Chapter Seventeen: Beyond the Toad Town Harbor
Crazykoopa and Blue Boo walked and floated briskly along the wooded pathway that meandered comfortably through the Goomba Forest. The earlier trek through the Mushroom Way and the downward climb to Goomba Village had been a tiresome one, so they spent the night at the quiet inn beside Goompa’s house.
Before the stars came out, they enjoyed a delicious picnic with the Goomba family and talked over the dreadful news of the Mushroom Village’s attack. Hopefully, since Toad Town rested on the cliffside of the more prominent provinces, it would remain hidden from the vicious Raul and his deadly forces. Nevertheless, Goompa promised to ready the family’s supplies in case they had to evacuate.
Perhaps the biggest surprise of the evening came when the operator of the Goomba Village Inn revealed himself as Bermond, the fraternal twin of Lieutenant Genji. He was devastated by the vivid details of his former home’s invasion, but the calmer Mushroomer was relieved after Crazykoopa assured him that Genji had survived and done quite well in the battle.
“I always liked walking in the Fungi Fields,” Bermond had said. “It reminded me of my childhood, when our parents were still alive.” He had turned to them eagerly, a fire kindled in his eyes. “You have to put a stop to whoever did this.”
“We will,” Blue Boo had said, and the solemn promise still rang true in his mind the day after, when they took their leave and sat out along the Goomba Road. Now they walked side by side, silently, wondering how things were fairing in Toad Town. But moreover on their minds were the words of Raul and what they might mean for the near future.
“Do you think we have a chance of enlisting the aid of Sarasaland?” Blue Boo asked, doubt praying on his mind.
“The question we should be asking ourselves,” said Crazykoopa, “is whether or not their help will matter. Voices of that beast still plague my dreams, and I cannot forget them. It is as if he already knows the outcome and perceives that we shall ultimately fail.”
“The future is not decided,” said Blue Boo. “Not for you, not for any of us. Our decisions and virtues during times such as these are what decides the outcome of the ages. If mortals desire something, as you desire freedom and peace, then it is possible.”
“For what do you then wish?” Crazykoopa stopped and asked his companion.
Blue Boo’s gaze focused ahead of them, to the gates that marked the front entrance of Toad Town. “I desire death and the ending of this world’s grief,” he said, “but I cannot have that.”
“I know you’re tired of this world, pal, but what would I do without you?” said Crazykoopa, trying to lighten the mood. “We’ll get through this alright, and everyone else will, too. You’ll see.”
“I know,” said Blue Boo, tipping forward slightly. “It’s just that, there will always be a next time. It never ends.”
Crazykoopa admired the simplistic craftsmanship shown in the elaborate marble awning before them. He ran his hand along its smooth exterior and felt the weariness of time that ran gray, imperfect lines around its columns. There was cheerfulness, though, and the brightness that precedes chaos. He could see a sanguine sun and hear the warming sound of children’s laughter echoing through a distant hall.
“It will one day,” Crazykoopa promised his friend. “Everything that has a beginning must reach an ending eventually.”
A newsman threw up a hand and halted their progression after they entered the Town Circle. He was a young Mushroomer, wearing a string-connected double sign with the prices of his product listed, as well as the most tantalizing articles of the day. “Hear ye, hear ye, the Mushroom Village has been invaded! Consolidated Koopa forces barely beaten back! Casualties mounting!”
Crazykoopa took a leaf of papers from the boy and graced his hand with a single gold coin. “Thank you, gents,” the Mushroomer said and scurried off to replay his sales pitch with another group of prospective customers.
Blue Boo grabbed the paper, scanned it indignantly, and then folded it under his left arm. “Some paper! They didn’t even mention our heroic, tide-turning bravery.”
Crazykoopa stifled a laugh and let out a restrained snicker. “Notoriety isn’t everything, you know. Our part helped win the battle, and that’s that. Lack of recognition doesn’t make it any less true.”
“Whatever,” Blue Boo grumbled and tossed the newspaper into a wastebasket. He turned around and spotted a familiar house on a curve. “Let’s pay a visit to Russ T. Now he’s someone I can get along with.”
“Yeah,” agreed Crazykoopa. “I’d like to have a few words with him myself. Besides, my friend doesn’t usually go down to the docks until noon, and it’s only nine o’clock. We should have plenty of time for mingling.”
They approached the yellow and red-roofed house in the corner of the Toad Town Circle. A continuous plume of silently dignified smoke escaped from the crooked chimney, and the old world windows let out a faint candle light. Blue Boo took out his boomerang and tapped it briefly against the door’s wooden paneling. There was a sharp sound of scooting and grunting inside, followed by the clipped off hobbling of a retired Mushroomer.
The door creaked inwards, and there stood Russ T., a register of pleasant surprise transforming quickly into an inviting smile. “Well, isn’t this spectacular! My two confidants, the honorable Crazykoopa and the delightfully ghoulish Blue Boo.
“Come, come,” he said and waved them inside. He closed the door to and turned around, his eyes playing about the volume-covered walls of his humble abode. “What brings you two here on this fine morning?”
“Strictly pleasure,” said Crazykoopa. “We’re waiting to set sail and trying to get our minds off of the ordeal at the Mushroom Village. Their whole army was practically obliterated.”
“But we took down fifty for every one they took of us,” boasted Blue Boo. “They’ll think twice before attacking again.”
“Yes,” Russ T. nodded. “War is a terrible thing. Horrible! Now, may I get you something to drink? Earl Gray? Green tea?”
“No, that’s quite alright,” said Crazykoopa, used to the old man’s oddities “There is something you could do for us, though.”
At the mention of being of use, the Mushroomer perked up. “Anything you need, I’ll try my best to do. What’s on your mind, CK?”
“The leader of the forces that attacked the Mushroom Village called himself Raul. Maybe you know something about him, like what species he is and where he came from?”
Blue Boo was entertaining himself with a book of ghost stories and laughing at all the inappropriate moments. Russ T. seemed to study the Boo before turning back to the Koopa. “The name doesn’t really ring a bell, but once I get on a subject, I won’t stop researching until I’ve found everything there is to be found. How soon did you say you’d be leaving?”
Crazykoopa dragged Blue Boo away from his book, as the ghost was now laughing hysterically and rolling around. “Actually, I thought we may pick up a few basic supplies before departing. We’ll drop by again ere we leave.”
“I’ll see what I can get done, then,” the Mushroomer said and saw them off. Crazykoopa found Russ T.’s utter lack of comprehension for current events rather unsettling, but he tried to pass it off as an understandable protective shield the Mushroomer had built up around himself.
Blue Boo and Crazykoopa stopped at the store near the city’s docks, purchasing a bundle of items, some necessary and some not so necessary, from the shrewd owner. After failing to spot the Terrapin’s friend, they found themselves walking back along the busy road to Russ T.’s house.
Killing time, the pair stopped and chatted with several citizens, were unwittingly conned into buying a Li’l Oink, and lost half their currency in a shady casino. Blue Boo was in fact an irrepressible gambler and had lost a great fortune to the recently haunted casino at the Hotel Delfino.
Sidetracks aside, the two companions enjoyed the brief respite from adventuring and fell to love the innocuous life of the simple Mushroomers. Only the determination to make sure their peaceful life as maintained convinced them that their trip to Sarasaland had to be made.
As they were walking and being relatively unawares, it came as quite a surprise for the two when an extremely aged Mushroomer stepped out to meet them from a dense throng of gossipers. He was bent and crooked with a cane wrought from some ancient bark. When the Mushroomer spoke, his voice was thin and worn, rusty like a strained accordion.
“May we help you?” Crazykoopa inquired, wondering why the elder would single them out, despite the fact that they were a different species.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” the man said and bowed tentatively. “I am The Master of the Toad Town Dojo. One benefit of training your body and spirit rigorously for so many years is the ability to read unguarded minds, and the information I found in your noggins was enough to blow me over.”
“Gee, thanks,” said Blue Boo and batted his eyes sarcastically. “Really, what do you want with us? We have to meet someone, and then we’ve got a strict schedule to keep, so if you don’t mind, we’ll be moving on.”
“Not so fast, Blue Boo,” The Master said and extended his cane. “I must have a word with you about this Raul, among other things.”
Crazykoopa tried to keep his surprise from showing. “You’ve convinced us, so talk. And keep in mind, my friend and I really are in a hurry.”
“That’s too bad,” he said pitifully, “because I was going to offer you the chance to win a very useful item. It’s so useful, in fact, that your mission might not succeed without it.”
“What kind of item?” asked Blue Boo.
Crazykoopa followed the ghoul up with another question. “And what do we have to do to win it?”
“Nothing much,” The Master said and carefully turned his head away from them. Blue Boo noticed with some uncertainty that a crowd had begun to gather. “Just best me in a duel, two on one.”
The two prospective combatants employed endless will not to burst out laughing, but the old Mushroomer continued to stare at them with a youthful fire. “Go ahead, giggle,” he said, somewhat acrimoniously. “We’ll see whose snickering after I lay both of your hind ends on the pavement. Bring it on!”
He grunted lightly and shifted painfully into a shaky martial stance, both of his hands brought up and beckoning. Next, he made a short circle with his right arm and dug the heels of his stripped moccasins into the stone walkway, eliciting a gasp from the crowd of onlookers. “Well, don’t just stand there gawking. Rush me!”
Before either of his opponents could react, the Mushroomer leapt into the air, sailing forward and bringing out his front leg. The base of his foot stretched out and connected with Crazykoopa’s face, sending the Terrapin flying against a tree. Blue Boo let out a breathless “uh” and barely had time to duck as the Master’s other leg came spinning around for another kick.
The Mushroomer twirled through the air, landing gracefully on the ground and kneeling in a solemn bow. “Now you will take me seriously.” He tilted his head up, and a bright yellow fire surrounded his body. “Attack!”
Swords drawn and full of rage, a recovered Crazykoopa rushed forward, screaming and bringing one saber back for a swipe. He wasn’t sure if trying to kill the man was a good idea, but he had just been pummeled into a tree, so there was some justification. With an easy prowl, The Master grabbed the Terrapin’s wrist as he approached, twisted him around, and caught one of the weapons before it clattered to the ground.
Having no further time to waste with Crazykoopa, the Mushroomer turned about and ducked, coming back up sideways as Blue Boo’s boomerang whistled overhead. He jumped up into the air, crane kicking the Terrapin in the chest and somersaulting off of the rebound to land behind the charging ghost.
Cane still in hand, the Master spun, dodging Blue Boo and giving him a solid strike on the head. The ghost faltered, then slumped forward; Crazykoopa was sitting up, holding his sore chest plate. “Both of you are too eager, too undisciplined in your rage. This is not a war; it is a duel. Now,” he said and resumed a battle stance, “try again.”
Blue Boo nodded in Crazykoopa’s direction and the other looked back in assurance. If they were going to beat this phenomenally powerful Mushroomer, they would have to work as a team. Fortunately, several plans had already been formed throughout the fight. Blue Boo translated the schemes via mind communication, being careful to keep his thoughts guarded.
The Master made the first move, bringing back a flat-handed strike and releasing it into Blue Boo’s essence. The ghoul disappeared, and the Mushroomer’s blow dissipated into thin air. Crazykoopa came in, both of his swords crossed and glittering under the bright beating of the yellow sun. He jabbed them a little ways to the left, purposefully missing his target.
The Master was caught momentarily off-guard, allowing the perfectly unharmed Blue Boo to bring the edge of his boomerang hard upon the Mushroomer’s head. Finally hit, the older man lost his balance and fell to the ground. He rolled, coming up and massaging his aching head. “Excellent,” he said. “You have won, though I would like this chance to extend the fight.”
Blue Boo and Crazykoopa reeled, shielding their eyes as a blinding green flame consumed The Master. Within the frame of a second, both companions found themselves hit heavily in the middle, down without a single counterattack. They looked up to see the crazy Mushroomer back to his decrepit self, leaning wearily on the cane.
“Well,” said Crazykoopa, feeling rather embarrassed, “where’s our important item?”
“Right here,” said The Master, gesturing to himself proudly. “I shall accompany you on your journey.”
Blue Boo looked strangely at his fallen friend and then back at the elderly Mushroomer. “Really, we’d appreciate your help, but it’s probably best that you stay behind and guard the city.”
“Nonsense,” The Master said and waved his hand in dismissal. “My students are more than capable of protecting the town in my stead. Besides, much more than the fate of a single city rests on the outcome of your expedition.”
Crazykoopa checked his chrono and looked up. “Well, then, we had better get back to Russ T.’s house. We promised to see him before we left for Sarasaland.”
“I doubt he was able to find anything on Raul, but I suppose it’s worth a shot,” said Blue Boo, making an obscure shrug.
“Do not discredit his ability so quickly,” said The Master, pinching his face up in a wide grin. “After all, when things are as grim as they are now, any little bit of information helps.”
The winds picked up as they made their way west from the Toad Town Post Office, and the dull outline of Russ T.’s house under the lengthening morning brought with it an augmented feeling of hope.
~*~*~*~
A slender, fleshy umbilical cord connected Prince Lemmy’s newest creation to a cognition hood fitted tightly around his forehead. His rainbow-colored hair sprouted out like vibrant stalks of weed, and two crazed eyes followed the metronome pulse of his malformation. It donned a tough, ebony shell like a crab, but its soft body trailed a sticky mucous underneath.
The heap of Terrapin carrion he had slaughtered rotted in a nearby corner, and their collected blood slowly drained upon the flooring from a weighted vial. His precious creation, bred genetically using several strings of specialized traits, eagerly lapped the life flow, depositing the rich crimson liquid as a poison in its adhesive sway.
“Death from life,” said Lemmy and grinned wickedly. “My claws have wrought another masterpiece, more divine than Ludwig’s gears, more potent than Larry’s lies.”
“How modest,” came the grating voice of his brother Ludwig from across the room. “I finally find the time to visit my sibling, and I am greeted with the discordant sounds of degradation.”
“Silence!” said Lemmy through his teeth. “You have interrupted my experiment. How do you plead?”
“As your superior,” Ludwig replied and struck his brother, sending the smaller Koopaling tumbling onto the floor. “Get up, you worm!”
Lemmy struggled to stand, hunched over and rubbing a cut on the back of his head. He snarled weakly and hobbled away from his older brother. “What do you want?”
Ludwig cupped his hands behind his back and began to discourse upon the values of brotherhood and Koopaling teamwork, while Lemmy pondered whether to kill the blue-haired egoist or wait for a more convenient time.
“In any case, I think it would be best if, during our meetings with Raul, you simply agree with and support all of my points and recommendations.” Ludwig casually extended his magnificently sharp set of claws. “Do you see any reason why this would present a problem?”
Lemmy studied his brother’s razor-point nails with a keen interest, but his glance quickly shifted to the slug-like deformity still writhing along the floor.
Ludwig’s eyes widened. “What is that abomination?” he exclaimed and walked over to it. He flipped it over and pushed his foot slowly on top of it, killing the creation with a sickening, sloshing sound. “My leg!’
An unquenchable rage entered into Lemmy’s face, and he delighted in his brother’s obvious pain as he danced about. His foot was bubbling with acidic damage, and the rainbow-haired prince could only stare at the wound in a deranged, lopsided fashion.
“I forbid you to make any more of these,” said Ludwig and lumbered out, muttering curses under his breath. He headed directly for the Infirmary.
Lemmy carefully discarded the remains of the creature and clicked his reptilian tongue. “My next task will be to make the venom stronger. But first,” he said, “I believe it’s time to find out a little more about our enigmatic host, as well as why King Dad is acting so peculiar.”
~*~*~*~
As soon as the trio of house guests set foot in Russ T.’s home, the clever Mushroomer treated them all to a broad grin. The blatant facial gesture was more than enough to raise the group’s spirits. With the unrestrained zeal of a studious school boy, Russ T. propped open a large, dusty roll of scripts he’d had tucked under his right arm.
“I perused all the lengths and breadths of my ample library, unable to locate a single piece of useful information,” he said, on the verge of rambling. “It finally popped into my head to check the ancient scrolls, so I cleared out the basement and skimmed over the dusty collection as best I could. At first I thought the second search would be in vain, as well, but I eventually found this delightful gem.”
He proudly held out a sparkling rock with an inscribed lettering that appeared indecipherable. “When I received the scroll it was attached to, it had been unopened, in mint condition! I paid a heavy price for it, yes, but it was mine. It’s unbelievable that I haven’t discovered that before now, though I was being awfully careful with the treasure.”
Crazykoopa studied at it closely. “And why is this good?”
Russ T. looked at the Terrapin as if the answer was obvious. “Well, of course, I deciphered the thing. It’s the ancient language of the Star Lore, and it reads ‘The Wolf Counselor’, which means Raul in the common tongue.”
“The Wolf Counselor,” Blue Boo repeated, straightening his hat. “What could that mean?”
“I’m not sure,” answered Russ T., “but you’ll be interested to know that the scroll it was enclosed in was an epic poem detailing the birth of Doomstar. Although I discovered the content of it through the Star Lore inscription at the top, the verse itself was written in a language I’ve never seen before. The roughness of its dialect indicates one of the banned speech, a group of tongues whose records were destroyed before the set up of the Koopa Republic.
“And, if you are not history buffs, the Koopa Republic was—”
The Master interjected, “The system of government of the Koopa race before King Morton seized the throne and set up the Koopa Dynasty.”
“Right,” said Russ T., betraying no surprise. “Sadly, that’s all we know. King Morton tried diligently to erase all the volumes detailing events before his reign. He nearly succeeded, and that is why this scroll is so valuable. It was an extraordinary bargain for a grab-bag.”
“Thanks Russ T.,” said Crazykoopa, looking worriedly at his chrono. His friend would have already landed and loaded the new supplies. They had to hurry. “Keep searching for more connections.”
“Feel free to ask my students for help, if you need it,” The Master offered. “A little practice in patience would serve them well.”
“And adios!” Blue Boo waved and followed his companions out the door.
~*~*~*~
“CK, my old friend, it has been awhile,” the captain of the Rising Tide said and extended his hand.
“You are looking as well as ever, Garro,” Crazykoopa said and returned the favor. “How have you been doing?”
The Nimbian statue maker smiled. “I can’t complain. Ever since I began trading my works, the open sea has been my home.”
“That’s great,” said Crazykoopa. “I hate to ask you, but we need immediate passage to Sarasaland, and I was thinking you could help us.”
“Fate has it that I’m heading there next,” said Garro. “I’ll be glad to take you and your friends. Business or pleasure?”
“Grim business,” said Crazykoopa. “If you haven’t heard, an army has invaded the Mushroom Village. They were able to fend it off, but the ringleader will be back, and we need to vie for the Sarasalian Military’s aid.”
Garro whistled doubtfully. “Sounds tricky, but, like I said, I’m going there anyway, so it shouldn’t be a problem. Come on aboard, you three. The weather is perfect for sailing.”
Heartened by his amicable mood, the three companions obliged, walking up the gangplank of the Rising Tide and touring the main deck. It was a magnificent ship with plenty of cabin space, cannons in the event of a scuffle, and three high-flying flags bearing the marks of Plit, Nimbus Land, and Garro’s own design.
They sat sail at three that afternoon, drinking a toast to the voyage and eating a meal prepared by Toad Town’s famous chef, Tayce T. Truth be told, the food wasn’t all that delectable, but the mutual mood of the four friends was too great to be disturbed by someone’s poor cuisine.
The Terrapin Crazykoopa stood with his hands behind his back at the bow of the ship, feeling the wind ruffle his scales and peering out over the endless horizon. Adventure awaited him, along with a fair amount of political intrigue and most likely death, as well. Whatever the challenge, though, he knew that with the help of his friends he could achieve any goal. Everything was going to work out; it had to.
Blue Boo’s lonely spirit felt elated and more liberated than it ever had before. He knew from that moment on that for the remainder of his peaceful days he would travel the many seas of Plit. Floating back on his side, the Boo watched contentedly as white clouds scudded across a clear blue expanse.
The Master, however, was not so assured of success. Russ T.’s discoveries and their possible implications inspired countless questions that he did not yet have the answers to. Was the invader Raul the same as The Wolf Counselor, and if so, what was the connection? He felt sure part of the answer lay in the poem Russ T. was trying to translate, but that meant a fair amount of waiting stood between him and the solution.
“The world is in contest,” The Master muttered, wincing as the winds changed. “There is still much time before the final clash,” he thought, “and we all have a part in the ultimate fate of this planet.”
Discontinued...
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