by Ron Bates
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Cuphead groaned.
The professor looked up. This time, he really was suspicious. Ms. Chalice quickly ducked down behind her double.
“Are you feeling all right, Ms. Chalice?”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence. This was unbearable. Now he wasn’t just looking at the horrible mess, he was asking it questions!
“I’m as fit as a fiddle, Professor,” she said at last.
The next few seconds were excruciating. Lucien scratched the side of his bulb, then he scratched the other side, and then—for reasons only someone of his profound intellect could understand—he went back to his experiment.
“I can’t believe that worked,” said Mugman.
“I told you it would,” Ms. Chalice said. “Once he starts on an experiment, he doesn’t pay the slightest bit of attention to anything else. So get busy.”
Mugman and Cuphead eased out of their desks and wriggled across the floor like worms. They returned with a janitor’s bucket, construction paper, a broom, a classroom pointer, a round light fixture, a football, and various doodads (the isles were famous for their doodads) that they fashioned into hideous facsimiles of themselves.
“It’s like looking in a mirror,” Mugman said. “Except there’s someone completely different looking back at you.”
They almost burst out laughing. It was a ridiculous plan, but what else could they do? They put the dummies in place and were sneaking away as quietly as possible when, just as they reached the window, Lucien (who seemed determined to make this escape as difficult as possible) sneezed.
“Gesundheit,” said Cuphead.
It was a reflex, the kind of thing any well-brought-up boy would do, and so he said it without thinking. Ms. Chalice slapped a hand over his mouth, but by then it was too late. They dived behind their desks just as the professor looked their way.
“What’s that, Cuphead? If you wish to speak, raise your hand,” he said.
But Cuphead did not wish to speak. He wished he’d never spoken, and there was no way in the world he was going to speak again—but he had to. After all, it was only polite. So he carefully pushed up one of the clunky yardstick-arms and it rose slowly into the air.
“Um, I said,” he said nervously, “gesundheit.”
“Oh. Thank you, Cuphead,” Lucien said, and went back to work.
At that moment, a small, cheerful-looking, red figure strolled into the room. It was their classmate Mac.
“Howdy,” he said brightly. “I finished dusting the erasers.”
Of course, no one had asked him to dust the erasers, but he’d done it anyway. That was Mac, as helpful a little apple as you’d ever want to meet. He was always ready to lend a hand.
“Just put them by the chalkboard, Mac,” the professor said.
Ms. Chalice’s eyes brightened. She couldn’t believe their luck. “I’ve got an idea!” she said.
She wiggled a finger at Mac. He smiled and made his way to the group.
“Howdy,” said he said again.
“Mac, do you think you can put on a puppet show?” Ms. Chalice whispered.
Mac’s face lit up.
“Can I?!” he exclaimed, and pulled out a pair of sock puppets he kept around for just such an occasion.
“No, I didn’t mean—” Ms. Chalice tried to tell him, but he was too excited to notice.
“What do you get when you cross a parrot with a crocodile?” one puppet asked.
“I don’t know, but when it talks, you better listen!” said the other.
“Shhhhhhh!” Cuphead told him. “It’s not that kind of puppet show. We just want you to wiggle these dummies around whenever the professor looks over here.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Mac said. “It’s a piece of cake!”
Mugman appreciated Mac’s enthusiasm, but he couldn’t help being concerned. It was a big job for a little apple.
“Now, only move them if he turns around. Don’t go overboard, okay?”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be a cinch,” Mac said.
So with their fears put to rest, the three friends headed back toward the window. But just before they crawled outside, they heard a peculiar voice.
“Oh Per-fessor! Per-fessor!”
It was coming from behind Cuphead’s chair. And Mac was making it.
At first, they couldn’t figure out what he was doing. Then, to their horror, they realized it was a terrible, terrible impression of Cuphead. It sounded like a scratchy record with a bad cold. The trio hit the floor just before the professor wheeled around.
“What is it now, Cuphead?” Lucien asked.
“Per-fessor, I was wonderin’ if you’d like to hear a song?” the fake Cuphead said.
“No!” Cuphead whisper-screamed, but Mac ignored him.
“What kind of song?” asked the professor.
“Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream,” the apple started. His co-conspirators buried their faces in their hands, silently begging him to stop. But he didn’t. Instead, he quickly moved to the Ms. Chalice and Mugman dolls, who joined in on the chorus.
“Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream!”
And that wasn’t all. There was swaying and clapping and a brief dance number that had to be seen to be believed. Mac flew like a wizard from dummy to dummy, sometimes doing two, even three voices at a time. It was horrifying, yet oddly impressive.
Cuphead knew they were done for. He just knew it. The punishment was coming, and it would be swift and severe. But just when he was about to surrender and admit the whole thing—
“Very nice,” said the professor. “But I’m busy right now, Cuphead. Perhaps we can do this later.”
Wait… he was buying this? Cuphead and Mugman stared at Ms. Chalice. She shrugged.
“What can I tell you? The kid’s a natural showman,” she said.
They shook their heads and made their way to the window. Nothing could stop them now. And yet Ms. Chalice did.
“Oh my gosh!” she said, then rushed back to her desk. Once there, she picked up a red crayon and colored in the round, white knob that served as Counterfeit Cuphead’s nose.
“A perfect match.” She grinned. “I can’t believe we almost missed that. Why it was as plain as the nose on your—”
But before she could finish the thought, Cuphead yanked her away to the window, and as quickly and quietly as they could, the trio slipped out the window, shimmied down the drainpipe, and were on their way.
They hit the ground running, which isn’t easy, but that’s what you do when there isn’t a moment to spare. Side by side by side, the trio raced into town, their legs spinning like tiny whirlwinds. In practically no time at all, they’d left the countryside behind and were within striking distance of their destination. They rounded the last corner, streaked down the sidewalk, and at maximum speed, burst through the door of Porkrind’s shop. It was a heroic entrance—or would’ve been if Porkrind hadn’t just finished mopping the floor.
They skidded, headfirst, into the pickle barrel.
“You got two minutes,” the shopkeeper grunted.
Now, if you’ve never run the long stretch from the schoolhouse to Porkrind’s at top speed without a single break, you might think two minutes was plenty of time. But you would be wrong. The truth is, for several precious seconds, Cuphead did nothing but stand there panting and gasping and squeezing pickle juice out of his nostrils. But when he finally did manage to catch his breath, he immediately wheezed out, “That’s hunky-dory (pant), because all we (pant) want is—”
“This airplane,” Mugman said.
Cuphead whirled around and saw his brother holding one of the models he’d been looking at earlier that day. It was a real beauty, the kind with a propeller that spun when you wound up the rubber band.
“We don’t want an airplane!” Cuphead barked. “This is for Elder Kettle. We want—”
“Ooh, did you see this fancy can opener?”
said Ms. Chalice. “Holy moly, those cans wouldn’t stand a chance!”
“No, no, no!” Cuphead said. “We came for the watch, remember?”
“Oh yeah,” Mugman said. “Elder Kettle could use a nice watch.”
Porkrind grumped and grumbled, but finally bent over and pulled the watch out of the case beneath the cash register. Cuphead beamed. It was even more perfect than he remembered. He quickly pulled a big wad of bills and coins out of his pocket and plopped it on the counter. It was all the money that Elder Kettle’s friends had pooled together, and it made an impressive pile.
Porkrind just stared at it.
“You’re short,” he said.
Short? What? But how? Oh no! Instantly, Mugman and Ms. Chalice pulled money out of their own pockets and placed it on the counter. Porkrind looked at it as he twisted the toothpick hanging from the corner of his mouth.
“Still short,” he said.
This was getting serious. They yanked their pockets inside out but found nothing. Then they took off their shoes and emptied them. Still nothing. Finally, Cuphead and Ms. Chalice picked up Mugman, turned him topsy-turvy, and bobbed him up and down like a butter churn. Several coins fell out of his straw.
“I wondered where I put those,” Mugman said.
Hurriedly, they slammed the coins on the counter while Porkrind stared at the clock on the wall.
“You’re still a nickel short,” he said, grinning. “And I close in exactly one minute.”
Now Cuphead was frantic. He reached deep into his pocket, then through a hole in the pocket, and finally through a hole in the hole, which led to a place called Pocket Town. It was a nice little town filled with nice little people made of lint. They’d tip their hats and nod politely whenever you met them on Pocket Street or at the lint-brary, because life was “a hole lot simpler here.” (This was the funniest joke in Pocket Town, and they never got tired of telling it.) Cuphead’s fingers strolled past several pocket shops and establishments until they came to a small, neat building with a sign out front. It said POCKET BANK. They walked inside, where they waited behind a velvet rope until the lint-teller called them forward. After a warm greeting and the telling of the town joke (they’re called tellers for a reason, you know), he handed the fingers a shiny new nickel.
Cuphead quickly yanked the magnificent coin out of his pocket and held it up in triumph. Mugman and Ms. Chalice cheered. The watch was theirs! The party was saved! But just as Cuphead was about to slap the glimmering nickel down on the counter—
“We’re closed,” Porkrind said.
Without another word, he put the watch back under the counter, shoved the money back in their hands, and pushed the three of them out the door.
“Come back tomorrow,” he said.
The door slammed behind them, and as it did, the sign in the window turned from OPEN to CLOSED.
“What are we going to do now?” Mugman groaned.
Cuphead shook his head. He was wondering the same thing himself.
They slumped down into a big, glum heap on the curb, feeling sorry for themselves, and even sorrier for Elder Kettle. This was not at all how things were supposed to go. Cuphead let out a slow, defeated sigh.
And that’s when he heard it—a kind of a rinky-tinky noise. It was happy and sad at the same time, and sounded a little like music, only clankier. The more he listened, the catchier it seemed. And it was coming from the other side of the square.
Cuphead, Mugman, and Ms. Chalice walked slowly toward the strange music. Now that they’d gotten used to it, it wasn’t nearly as horrible as it sounded at first. In fact, it was mesmerizing—almost irresistible. Before long, Cuphead realized it was leading them back to the exact place where he and Mugman had seen the group of people gathered that morning. But now the crowd was bigger and louder and much more excited.
“What’s all the hubbub, bub?” he asked a man in a porkpie hat.
“We’re watching Mr. Chimes,” said the man. “He plays the street organ.”
The three friends peered through the crowd. What they saw was a windup monkey with hollow eyes and an unsettling smile. Strapped to his back was a fancy-looking box that had big brass pipes sticking out of it. Every now and then, the pipes would cough out little puffs of steam, and when they did, it made a musical toot. Meanwhile, Mr. Chimes banged two shiny cymbals together as if he were trying to bash an invisible mosquito.
Ms. Chalice shuddered.
“If you ask me, that monkey’s bananas,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to cross paths with him.”
But Cuphead wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t looking at Mr. Chimes. He was looking at what was behind Mr. Chimes. It was a gate with a wide, arching entrance and a colorful sign that said CARNIVAL.
“Wow!” Cuphead gasped. “So THAT’S the carnival.”
It was nothing like he’d expected, and not at all like Elder Kettle had described. Cuphead sniffed the air. The scents of every kind of food came together at once and danced in his nostrils. When he stood on his tiptoes, he saw wonders that he couldn’t have imagined. There were gigantic tents, and rows of booths and rides—oh, the rides! He saw spinning rides and jumping rides and flying rides and bumping rides. They looked absolutely thrilling and without any of the annoying deadliness that came with a roller coaster. In fact, Cuphead was so taken with the place that he forgot all about that mechanical monstrosity and, for the first time, saw the carnival for what it was—a tiny city devoted to fun.
“Let’s go in!” he said, and boldly walked toward the gate.
At least he tried to walk. His legs were moving, but his feet weren’t touching the ground. That’s because Mugman had lifted him into the air and was carrying him in the opposite direction.
“Did you forget what we promised Elder Kettle?” he asked.
“I’m trying to, but you keep reminding me!” wailed Cuphead.
Mugman carried his brother over to the sidewalk and dropped him there. Then he shook his head and made a disappointed noise, the one that sounds like a chipmunk with something stuck on its gums.
“Cuphead, that’s the carnival. You know what Elder Kettle said. It’s a vile, evil place and we promised him we wouldn’t go,” he scolded, then crossed his arms and turned his back. “But if you want to break Elder Kettle’s heart, I won’t stop you.”
“Great!” Cuphead said, and dashed off for the gate again.
But he didn’t get far. How could he? Before he’d even taken two steps, Mugman’s words were echoing through his brain. They were true, of course. It would break Elder Kettle’s heart. He kicked at the ground. Oh, this was agony! He wanted to keep his promise, he really did. But the carnival was right there! Was he supposed to just walk away from what might be the experience of a lifetime?
It was a dilemma, all right. A big one. Fortunately, there was someone he could always turn to for guidance, and at that moment, a very small cup, identical to him in almost every way, appeared out of nowhere. It had little wings, and a shiny halo around its straw, and it hovered just above his right shoulder.
This was Cuphead’s conscience.
“Cuphead, listen to your heart,” his conscience told him. “There’s nothing inside those gates as valuable as Elder Kettle’s trust.”
POOF!
“What a dum-dum!” said another tiny cup that appeared over his left shoulder. This one had horns and a pronged tail. “Take a good long whiff, pal. Did you ever smell anything like that in your life? Forget about Elder Kettle—just follow your nose to the land of forbidden temptations!”
“Cuphead,” said Good Cuphead. “He’s trying to lead you to ruin.”
“Ruin, schmuin. Don’t be a sucker, get in there!” the other cup snickered.
Cuphead thought they both made strong points. He listened intently and as they argued, his pupils darted back and forth like they were watching a ping-pong match. It was exhausting. Finally, he closed his eyes and wished they’d both just go away.
But it wasn’t that eas
y. When he opened them again, they were still there. Only now, the good one was holding something white and fluffy.
“Is that cotton candy?” Cuphead asked.
“Don’t change the subject,” the cup snapped back. “This is about you.”
Well, that started the two tiny cups arguing all over again, and it might have gone on for hours had Ms. Chalice not stepped in and waved them both away. Then she put her hand on Cuphead’s shoulder.
“You know, Cuphead, I wanted to go in there as much as anybody. But there will be other carnivals,” she said. “Right now, what we’ve really got to worry about is Elder Kettle’s birthday present. If we don’t get that blah, blah, blah…”
Of course, she didn’t actually say “blah, blah, blah,” but that’s what you would’ve heard if you’d been there. You see, your attention at that moment would’ve been pulled to something much more interesting happening just a few feet away. Mugman’s eyes, which almost never did anything un-eyelike, had started to spin like two hypnotic pinwheels. Also, his heart was springing in and out of his chest like a paddleball. It was an unusual look for Mugman (who prided himself on his well-behaved organs), and why it was happening was a complete mystery—until you followed his gaze all the way to the carnival gate.
That’s where you’d find her—Cala Maria. She was known far and wide as the most beautiful creature on the Inkwell Isles. She had big, sparkly eyes and a captivating smile, and was in every way the very picture of what you’d expect a mermaid to be. She winked at Mugman, and little hearts bubbled out of his straw. When she blew him a kiss, his cheeks blushed so red you’d have sworn he was breaking out in tomatoes.
Now, you mustn’t blame Mugman for what happened next. It was entirely out of his control. One minute he was standing there as upright as can be, and the next his feet were off the ground and he was floating gently through the air. This has happened only twice before in the whole history of the isles: once when Tubby O’Toole was levitated by the aroma of a freshly baked pie; and again, when a lullaby carried a very sleepy bear home just in time for hibernation. As you can see, it was extremely rare, and never, ever had it happened on the strength of an airborne kiss, which gives you some idea of Cala Maria’s power over Mugman.