By Mario Fan
Chapter Two: The Investigation
The only notable difference
between the courageous and the craven is the outpouring of fear. While
the second succumbs to trepidation during moments of opportunity, the first
will become aware of his dread only after his task is completed. The legends
and the heroes of the ages arise from this subtle variation.
1.
Prince Mallow sat poised atop the wide railing encircling one of the many observation balconies of the Royal Nimbian Palace. It was the sixth night of the Autumn Festival in the Mushroom Village, and here in Nimbus Land, far above the Mushroom Kingdom, the sky was tinted with the red and orange of a dieing afternoon. The pale-bodied citizens of the humble kingdom slowly made their way back home to the palm-bound houses that peppered along the land of clouds. Even the bright pink and icy cream coloring of the castle was beginning to adopt the silent gray of the dwindling dusk.
As he rested there in his quiet thoughts, the heir to the Nimbian Throne directed his gaze to the sky above and the twin moons of Plit suspended in a canopy of countless stars. Mallow often wondered if there were other worlds beyond his sight, additional planets in the growing expanse of the universe. And if they did exist, would they sustain the vibrancy of life that Plit did?
He would find out when he passed on, he told himself, when spirits sprout wings of the thinnest star silk and sail among the cosmos. All the problems of earth and fire seemed unimaginably distant in the shadowed vision of expanding emptiness, and yet no matter how close the size of space and time appeared, the young prince could not help but feel confined. His late night vigils recalled old memories, as well: some pleasant, some painful.
The cool rustle of jostled fabric came from within his quarters—vague yet definitely noticeable. He looked around and saw his mother in her green and ruby gown gliding on air across the living room. “I’m out here, mother, watching the stars come out.”
“Mallow, dear, won’t you come in for a time?” she asked, her voice as light and graceful as a falling feather. “Your father is going to have a meeting with his advisors, and he thought you might like to attend.”
“You know I’m bored of that stuff, mom,” he said uneasily and climbed down from the railing. “The bureaucrats and the pomp don’t suit me. I spent most of my life living in that pond, speaking with the tadpoles, discussing the songs of the wind with Grandpa.” He turned to look at her, trying desperately to convey the meaning of his words. “It’s only been three years, three years to learn the behavior of a lifetime. This cape, this crown,” he said, indicating the items with a touch of his hand, “are still unfamiliar.”
“Oh, Mallow, I wish that war had never happened. If only we could have had peace a few years longer, we would’ve never had to send you away.” The moonlight shimmered upon the jade and diamond gems fitted across her crown. “We thought you might die, dear, that we might lose you after all we’d been through.”
“In a way, mother, you did,” he said thoughtfully. “You lost the Nimbian I would have become and gained a,” he tried not to smile, “a tadpole. I’m still your son, though, and I’m still happy I found you both. I just have to get out of here, you see, to discover how I want to live the rest of my life. It’s like being alive, but never truly being born.”
“If it’s time you need, Mallow,” she said, touching his shoulder, “then you can have all you need. We’ll just go tell your father, and I’ll instruct the orderlies to pack your things and—”
“I have everything I need right here,” he said. In a corner of the balcony rested his patched, pond-green cloak and the wooden stave of Frogfucious. “Come to think of it, they might be all I really ever needed.”
She nodded solemnly and tearfully pinned the cape across his neck. “Come on,” his mother said, taking his hand in hers. “Let us go inform the king, and then you may go. Just promise me you’ll come back to us one day, Mallow. Promise me that.”
“I promise,” said the Prince, his head
bowed. A single tear splashed onto the crimson marble of the balcony, and
for one terrifying moment, Queen Nimbus mistook it for the slow draining
of her son’s blood.
2.
It was the evening before the last day of the Autumn Festival, and neither Mario nor Luigi felt any desire to join the revelry the celebration still proffered to those who had caroused all night. Instead, they retired to the room at the Mushroom Inn that had been reserved for them by the Princess Toadstool and prepared for sleep. The lavish candelabrum on the nightstand between their two beds was just beginning to shed its last light when Luigi finished reading.
He closed his book and placed it under the bed and then checked to see that Mario was asleep. Satisfied, he took the bronze ladle cupped over the front post of his bed and snuffed out the candle wicks until at last a deep and muggy darkness filled the room. Only the incense of the scented wax and the drunken voices of returning Mushroomers remained. It had been a long, relaxing week, indeed, but something persistent still bothered Luigi’s mind.
The sixth day of the Autumn Festival had come and gone, and there was still no sign of the promised storm. In view of the consistently bright and sunny weather, he was certain just about everyone had already forgotten such a ridiculous rumor had even existed. Perhaps there was nothing to it, after all, despite his early premonitions. It was simply going to be another successful, fulfilling harvest, akin to all the years before.
And yet …
And yet what? he thought, angrily. The only suspicious thing that had happened was Russ T.’s sudden departure and even quicker return. He’s here, though, probably still out enjoying himself. Goompapa talked about listening to his singing and whistling on the first day of the Festival.
Luigi shot upright in his bed, holding back a scream. “Mario!” he said, getting only a “It’s-a me, Mario,” in return. “Mario!” he whispered again, shrilly.
“I’m up, I’m up,” said his brother, while wearily opening his eyes. “What’s going on, Luigi? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
“Something like that,” said Luigi, hurriedly. “Remember Goompapa said he heard Russ. T whistling? Well, I might be crazy, but didn’t Russ T. say he’d never learned to whistle when we saw him going back to Toad Town earlier this week?”
“Hey, you’re right!” said Mario, rubbing the final bits of sleep from his eyes. He hopped out of bed and reached for his cap. “I suspected something was fishy about this whole mess. Why do you suppose it’s taken us until now to realize it, eh?”
“I hope I’m not right about this,” said Luigi. “If I am, it could mean trouble.”
“Yeah,” agreed Mario. “I’ve seen enough of Duplighosts and Magikoopas in my life to know they mean business. What’re we going to do, though?”
Luigi climbed out of bed and began to dress. “We have to find Russ T, or at least what looks like Russ T, and ask a few questions. I’m not sure where he’s staying, but the princess will know. One of us should go to the innkeeper’s house and ask him, and the other should go wake Peach. I’m sure you’ll want to be doing that last one, right?”
“Right,” said Mario, flashing his trademark smile, and they both hastened downstairs as quietly as possible.
Once outside, the pair of sibling heroes made time for a brief conversation. Luigi spotted the smoking chimney of the innkeeper’s home in the distance. Fortunately, a dull candlelight still flickered from within the modest abode. “Remember to be polite, of course, and don’t get her too worried. I’d hate to think I’m mistaken about this, but I sure won’t be overjoyed if I’m correct, either.”
Mario tilted his hat back and attempted to flatten his hair in vain. “Don’t worry about me, bro. Just keep to your own side of the town. We’ll find him.”
Luigi nodded, as reassured as he ever would be, and started off at a light run towards the innkeeper’s home. He looked back to get a bearing on Mario one last time, but the other brother had already disappeared behind a row of closely-packed houses. “He’s fast,” said Luigi under his breath. “I’ll give him that.”
He came to a high embankment separating a ten foot drop into a lower level of the city. Mustering what courage was left to him in the late hours of the night, he leapt over the mossy stone wall and landed on hands and feet in a flower garden on the other side. “Sorry, Raini,” he said to an empty audience.
After brushing his soil-stained pant legs, he walked calmly over to the door of the innkeeper’s house and knocked a couple of times. The door opened as he gave a bit of additional effort to cleaning his clothes. “Uh, hello, Mr. Rossetti.”
“Luigi!” said the Mushroomer, fairly comical in his bathrobe and slippers. “Come in, of course. What’s the matter?” he asked, shutting the door behind them.
“I don’t really have time to explain,” the taller man said apologetically, “but I need to know if Russ T. is staying in the Mushroom Inn. If he is, I’m afraid I’ll need his room number, as well. Don’t tell anyone, but my brother and I think there might be trouble.”
“With Russ T?” asked Mr. Rossetti. Before Luigi could stumble over a response, the Mushroomer shook his head. “Never mind that. Here, I’ll check today’s invoice.” He strolled over to a table with a large binder on it and opened it to the last page. “Redman, Roth, Rufus… Ah, here it is! Russ T, room 13. Here’s the key to the safe with the access cards. Good luck!”
Luigi accepted the ring of gold and silver keys and nodded his head. “Thanks. Lock your doors and don’t go outside until morning. You can never be too careful.”
Mr. Rossetti shot back a mischievous grin at Luigi and indicated a long knife resting in the far corner as he was leaving. “I’m not completely helpless, you know. Whoever it is being a nuisance won’t come poking around here without a world of pain.”
“Good to know,” said Luigi, visibly overbalanced. The plumber-turned-warrior bounded back toward the Mushroom Inn, where the last of a row of second story lights shuddered briefly before smothering out.
In the interim of his brother’s curt parley with the innkeeper, Mario dashed up the wide and ornately paved stairway that led to the entrance of the Royal Mushroom Castle. Once there, he was promptly halted by a pair of guards bearing silver lances and draping iron mesh under luminous chest plates.
The taller one held out his free arm. “Our apologies, Mario, but the princess has gone to bed, and she’s had a long day planning for tomorrow’s dinner. You’ll have to speak with her in the morning.”
“It’s urgent, though!” Mario exclaimed, trying not to sound angry. “I need to know where Russ T. is. He was here earlier in the week, I believe.”
The more gregarious guard looked at his companion with interest before matching Mario’s eyes once more. “He’s staying here, actually. Apparently, he became ill, and instead of letting him travel back to Toad Town, Princess Toadstool insisted that he stay here under the care of the Kingdom’s best doctors.”
Mario looked off for a moment, mulling over what to ask next. “Did he say anything about coming back from Toad Town? I thought he had already left once and returned.”
The shorter of the two doormen finally spoke. “We’re servants of the castle, sir. Any news we get is just the gossip we hear from our relief.”
“And I suppose you won’t be letting me in to see Russ T, either,” Mario said dully. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll find another way in.”
Both the Mushroomers clicked the ends
of their lances against the dry cobblestone and resumed the traditional
stance of readiness. Neither of them appeared confident, though, when Mario
smiled secretively and rounded the left side of the castle.
3.
The room was sucked of sound and warmth, leaving only the drab table and chairs and the blue ice fires that flickered coldly all around the circular chamber. King Bowser had called a meeting of the elite, and now all the members of the Council of Nobility sat absolutely silent, waiting for the discussion to begin. It was customary for the highest ranked of the attendees to address the first issue, but Kamek had been given a unique honor that early night on the sixth day of the Autumn Festival.
He stood up from the table, manipulating the candlelight so that it cast an unearthly glow across his face and spread his clawed hands diplomatically. “You have all been briefed on the elements of our Sovereign Lord’s master plan to overtake the Mushroom Kingdom. It has been modified on the basis of all your input and all your experience as soldiers in the everlasting war against the Enemy. Here tonight we finalize this historical mission and make the decisions that will ensure its success.”
“That will be all, Kamek,” said Bowser, motioning with a heavy hand. He rose from the table and hefted a sparkling bottle of wine whose aroma suggested traces of ginger and parsley. After sniffing the top, the Dragon Koopa emptied a generous portion of the liquid into a silver goblet and sipped at it with a surprising delicacy. “The only questions left are, ‘Who will be sent to complete the mission?' and, 'How are they going to do it?’”
Kamek was about to add his insight when Kammy abruptly stood, purposefully placing a clawed hand over the elder Magikoopa’s shoulder. “I would first like to commend the Grand Guildmaster on his opening words,” she said, her voice old and rasping. “Along the lines of business, though, it is overwhelmingly apparent to me that the skills of a Magikoopa will be needed in this expedition. And what better wizard of stealth do we have in our ranks than Guildmaster Vermik?”
Of course she would send her apprentice to the front lines[, Kamek thought. They have that cursed psychic link, after all. My control over the situation would be ruined!
“You have something to add, Kamek?” asked Kammy. “Your fidgeting belays a concern. We’re all ears.”
“Fidgeting!” said Kamek disgustedly. “I only wish to point out to the Council that Vermik is far too important to risk so rashly on this mission. Surely you can come up with someone a bit more expendable.”
Vermik broke in, scrambling to his mistress’ rescue. “Why not send me? If this operation is as pivotal as our Lord Bowser says, then we must stop at nothing to complete it. I would be willing, personally, to put myself in danger, as long as the ultimate victory of our race is accomplished.”
Everyone else at the table applauded, including King Bowser. Only Kamek and, with some odd twist of mystery, Admiral Jade remained unimpressed. “Very well, but let us allow someone else to recommend his partner.”
The Magikoopa cloaked in blue grinned menacingly at Kammy’s immediate scowl. She knows I suspect something more than a master-apprentice relationship between the two of them. Let that boil her brain!
Admiral Jade fluttered into the air and hovered at eye level with the other members of the council. “I agree with the Grand Guildmaster. We of the military branch have chosen Kanaye of the Stealth Unit.”
Both Kammy and Kamek shouted in protest. Naturally, the former’s voice was the more predominant. “You propose to employ the skills of a Ninja? They were the personal bodyguards of Smithy!”
“This choice does seem unwise, Admiral,” Bowser said with a terrifying calmness. “Perhaps you can dispel our fears.”
“Actually,” General Jagger broke in, “I believe I can. Kanaye has been a fiercely loyal, disciplined soldier from the very beginning of his training. Since coming here and swearing an oath to you, my King, he has shattered countless exam records and been awarded top honors at each graduating level. It is my personal feeling that he dedicates his life to the strongest ruler he can find. With that in mind, I see no danger of deceit or any other malcontent, for that matter.”
Bowser made a deep, thoughtful rumbling sound at the pit of his throat and laced his gleaming claws together. “Very well, Jagger. That is an appealing case, I have to admit. Still…”
“Still what, my Lord?” asked Kamek, who was becoming very distraught with the thought of potential traitors handling the fate of the Koopa Kingdom.
“Defensive Advisor Inire,” said Bowser, unexpectedly. “What are your thoughts on the matter?”
B. Inire, a reserved Chester, shifted his iron-bound top down an inch or two at the inquiry. “I have observed the Ninja in question countless times in my inspection of the Stealth Division, where I have gained a respectful confidence in Kanaye’s credulity. We may trust him to complete this task.
“But if I may interject here,” continued Inire, “I would like to ask why we are planning to implement this mission tomorrow, when Booster’s cannons have not yet arrived. They are critical to our defense against an inevitable counterattack.”
Bowser grinned patronizingly. “Surely Booster’s order will be here before the Mushroomers reach our castle.”
“No,” said Kamek, immediately regretting the alacrity of his protest. “Defensive Advisor Inire is correct. Those additional cannons must be installed before we provoke this battle. Without them, our victory is not certain.”
“Kamek is only trying to stall His Lordship in order to convince him that my apprentice is unfit for the operation,” Kammy said, pointing an accusing claw at her superior. “His opinions are tainted!”
“And yours are entirely clean?” asked Admiral Jade. Her wings were beating the stagnant air furiously. “You conniving witch! You’ll burn us all to the ground.”
“Enough!” Bowser growled and slammed a fist against the table. His silver goblet overturned, spilling its contents onto the stone floor. “I’ve waited long enough! They must pay tonight, and Vermik and Kanaye will see it done.”
Meeting adjourned, thought Kamek
gravely. The old Bowser has returned, it seems, as senseless and rash
as ever! He walked away from his chair as everyone began to disperse.
It
is of little importance. If worse comes to worse, I can always retrieve
the cannons, myself, before the Mushroomers arrive. Still, there is the
issue of that storm and its correlation to Bowser’s dream. I’m running
out of time!
4.
In the northernmost regions of Kooparian rested the desolate Ice Land, a sprawling tundra of frozen plains and treacherous, snow-covered mountains. Within the highest of the Frosty Alps, far above the barren bottomlands of Prince Lemmy’s Kingdom, there existed an ancient system of interconnected tunnels and storage caves built into the foundation of the mountains long ago by some forgotten race.
Nearly five-hundred years after the underground dungeons had been painstakingly constructed, three lone bandits crept through the aging hallways and passages, setting up torches along the walls as they went. The self-appointed leader, a silent and deadly Armored Ant by the name of Shogun, turned to face the other two members of his expedition.
“We are getting closer to the Central Atrium, where the Vault to the Treasury lay so many hundreds of years ago,” he said calmly, his thoughts seeming to drift back to another point in time. “If the scrolls I stole from the Archive of the Monstro Town Dojo are correct, then there is good chance that whatever treasures were once hidden inside still remain.”
The blue crocodile Croco ground his teeth in frustration. “Let’s hurry it up, then, will ya? I’m excited about this treasure and all, but my bones are freezing.”
“You will have your prize, thief,” said Shogun, with obvious contempt. He turned to the chubby rodent beside him. “Mouser, the wall up ahead presents an obstruction. Get rid of it.”
The gray-furred mouse grinned behind an oversized pair of sunglasses. “You called for demolitions? Bombs away!” From within a bulging bag wrapped tight around the rodent’s arm, Mouser hurled a barrage of explosives at a sheer face of densely-packed ice. “Just in the right place to avoid a cave-in. I’m so good, it amazes even me!”
Croco growled and repositioned his hat from the aftershock of the explosion. “Shaddup! If those bombs don’t blow out my ears, your mouth will. Now get outta’ my way.”
In the span of a shifting eye, Shogun pinned the unaware crocodile to a wall of the cave with the flat of his left claw and brought a silver saber across the reptile’s throat. His poison-soaked mandibles clicked menacingly, and his thickly-plated armor shined in the view of the ice and frozen rock. “Your tongue is sharp, Croco. Perhaps it needs trimming.”
When the Ant’s grip loosened, Croco pushed away and attempted to straighten his crumpled clothing with dignity. “I don’t need this! Keep your stupid treasure. You’ll all die out here, a couple of wimpy icicles!”
Mouser shouted back a few obscenities as the sound of Croco’s ivory claws clicking against the tunnel’s floor dissipated around a bend in the way. He whirled angrily upon his only remaining partner. “You said we needed him, so get him back!”
Shogun turned about face, unfettered, and continued walking onward. “It would have been nice to retain his skills as a fighter, yes, but I have already possessed the absolute necessity he provided our little project with.” The Armored Ant lifted one hand and indicated an amethyst ring glowing faintly about one pincer. “This is the Signal Ring, and its unique properties allow it to give off a chime, if you will, whenever its wearer approaches any item of great power or use.
“Besides, he’ll die out there, miles away from anyone who could make good use of the information he has gained,” said Shogun, plunging his saber in a steel-bound sheath carved with intricate designs. “The key to the past awaits us, Mouser, and that’s all that matters.”
Mouser twitched his massive ears and whiskers nervously and looked back, as if contemplating following Croco out. “So we’ll get a lot of cash out of this deal, right?”
“If that is what you desire,” said Shogun mysteriously, “then that is what you will receive.”
They continued walking, periodically lengthening or shortening their stride as per Shogun’s example. As they made their way deep into the heart of the mountain, the composition of the craggy cave walls gradually increased in ice. Mouser touched a brown-gloved hand to his narrow snout, amusing himself with the distorted reflections in the frozen mirrors to either side.
It was at least another hour before Shogun spoke again. His voice had deepened and assumed a misty haze as cloudy and concealing as the drifting fog that wound itself tightly around their legs and waists. “The Altar of Ice, according to the scrolls, will remain frozen and vaporous in a bond that reaches across time and space until the breaking of the world.” He paused briefly to look back at Mouser. “That is the power we are dealing with.”
“Why has no one come here before, then?” asked Mouser. “Half a century is an awful long time to let such a tremendous opportunity go to waste.”
“The secret of its existence was pierced by the Masters of old, the elder owners of Jinx’s Dojo, during a month of fasting and meditation. They would have kept the knowledge hidden, I imagine, but the fools felt the need to inform their descendents about the altar.
“Fortunately, in my dynasty’s colony buried deep under the sands of Land’s End, there lay a clue in a dusty article. I found it by chance one day while scouring through the older records of our library. The blasted thing was encrypted, but by using the best of our decoding literature, I was able to gather the location of the scrolls. After that, it was a simple matter of breaking into the Dojo and claiming them for myself.”
“A dynasty!” exclaimed Mouser in disbelief. “I knew you weren’t any simple bandit. Pardon the flattering, but you’re too smart for that. Nah, I said to myself, ‘Mouser, you old rodent, that Shogun fellow is royalty. Pure, grade-A royalty!’ An explosion in my mind!” He unclenched his fists and wiped at the foam that had formed at the ridge of his mouth. “So, anyway, what do you want this thing for?”
“For power, Mouser, and for the wisdom to control it in its highest form,” said Shogun, simply. “I am an educated man, you see, but I am also an ambitious one. Under my rule, the Armored Ants will rise to the surface and flood the deserts of the world, once more. Beyond that, who can say? Perhaps the stars …”
“The stars!” cried Mouser, holding his stomach in laughter. “That’s rich! Really, though, power is nice. Women, servants, and all the cheese you could ask for, eh?”
“I suppose if that’s what your after,” muttered Shogun, but his indifference was soon pried apart by the sight before them. It was a sheer, shining surface, unmistakably made of metal. “We’re here!”
“Uh, boss,” said Mouser uneasily. “My bombs won’t burst though that wall without some serious trouble. Do you have any other bright ideas?”
“You will never believe how many I have,” said Shogun, smiling for the first time during the journey. He placed two adhesive claw emplacements over the wall and scraped downward. Seemingly satisfied with whatever it was he was testing, the Armored Ant reached into a leather pouch secured to his chest plate clamps. He produced a rolled up scroll, yellowed and brittle with age. “If I remember the translation accurately,” he said carefully, “then we have only to knock three times and wait.”
Mouser let out a breath of suppressed air and did so. When nothing happened, he stood back and scratched between his ears. “Nothing’s happening.”
“So we must wait,” said Shogun, and propped himself against the left side of the cave. “I suggest you get some rest, as well. This might take awhile.”
The impatient rodent grumbled something
incoherent and unslung his pack from his aching shoulders. He rubbed them
irritably and finally drifted off when he was sure the Armored Ant was
sleeping.
5.
The anxiety and thrill of the sixth day extended even to the borders of the Midas Fountain, the source of the waterfall that fueled the paradisiacally lush Tadpole Pond below. A shadow of the night bent forward over the chill gray waters of the eternal spring and bent low, dipping a clay drinking jar into the pool. The crackle of a nearby fire and the hush of the drifting smoke enveloped the figure’s form as it receded back toward the campsite.
“Here you go, Master Torte,” the Apprentice said, shuffling his feet nervously athwart the taller and more prominent Terrapin.
“Zhank you,” said Chef Torte, eagerly accepting the heavy container. He held it up with both hands and poured the contents down his dry throat. “Ve’ve been valking for days and haf only gotten zhis far. Vhere ist zat darned paz down zhe mountain, anyvay?”
The Apprentice accepted the considerably lighter drinking jar and tried to drain what was left into his own mouth. “I don’t know, boss. All I can see are steep drop-offs in every direction. There’s got to be a way to get down without having a degree in rocking climbing, though.”
“Vhateveir you say, Apprentice,” said Torte, who was growing more agitated than usual. “Sit down, vhy don’t you? All zat pacing ist making moi nervous.”
“Sorry, sir. It’s just that I’m worried the Mushroomers will try and hunt us down. We do owe them all that money they paid us in advance. Maybe we should go back and give it to them—ACK!” The Apprentice fell face first in a patch of mud and rolled up, tenderly rubbing his head. “What was that for?”
“For being an idiot, zat’s vhat,” said Chef Torte, his face now positively boiling. “Ve can neveir go back zhere again, not afteir vhat happened viz zhat faulty potion. Neveir trust a Sarasalian, I alvays zay!”
“When have you ever said that, sir?”
Just as Chef Torte was rummaging secretively through his nearby pack for a suitably dense pan, his fingers wrapped around something of more immediate interest. With a yelp of excitement, he yanked it out and held it up to the light of the blazing campfire. “Vell, vell, I forgot I still had zis little buggeir.”
“Oh! Let me see! Oh, please, let me see!” screamed the Apprentice, flailing over Chef Torte and landing with a hiss over the fire. “Ouch! Ooh, ooh, ooh!”
The mustachioed Terrapin sighed purposefully and started another fire. “Now zen,” he said carefully, indifferent to his apprentice’s hapless calls for help, “if I remembeir correctly, I received zis for my services in ze Tropacine Fleet.” He observed what was obviously a medal attached to a sparkly ribbon. “It reads: Commendation for Extraordinary Culinary Performance on zhe High Seas. Oh, I vas so loved back zen! If only zey hadn’t ended zhe var and decided to unite under vone banneir, zey’d still be loving moi. Vell, not in zat vay, alzough it ist veiry possible vis all ze ladies following moi around in zose days. Hehe!”
About that time, Chef Torte discovered the Apprentice had cooled off and was presently standing incredibly close. “Master Torte,” he said quietly, almost in a whisper, “what’cha doin’?”
“Go avay!” Chef Torte growled. “I svear, zere’s no privacy up here in zhe mountains. It’s like living in a communal nut house, and all zhe nuts are you!”
The Apprentice sniffled faintly and looked off towards the horizon, spotting a bit of purple light. “It’s going to be morning soon, sir. I’ve packed everything; perhaps we should start searching for a way down again.”
“You know, Apprentice,” said Chef Torte grumpily, “if everyzhing vere as simple as you make it out to be, I vouldn’t haf to bash you so many times. Vhat’s ze point of finding zhis so-called paz vhen it doesn’t exist?”
“It’s like I said,” the Apprentice drawled disconsolately. “You have to be a rock climbing professional to get down these cliffs. It’s too bad you don’t know a single thing about how to climb mountains, Master Torte.”
“Vhat do you mean, don’t know a single zhing?” asked Chef Torte, his pride wounded. “I didn’t vant to brag before, but I vas ze top of moi’s rock climbing class. Zey had to pull me down before I conquered too many of zose vimpy zhings. Ist all true!”
“How convenient!” said the Apprentice. “You can lead the way down, and we’ll get there in no time. You’re so smart, sir.”
“Zhat’s more like it,” said Chef Torte, pulling on his pack. Just for good measure, he gave the Apprentice a reassuring pat on the head. “You’re on your vay, kid.”
“Um, sir,” said the Apprentice, while watching Torte approach the edge of the plateau. “Shouldn’t you equip some gear or something before—”
“MON DIEU!” screamed Chef Torte, his
voice growing rapidly distant as he tumbled over the cliff
6.
Leaving his dojo in Monstro Town behind, the foreign monster known simply as Jinx followed the subtle tracks of his prey down into a land of slow grass and whispering seas. To his back rose the thundering mountains of Land’s End, sloping down into a valley of sparkling lakes and fresh autumn pine. Further east, the morning sun was creeping over the royal sapphire of Star Hill and casting a shivering purple mist on the villages below.
Although he had only been traveling for a couple of days, the diminutive monster felt it time for another hour of meditation. He carefully lay his ragged gray pack against the wet bark of a willow tree and sat upon a smooth river stone. It offered little comfort, but the silent trance he soon entered blocked the irritation. As soon as the world without left him completely, the surrealistic visions of fear and doubt came flooding in. Jinx was in control, though, and so soon he had a grasp on the contents of his mind and all the life around him. Everything breathed and trembled in a world of shimmering light, falling water, and quiet stars.
“Come out of the shadow of that tree,” said Jinx, opening one eye first, and then the other. He looked over his shoulder, listening to the gentle gusts of wind for a confirmation. “Into the light, child, so I may know you better.”
Out from the shelter of an oak stepped a cautious Goomba. Jinx noticed it was male, with heavy, darkly tinted eyebrows, but it was not yet an adult. “You have been following me since my departure from Monstro Town. Tell me, am I correct in guessing that you are one of the shopkeeper’s children?”
“My name is Keb,” said the young monster. “I left my father’s shop, for he was going to force me into apprenticeship. You see, my other two siblings are females and thus traditionally unable to run the family. In following you, I hoped to strike out on my own and start a new life. I’ve always admired the way you sit and listen to the earth and the wind in the trees. Please, don’t cast me away.”
“You have been planning what to say to me for some time,” said Jinx. He paused, seeming to construct the order of his words. “Although I do not wish to move against your father’s will, I also do not have the time to guide you back home. As such, I suppose it would be alright if you followed me to Seaside Town. But I warn you, Keb. Once there, you must remain patiently until I return. I shall give you ample funds for meals and a room at the inn.”
Keb shifted his enormous eyes back and forth nervously and straightened his posture. “I’m sorry, Master Jinx, but I can’t do that. No matter where you go, I’ll follow. If I’m not able to make it with you, then I’ll know for sure my calling is that of a shopkeeper and not an adventurer.”
Jinx took a moment of silence to walk around the taller monster and consider his strength and courage. “That it is not all you wish of me. Open your heart, Keb. What is it you truly followed me for?”
The Goomba slumped in disappointment. “I should have known not to conceal my feelings from you. It is my dream to become a martial arts expert and help to make the world right. My dad told me horrific stories from his days as a soldier in King Bowser the Tyrant’s infantry. Our planet will not be safe until he is destroyed!”
Master Jinx reeled in surprise at the juvenile’s powerful conviction. “Walk with me awhile, then,” he said ambiguously. “We shall see what your soul reveals. Until then, I suppose it does no harm to tell you I am tracking a bandit. It is hard to admit, but he stole a sacred scroll from my Dojo, and I must find him before he discovers how valuable it is.”
“It must be no ordinary bandit to have stolen something from you, Master Jinx,” said the boy enthusiastically. He dashed up alongside the pale-skinned monster.
“You may call me Sensei, for now,” said
Jinx. “No more questions until we reach Seaside Town, though. We have a
long way to go yet, and it will be after sunset before we arrive in the
valley.”
7.
Describing Yos’ter Isle as the most wonderful tropical paradise anyone could dream of is a massive understatement, and every Yoshi who lived there would waste no time in telling you so. Just about every Yoshi in the prime of his life who was not feeling isolated enough to move off to the exotic Yoshi’s Island in Dinosaur Land called the quaint patch of grass and palm trees off the coast of Rose Town home. The island was by no means exclusive to Yoshis, though—a fact affirmed by the generous population of fun-seeking Mushroom Kingdom citizens who lived there year-round.
The most nationally recognized Yoshi, honorably given the simple title of his species, was presently laying easy in a hammock. Another of the characteristically lazy devices was strung up beside him and cradled the unimpressive form of the dull village author, Ryanoshi. The latter dinosaur was most likely rambling about something boring, so Yoshi leaned up a little to catch a glimpse of the day’s races.
“Are you listening to me?” asked Ryanoshi, obviously irritated.
“Sorry, pal,” said Yoshi. “It’s just that I’ve been distracted lately. I’m usually more excited on days as nice as these, but today I just feel worn out.”
“You know,” said Ryanoshi, adopting a thoughtful mood, “you haven’t even been participating in the races of this week. That used to be your favorite thing to do, and now you barely acknowledge their existence. Try and describe your thoughts; maybe I can pinpoint the problem.”
“It’s a sick feeling at the pit of my stomach, like I’m hungry, but fruit won’t make it go away. You might have noticed that I’ve been taking long walks in the jungle. I thought maybe I could figure out what’s wrong, but no matter what I do, the sense of danger just gets worse.”
“Danger?” asked Ryanoshi, confused. “You aren’t having premonitions, are you?”
“Nothing so mystical. It’s just a feeling, you know? Something bad has or is going to happen, and it’s so real to me, I can almost smell it.”
“An interesting prospect,” said Ryanoshi mysteriously. “Normally I would not hold much stock in hocus-pocus, but I know you wouldn’t be attempting to pull a shade of black over my eyes. In any case, I’m not qualified for indirect spiritual interpretation. One of the Shamans, however, might be able to discover something useful.”
“A Shaman, eh?” Yoshi mused. “Thanks for believing me, at least. I’ve been going crazy thinking I was insane.”
After squirming to hold back a chastisement for his friend’s contradiction of terms, Ryanoshi eventually managed to control his ridiculous obsession with grammar. “I must admit I am partly intrigued by your dilemma, as I too have felt variances in my normally peaceful thoughts. Perhaps the Shaman in Toad Town will be able to solve both of our problems. I hear he is the most talented of all his family.”
Yoshi nodded excitedly. “Yeah, Mario told me how Merlon (that’s his name) helped him and his buddies get back the Star Rod from Bowser last year. He’s a little eccentric, but Mario said he was always a great help. I just hope he doesn’t charge too much.”
“Not to worry,” said Ryanoshi. “The Yoshis have never been too keen on my writing, but the Mushroomers may be willing to pay a pretty penny for something foreign. And even if that fails, I should be able to negotiate something reasonable with the man.”
“Let’s hope so, Ryanoshi. Those Shamans are a difficult type, always having other purposes. Why can’t everyone just be candid with each other? Lying makes everything so difficult.”
“I wish I had the convictions that you possess,” said Ryanoshi. “Unfortunately, I’ve neglected to mention another reason for my going. You see, I’m gradually losing inspiration for my art, and I thought perhaps a trip across the country would help me come up with new material. I know it is a selfish reason for artistic influence, but you must realize that our primary reason for going holds just as much importance to me now.”
Yoshi twisted his huge eyes around and turned his body over in the hammock, facing his pal. “What are you planning to write about next?”
“Something cheerful, I hope,” said Ryanoshi. He lifted himself easily out of the hammock and began walking over to the juice bar. “Our visions have been too morbid, as of late, and I fear the sun does not wait just beyond the horizon this time.”
Yoshi tried mulling over Ryanoshi’s words for a moment or two, but he soon resolved to get out from under the shade and take a brief trot around the racing course. The sun was beating down fiercely from above in the post-noon sky, temporarily making it hard to see at intervals in the walking path that wrapped a loose oval around the tournament lanes. It was not entirely surprising when Yoshi lost his sense of direction for too long a time and happened to wander off into the surrounding wilderness. Of course, a subconscious desire to get away from the noise and motion of the races was not completely uninvolved, either.
Fortunately, he soon found himself under
the partial shade of an enormous palm tree. The normally active dinosaur
often sat under it when he wanted to rest or think about something in serenity,
and he considered it more than good luck he had come to it now. Already
the voices of the morning songbirds were tapering off into a solemn nocturne,
and soon the clouds from farther out to sea would cover the sky and bring
a dull, rainy night. Yoshi rested the side of his body against the smooth
trunk of the tree and closed his eyes, appreciating the absence of words.
8.
The Princess Peach awoke with a startled shriek and abruptly clamped one hand over her mouth. After carefully lifting back the side-veils of her bed, she peeped out of the opposite side and whispered, “Toad! Toad?”
Before she could gather an answer, though, the bedside candles were lit, and Mario pulled back the shades she had previously looked out from. “Princess, are you decent?”
“Mario, thank goodness! Yes, I am fine,” she said, and the plumber pulled the veil back farther down its guiding ramp. “I don’t suppose you had any problem getting in, but it must be important. What’s happened? Toad!”
“He’s asleep, Princess,” said Mario, gesturing quickly to the sleeping Mushroomer in a far corner. “We think there may be a problem with another imposter—a Magikoopa or a Duplighost or something. Is Russ T. staying in the palace?”
“Yes, he’s been here all week, I believe,” she said. “Do you think it is not really him? As far as I know, he’s not been behaving abnormally.”
“We don’t know, really, and that’s the problem. Luigi is headed over to the Mushroom Kingdom Inn as we speak to see if there is another Russ T. there. It’s a long story, and I’m embarrassed to say I’ve forgotten a lot of it in my rush to get over here and past the guards, but Luigi had me convinced there was definitely something up. I have to get to the Russ T. in the palace. Just in case it’s the fake one, though, maybe you and Toad should go someplace safe.”
“Yeah,” piped Toad, walking groggily and fearfully up to the bedside. “Listen to him, Princess, please. I know it’s my job to protect you, but even I’d feel safer in the vault.”
“No way, Mario,” said Peach determinedly. “If you’ll remember, it was me standing on the front lines when we infiltrated Smithy’s factory. The healing powers of the royal bloodline, not to mention the years of combat training I received as the first in line to the royal throne, are not going to be confined by the walls of any vault.”
“You know I’d rather you stay,” said Mario, “but you’re right. We could really use you if things get dense in the next few hours. It seems awfully small to be one of Bowser’s schemes, but that thickheaded Koopa’s got a smart group of advisors these days. We have to be extra careful.”
Princess Peach ordered Toad and Mario to turn around as she quickly dressed herself in capable and predictably stylish clothing, making sure to clip her family’s traditional dagger under her right pant cuff. She stepped in front of her two shocked companions, roughly holstering a star pistol.
“Well?” she asked. “Let’s get on with it! I still have a few hours of sleep to catch up on before the dance tomorrow night.”
Both plumber and Mushroomer saluted smartly, awkwardly clicking the heels of their shoes together. “Yes, ma’am!”
The highly resourceful Princess immediately took charge and proceeded to lead Mario and her personal servant through the dark, quiet halls of the castle. Because of Toadstool’s keen knowledge concerning the security movements of the Royal Guard, the only difficulty they encountered on the way was Toad’s distracting habit of jumping and half-shrieking at every little sound and shadow. Finally, the two more courageous members of the search party were able to convince Toad to go ahead and “prepare” the vault, in the event that it would be needed.
“A model soldier,” Peach muttered as the trembling Mushroomer trundled fearfully down an off-branching hallway. “Well, come on. Russ T’s room is the fifth on the left. Do you think I should call a few guards to help us?”
“No need for that,” said Mario, grinning. “Any Koopa Bowser sent here incognito will be no match for the both of us. Most of the lower mutation Magikoopas spend all of their training trying to perfect copies of other people. They don’t have a lot of time left over for combat lessons.”
Peach lightly stepped to the hinged side of the lavish door into Russ T’s room and motioned for Mario to open it. The incautious plumber swung open the door and walked inside quickly. The princess followed closely behind him, noting the bright distortion of air around his fists—charging orbs of fire.
Mario slid against one wall of the sitting area and tried frantically to will his eyes into focus. Through the flickering of starlight filtered past a far window’s lace curtains, he could faintly make out the silhouette of Toadstool, with her pistol leveled out preparedly. Just as the fiery energy built up in Mario’s hands reached its point of maximum power, the plumber was belted over the head with a resounding piece of metal cookery.
“Take that, scalawag!” shouted the aged voice of Russ T. “You over there, back off where I can see you, or I’ll let you have a taste of brass, too.”
Peach threw up her hands and dropped the pistol to the floor. It clattered across the room’s marble tiling, coming silently to a stop. “It’s Peach, Russ. Sorry for bothering you, but we thought you might be an imposter. I’m afraid you’ve just sent Mario into a coma.”
“No, no, I’m fine,” said Mario, groaning and rubbing the soreness out of his head. “You gave me quite a walloping there, Russ T.”
“The Princess and Mario? Imposter?! Oh, my!”
“There are two Russ T’s in the city,” said the princess carefully. “Either you’re the real Russ, or you’re the fake one.”
“Oh, I’m sure there is a logical way to convince you of my identity. Simply ask me something that only the knowledgeable and, at the risk of seeming pretentious, ingenious Russ T. would know.”
Mario tried desperately to come up with a question difficult enough, but the princess soon interrupted his thoughts. “Never mind that, Mario. Only the real Russ T. could be pretentious while attempting not to be.”
“Feisty, as usual,” Russ T. said dryly. “In any case, where do you suppose this fraudulent Me is staying?”
“Luigi was almost positive your double is currently at the Mushroom Kingdom Inn,” said Mario. His face suddenly grew white at the mention of his brother. “Luigi’s going to be fighting that creature alone! He might be able to handle it, but we should get over there as quick as possible, just in case.”
The princess hurriedly brushed past Russ T. and scrawled something delicately onto a notepad resting on the room’s writing table. Mumbling about something angrily, she ripped off the marked slip and handed it to the Mushroomer behind her. “Here, Russ. Mario and I are going to head over to the Inn. Get this to the head guard on duty as soon as you can. You’ll probably find him eating the fruit stores down in the kitchen.”
“After you, Princess,” said Mario, standing
by the recently opened window. With a few farewell remarks to Russ T, the
pair slipped out of the first story quarters and into the late night air.
9.
The ancient clock and pendulum towering in shadow behind the clerk desk of the Mushroom Kingdom Inn struck midnight as Luigi plowed into the lounge, breathing heavily for having to sprint all the way. As the last of the twelve resonant chimes withered into nothingness, the immediate breath of silence was consumed by the rise of harsh rain on the cobblestone and roof. Flashes of bright lightning burst through the windows of the darkened room, followed by the brazen report of thunder.
“Mamamia! Russ T, or whoever that man was, may have been right about the storm. It’s certainly blowing up a mess of one right now.”
He covered his mouth in sudden realization of where he was. All of the patrons were probably asleep or preparing themselves for bed, and no one likes to be disturbed on the night before the most exciting day of the year. A rapid blast of lightning exploded again, and so the plumber steadied himself and looked around for the stairway leading up to the first floor of rooms. After an extended period of time feeling his way around, Luigi found a narrow staircase tucked away in the far-left corner and stepped cautiously over to it.
There was a rounded window a little below the height of his head at the foot of the stairs, and he could not keep from looking out it at the pounding rain on the beaten grass and walkways. Droplets of water splashing against the glass panes distorted most of his vision, but Luigi was certain he saw something dash past his face, outside and toward the other side of the Inn. At first it seemed to be a mass of moving blackness, almost vaporous, but whatever figure had briefly appeared possessed a definite form.
He was not too anxious initially, but when his attempts to make a curious grunt came out only as a silent expenditure of energy, Luigi knew something was very wrong. Frantically, he smashed his right fist heavily into the wall below the window, but it was utterly noiseless. A sound barrier, he thought a second before the plaster and stone before him blew outwards.
The shock of the explosion caused him to lurch backwards, trip over a footrest in the beveled lounge area, and careen into the fortunately padded cushions of a wide, yellow couch. Through the opening in the opposite wall stepped a horribly familiar form, shrouded entirely in black. The sound of the rushing rain and the terrible storm returned, but Luigi thought dazedly that all of the vibrations were probably contained within a separate sound barrier now.
“How fortunate to have found one of the Mario Brothers, drowsy and vulnerable,” said the Magikoopa Luigi recognized as Vermik. The menacing figure waved his wand teasingly and stepped further into the room as the torpid wind from outside whirled his ebony cloak about his slender form. Couch and floor tiling alike were drenched in rain now, and Luigi began to feel his clothes weigh down on his body.
“I haven’t been to sleep yet, actually,” said Luigi, standing up and regaining a bit of his smugness. “Thank you for not infringing on the other citizens’ dreams, though.”
The wizard sneered angrily while the flare of another lightning bolt gleamed off of his protruding canine and opalescent spectacles. “Although I am pleased to find you here, I have no time for a distracting parley. Perhaps you have met my assistant, the inimitable Kanaye?”
Luigi half-gasped as he felt the point of a large dagger jab lightly against the small of his back. “What the—”
“If you move, I shall slit my other knife across your throat,” whispered the Ninja behind him.
Luigi immediately recognized the spherical red hand that slipped around his neck. There was no point in trying to match swiftness of movements with one of Smithy’s Ninjas, he knew, so the plumber begrudgingly obeyed. “I suppose it would be too much to ask what you want with me, eh?”
Vermik walked slowly to within a hand’s width of Luigi’s face and ran one ivory claw down the curve of his left cheek. The man in green winced as two rivulets of blood ran down the side of his head and dripped to the floor. “I always enjoyed confronting you more than your brother. You know so well how to skip to the heart of the matter.”
The plumber held back a scream. Kanaye was applying an exceedingly uncomfortable pressure to the tip of his spine with the handle of his dagger.
“Unfortunately,” continued Vermik, pulling back his hand, “a little reservation would have done you a world of good. You see, Kanaye has been trained in the advanced arts of torture. Our new Defensive Advisor has taught King Bowser’s army all sorts of interesting tricks.”
It would have been an immense understatement to say Luigi was feeling slightly nauseous at the mention of Kanaye’s unusual talent. Even his normally calm and logical mind was racing wildly under the threat of unbearable pain. He had to find a way to distract the Ninja, and quickly.
“A Defensive Advisor?” he asked, but any hint of mockery he had left was drowned out by the lump in his throat. “No amount of professional crackpots will give that addle-brained Koopa the smarts to prevail against us. His own royal shapeshifter doesn’t even have the gall to face an enemy in noble combat, let alone win a war.”
Vermik snarled and nodded coldly to Kanaye. Luigi screamed unhindered now, and his head swam sickeningly by the thrashing and the crashing of the rain and his own thundering blood. He felt his knees grow wobbly and quake outright, threatening to drop him into the point of the Ninja’s dagger.
“No, no, no,” the Magikoopa chided, punctuating each word like a schoolmarm. “That’s not the way to retain your mobility. Now, if you want to act nicely and stay relatively unharmed, you’ll give me the watchwords up through the security for Toadstool’s chambers. A simple transformation into one of the Royal Guard, and the path to chaos is begun.”
“You’re… mad, Vermik,” said Luigi, sweating and trying valiantly not to collapse. “Both my brother and I would die the most horrible deaths before letting you harm Her Highness.”
“Your bravery is boring me,” said Vermik, almost detached. “I believe it’s time to rid ourselves of this uncooperative pest—Kanaye? What is it?”
“Master, look,” replied the Ninja in his characteristic murmur.
Vermik spun around, notably distressed. The ceiling above them was cracking, sporting a gradually increasing fissure that branched off over their heads. With only the warning of a sucking split, a second explosion of plaster and red stone shot from the second floor, sending a spray of debris falling to the ground outside the crude opening in the wall across from them. A figure on a broom shot through the air and over the low lands to the south of the Inn, heading towards the cliff face that led down to the Vista Sea.
“That’s not Kamek,” Vermik said grimly. “And it’s definitely not Kammy.” He turned around, wand buzzing furiously. “Kanaye, don’t let him escape. I shall return after I deal with this dissenter.”
Luigi felt the breath of the Ninja’s acknowledgement, but his attentions were focused on Vermik. The young Magikoopa broke into a brutally efficient stride and leapt into the night sky outside of the building, coming to meet his floating broom. The surprisingly athletic Koopa zipped with a sonic boom off in the general direction of the other wizard, soon disappearing from sight.
The plumber recoiled as Kanaye’s grip loosened, and reeled completely around, bringing up his right hand flat to deliver a bone-shattering chop to the Ninja’s face. His blow fell on empty air, though, and the amazingly agile warrior had already sent a flying kick into Luigi’s abdomen. Thoroughly winded, the younger Mario Brother retched, choking back the spittle knocked loose from his throat. Even as Luigi attempted to form a weak pyrosphere, Kanaye elbowed him at the base of his neck, sending the taller man roughly to the wet flooring.
“Those without inner identity are doomed to failure,” whispered the Ninja through his frighteningly dark veil. “All who attempt retribution against the Enlightened will surely find they are mistaken.”
Luigi struggled to make sense of the cultic jargon, but his pain was too intense to think about much else but getting away from the lunatic before him. There was no way he could outrun the Ninja, but close combat was certainly not a viable option either. He decided to use his one strength over the monster and jumped high over Kanaye’s head, landing behind him and immediately performing a double flip into the dense rain outside of the Inn. Before he could land to go soaring into the air once more, however, he felt a sharp sting in his neck and thudded heavily into the wet and muddy ground.
His vision grew steadily cloudy, and
his last thought before he plunged into shadow was: The water is rising.
10.
Vermik vaulted from his broom and into the brush he estimated the other Magikoopa had landed in. The rain and lightning were so seamlessly and violently meshed that they blazed and battered simultaneously, threatening to tear skin from flesh and destroy the senses. All around the level of the water was mounting and slowly creeping up to his shins.
“Blast it, where are you? Show yourself!”
A Magikoopa bearing a robe filled with phosphorescent stars, nebulae, and other celestial objects stepped into the clearing, his glasses filled with a roaring fire. His voice was old and horrifically grating, like a thousand nails scraping across brick. “I have no order of fate with you. Leave this place now.”
“You won’t get away that easily, old man,” said Vermik, absolutely fuming. “There’s nothing I dislike more than being interrupted, and so I’m really disliking you right now. Tell me, where did you buy that cloak? All of the Magikoopas in this land are under the rule of his Majesty King Bowser, and you’re not on the roster.”
“You are correct, in a way. I am not from this land, but from far, far away, even unto the edge of the world,” Zarith said softly, calmly, as if in a dream.
“The edge of the world? You’re more out of touch than I thought, old-timer,” said Vermik, who was surprisingly less angry. “Tell you what: since that back there seemed to be an accident, I’ll let you live, that is, if you promise to follow me back and meet the head of our sect. He might know what to make of you.”
He cannot really be that foolish, thought Zarith. This is a deceitful Koopa, capable of gauging my strength and knowing when he will be beaten. If I abandon this place, I gain nothing but serenity until the flood has washed through, but if I follow him, I also have a chance to receive valuable information.
“Well, what’s your answer? I’m getting soaked, and it looks like a flood’s coming on.”
Zarith pulled his wooden staff to heel and grinned. “Very well, I shall take you up on your offer. It is becoming rather messy, though, so I suppose you will not be opposed if we both travel by our brooms.”
“Ack!” Vermik shrieked and lifted his arm. “Something just swam by me. That isn’t right.” The black-clad Magikoopa lifted a claw to his mouth, sucked a bit of moisture off of it, and immediately spat into the rising water. “Sodium! This is from the ocean. But hurricanes don’t form this far north of the equator…”
“All the more reason for us to hasten,” said Zarith. He climbed onto his broom as it obediently floated by. “Hurry, now. Let us ride before the tide comes in!”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” said Vermik and hopped up on his broom.
As the pair of Magikoopas flew off through the biting rain and wind, a mass heaving of shadow and glistening moonlight writhed in the distance.