No matter how much you scream, you can't put out fire with your mouth. You need water. Which the old crone had plenty of, and after she convinced the little girl that she would from then on act like an adult, the old crone administered water (special water as a matter of fact) that cleared up all of the princess's wounds.
In the meanwhile, between the jump, the fall, the yelling and the screaming and the bargaining with the old crone, there was a lot of confusion and chaos in the main governmental buildings of the Island of Odur. So much general confusion, so much general chaos, so much general flim-flam, not to be confused with General Film Falm, who was a great and wizened general who led the assault against Dye-Log Island many years before, and who banished to the Sipping Seas of Misery those awful sayings you used to hear in old movies. You know the ones: "But, darling, I love you!" "Kiss me one last time, my sweet." "You are the only one for me, baby-cakes." Yes, you have General Film Falm to thank for clearing all that rubbish out of our great movies of today. (Don't you dare try to tell me that there still is stuff like that in movies! I'll put your head in an oven, I will!) Well, anyway, there was so much going on, that all the guards left their posts to see what the racket was all about. And so, after several intense minutes of waiting and hiding and plotting and evading and planning and arguing and worrying and debating and arguing some more, Pickle, Onion and Grrr ended up simply walking slowly out of the dungeon, without anyone being the wiser.
That is great news, surely.
Now for some bad news.
By the time our protagonists have made it out of the building, everything is starting to calm down. The princess is already minding her manners. She has even volunteered to help clean up the mess she made in the cheese hut when she jumped out of the window. The guards are slowly moving back to their posts. And it is with a keen (wicked) eye and quick (nasty) mouth that General Dread sounds the alarm!
"Prisoners! Escaping! Off with their heads!" cried General Moribund Saturnine Dread.
And so began the Chase. Which didn't last long. Here is why.
First, Grrr, frightened of losing his head, picked both Pickle and Onion up, and carrying them under his shoulder, ran at full speed toward the beach.
Second, there was a Squeeb on the Island.
If you know anything about Squeebs, and you probably know more than you think you do, they like things to go wrong. They like bad things to happen to good people. They are evil and nasty and mean. Their hearts are full of green. Their eyes are full of black. Their hair is dirty, their skin is cracked. Their smile lacks teeth, and is more of a leer. They snivel and snurkle and try to cause fear. They detest anything that's dear. They taunt and test and sneer and jeer.
Third, the Squeeb was hiding behind a Tripping Tree.
Fourth, Tripping Trees, while normally quiet, easy going things, can get riled up. The Squeeb knew just way to say to get this Tree's leaves shaking. And its roots quaking.
Fifth, Grrr was too busy watching the guards running after him to notice the Tree in front of him.
Before everyone knew it, the Tree had put out a well-placed root, Grrr had put down an ill-placed foot, and everyone hit the ground in a loud "Hoooooof!" Things were looking very bad.
Pickle's backpack had opened and spilled.
Onion's shirt had tumbled out. So had a little object that no one much noticed. It was shaped like a small pyramid.
Grrr and Pickle and Onion lay stunned. The guards surrounded them, and told them to surrender. The Squeeb, cackling madly, snuck sneakily away.
"We're in bad trouble now," Onion muttered to himself.
That's when the second of many weird things in a short amount of time happened. The pyramid somehow found Onion's hand. And it began getting bigger. And flattening out. And turning into what looked like a small boat or craft. Onion didn't bother to ponder or consider.
"Get in!" he shouted.
The boat was getting bigger and bigger, and soon it was big enough for the three of them to fit in. The guards were standing around, not sure where to begin.
As soon as the trio was safely inside, the boat lifted up off the ground, and making a slightly squishy sound, began to take them for a ride.
"Stop them, grab them!" cried General Dread, whose face was turning a deep shade of red.
Onion and Pickle and Grrr simply hid in the boat, as it higher and higher it began to float. Then it began moving toward the sea.
"Unless my eyes deceive me," said Officer C, who was among those guards confused as can be, "they are riding a bagel out to sea. A bagel with onions and poppyseeds."
But it was true. Pickle and Onion and Grrr departed from the Island of Odur aboard a great big bagel that was flying out to sea. Where were they going?
Don't ask me.