by Rick Johnson
Emil slipped away in the darkness and soon returned with the two tiny Skarkict Pups. Excited to be the center of attention, and showing no fear whatsoever, the young Hounds listened to Emil’s instructions with blazing eyes. Then, silently slapping paws, and using some gut-sucking contortions, they slipped between the bars. Once inside, they quickly gathered the keys and were back through the gate in minutes. Giving each of the young Hounds a paw-slap, Helga slipped the keys in her pack.
Emil passed word that it was time to move out. The Sharkict Pups grinned, and paw-slapping each other again, fell into line directly behind Helga. Surprised to find the wee Sharkicts now in line with her, Helga said, “All right, little fellows, you can be at the front of the line, you’ve earned it.” Emil, seeing the young Sharkicts at the front of the line, smiled despite himself. Paw-slapping the young Hounds, he said, “Good job, you little scamps.” Gathered again in their single-file fashion, the long column began moving.
Leading the group along, and not knowing how far yet they must go to find safety, Emil naturally felt their progress was too slow. As the last hour of darkness passed, however, the light of dawn told a different story. Sun rise was on the other side of the fortress! They were now on the western side! Another sign that their nerve-wracking hike around the fortress had ended was also now apparent. A putrid odor now permeated the air.
Filth and garbage of every description was scattered and piled as far as the eye could see. A closer look revealed that the filth and garbage actually moved and flowed. A moving stream of muck rolled down from the fortress above, carrying all before it. Heavy drifting smoke stung the eyes.
“Welcome to the Offaluvia,” Emil grimaced, wiping tears from his eyes. It was true. There could be no doubt they had arrived. Clouds of garbage bounced and fluttered from chutes. Sewage and smoke spewed from pipes and chimneys. Looking over the vast field of garbage and muck, Emil shook his head. “The only way I see through this mess is either to wade up to our waists in slop, or to climb over piles of garbage. It’s no wonder Home said this was a No Beast’s Land where no one would follow us.”
“I want to give you one additional option,” Helga said tersely. She had been carefully surveying the backside of the fortress, and several things had caught her attention. “So far as we know,” she continued, “no beast in the fortress is aware we are anywhere nearby. We seem to have eluded detection. What if you and Bem find the best possible hiding place in the Offaluvia? Then, keep everyone hidden there while Christer and I try to get inside the fortress. If, as I suspect, the fortress has very few troops at present, and with the keys in my pocket, we may be able to open all, or most, of the cells and let the slaves go free. If I’m right, it’s just possible we might have a revolt that could take over the fortress!”
“If things go badly for us,” Christer added, “they’ll have no reason to suspect that you are out here in the Offaluvia. So you can still get our friends away to safety. If, on the other hand, it goes like Helga thinks it could—then, maybe, you’ll be able to avoid wading through the muck for miles and miles.”
Up The Trash Chute
Helga and Christer, giving each other determined looks, moved forward as quickly as they could toward Tilk Duraow. Zig-zagging up the steep slope, it was slow going across the shifting piles of garbage and slippery muck. As they neared the fortress, it became a matter of dodging falling trash and plumes of sewage crashing and splattering around them.
After an hour of climbing, they dropped, exhausted, at the base of the fortress wall. Panting, they gave each other a look of relief, and slumped against the wall to rest. Finally, her breathing under control, Helga said, “That was the easy part. Now the question: which unpleasant means of entry to the fortress do we choose? Let’s see, there look to be three trash and garbage chutes; four sewage pipes; and what must be a dozen chimneys spewing smoke. Most of them look large enough for you and me to get into with room to spare. Which is the best way into the fortress?”
Christer chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Well, the chimneys are out—go in there, we either smother or die in the flames below. The sewage pipes are out—those would just lead us into a maze of plumbing that probably would take us nowhere useful. That leaves the garbage chutes—seems like those might work. What do you think?”
“Yes, but, which chute do we take?” Helga wondered.
“I’d think we’d want the one with the lowest flow,” Christer replied. “Seems like that would be the easiest to move in.”
“I’m not so sure,” Helga said. “I’d feel better if I had more flow to conceal us.”
“I see your point,” Christer said, “but look at the amount of trash coming down that thing! How do we climb against that kind of flow?”
“That’s where my ‘borrowings’ come in,” Helga replied. Uncoiling the rope from her shoulder, she pulled the ‘borrowed’ hammer from her pack and bound it securely to the end of the rope, leaving its long claws fully exposed. “It’s not pretty,” she smiled, “but I think it will make a pretty effective grappling iron.”
“A grappling iron!” Christer exclaimed.
“Yes. We’ll get up as close as we can to the lowest trash chute over there, and I’ll throw the hook up the chute as many times as it takes for it to catch on something. Then, we’ll pull ourselves up and, I hope, inside.”
Taking the steadiest footing she could on the steep, slippery rock, Helga held the coiled rope lightly, and began swinging the improvised grappling-iron. Sending the hook upward into the trash chute, a moment later it dropped back at her feet. Again she swung the hook and, again, it feel back to the ground. After more than a dozen unsuccessful attempts, Helga said in frustration, “You were right, Christer—there’s too much trash moving to let the hook catch. Let’s try that other chute.”
Moving across to a position underneath the other chute, Helga rolled her shoulder a few times. “I sure hope it catches this time,” she chuckled, “or else, I’ll have to give you the honor of tossing this blessedly-heavy hammer!”
“Just say the word, and I’m on it,” Christer replied.
“Oh, no,” Helga said, “I owe this place some trouble and I want to be the one inside.”
Closing her eyes, and trying to visualize the grappling-iron as it was swinging over her head, she imagined the path it would take up the chute. Letting the hook fly, she kept her eyes closed, following the hook’s flight in her mind. CLANK! The grappling-iron fastened on some part of the chute far inside. Tugging the rope to test it, Helga gave Christer a happy smile.
“That’s it!” she said. “Feels solid. Here I go. You stay here until I tug on the rope. You’ll know it’s me because I’ll pull the rope far up into the chute, then drop it. If that does not happen, don’t trust any tugs on the rope.”
Bowing her head to shield her eyes from the trash flying past her, Helga quickly hauled herself up the rope. She stopped where the hook had lodged, a couple of feet below the top of the chute. Now she distinctly heard voices. Straining to hear what was said, the light coming down the chute from above suddenly darkened. Glancing up, she was startled to see a surprised Wolf staring at her. About to dump another load of trash down the chute, the Wolf froze in mid-action.
Sensing that the Wolf was a slave worker, Helga took a chance. Shaking her head to warn the beast to be silent, she motioned to proceed with dumping the trash.
With a slight smile, the Wolf dumped the trash down on Helga and turned away from the chute. “All right, you lazy crumbs,” the Wolf called out, “break time—five minutes, then back to work.” The din of work and the rumble of trash containers stopped, as the workers left for a brief break.
The Wolf, however, did not leave the chute. As soon as her co-workers had left the area, she peered down the chute at Helga and said, “Fast! You’ve got to get out of there fast! Hurry!”
Helga pulled herself the final distance to the top of the chute and fairly leaped out. The Wolf, missing the ends of both ears, skin-and-bones
thin, but with sharp, darting eyes and a quick step, helped Helga land quietly on the floor. Smiling at her, the Wolf gave rapid instructions. “No time for talk. I take you as a friend. Climb in that trash cart over there—Hurry! Then wait for me to help you further.” Climbing into the trash cart, Helga settled down in the bottom, and the Wolf quickly concealed her under a thick layer of trash.
The trash had hardly settled around Helga when she heard the workers returning to their posts. As work began again, she could hear the Wolf moving from worker to worker, speaking to each one in a low voice. “Keep working,” the Wolf instructed. “Don’t let on that anything is happening. We have a beast in this room with us who, I believe, has come to break us out of here. Keep working, just like always, but listen carefully to what is being said.” Moving to a beast working directly beside Helga’s hiding place, the Wolf directed, “Spottup, take a post by the door and stand watch. Let us know immediately if any guards show up.”
Then, moving the trash away, the Wolf motioned for Helga to show herself. Sitting up in the cart, Helga smiled at the trashroom workers. Following their instructions, the workers silently kept to their tasks, although Helga could see new light shining in their eyes.
“So, what’s up?” the Wolf asked, “Tell us quickly what you’re about and how we can help. Stay in the cart, so I can hide you again. There will be a guard making rounds soon. We don’t have much time.”
Helga knew she would only get one chance to make her case, and went big. “I’m here to break you out of here. I’ve got a friend waiting below to come up. We have the keys to this place and a plan to free every beast here. I need your help.”
The beasts kept working, but their attention was riveted on Helga’s words. “How can we help?” the Wolf asked.
Helga was just about to answer when Spottup motioned that a guard was coming. Helga quickly ducked down in the trash cart and the the Wolf covered her over again. Although she could not see what was happening, Helga had no doubt a Skull Buzzard had entered the room. The guttural, mocking tone of the Buzzard’s voice was characteristic.
“Seems to be sloppiness, here, Muz G,” the Buzzard snarled. “What’s with all this trash scattered round? Looks like you’d been dancin’ here rather than workin’.”
“No dancing here, Govern’r,” the Wolf replied. “Just pickin’ and tossin’, pickin’ and tossin’ like always. We’ll keep it a little tidier, as it pleases you, Govern’r.”
“Pleases me, it does,” the Buzzard said, “but what doesn’t please me is that odd odor I smell. What ’ya hiddin’ in here?” Helga could feel the Buzzard leaning on the trash cart where she lay concealed. “There’s a smell in this cart that ain’t just trash,” the Buzzard was saying, “smells to me like something fresh and juicy, not just putrid, cold trash.”
Helga could hear and feel the Buzzard beginning to feel around in the trash above her, searching. “Now, Govern’r,” the Wolf said sadly, “you’ve got me, but what you’re smelling isn’t in that cart.”
The rustling in the trash above Helga stopped, as the Buzzard straightened up to face the Wolf. “Now, Muz G,” the Buzzard said, “I knew you wuz hidin’ somethin’. What is it? Give it to me quick and, depending on what it is, I may forget you wuz hidin’ stuff.”
“Over here, Govern’r,” the Wolf replied. “It’s a bit of lizard gristle and grease tossed out from breakfast this morning. I knew you’d like it especially, so I was savin’ it for you in particular. But, don’t you go telling the other guards I’m hiding gristle, or I won’t have any for you next time.”
“The Buzzard now walked away from the cart where Helga hid and said loudly, “No hidin’ stuff here, you know—no hidin’ stuff, strictly against policy. So I certainly won’t be seein’ that you wuz hidin’ stuff.”
Helga heard the Buzzard crunching the gristle and sucking the grease, with the most disgusting swooping and smacking. He ate his favorite morsels with so much gobbling and licking she could almost hear the greasy mass slide down the Buzzard’s throat.
Then, the Wolf said, “Govern’r, you do us trash beasts proud! Why, no Buzzard in the place gorges himself on such a pittance with such style and grace! It’s a wonder to behold! It’s pure entertainment to watch. Would you do us humble slaves one tiny favor, Govern’r?”
“Ah, it’s a style me Pap’t taught me, ’ya see,” the Buzzard replied pompously. “Not easy to learn to take gristle and grease with style. Never thought of it bein’ entertainment, but pleased by that. So, what are ’ya askin’?”
“If we were to gather a plate full of gristle and grease,” the Wolf said, “would you come on back here and eat it, just so we can watch? It might help us poor, ignorant slaves get some pointers on style and grace.”
“A whole platter of gristle and grease?” the Buzzard cried. “Why, sure, I’d be pleased.”
“Magnificent, Govern’r!” the Wolf exclaimed. “Now, gathering an entire plate of gristle and grease takes a bit of time. We’ve got a lot of breakfast trash to go through to gather the juiciest and crunchiest bits for you. Could you give us a bit more time before your next round, so we’ve got a full platter for you?”
“Of course,” the Buzzard replied. “I’ve got some blasted paperwork to do. But, I’ll be back in an hour sharp ready to give you dingy beasts a lesson in style and grace. It pleases me, it does.” With that, the Buzzard left.
As soon as the door closed, every beast in the place gulped air, as if they had not taken a breath in several minutes. Helga immediately pushed the trash aside and jumped out of the cart. “Well done—Muz G, is that what he called you?”
The Wolf laughed darkly, “before I was captured and ended up here, I used to be known as Lady G, but that was long ago. The guards here find sport in making fun of our names.”
“Well, then, Lady G,” Helga said, “let’s get moving. First, let’s get Christer up here—that’s my friend waiting down below.” Helga went to the trash chute, reached down into it and tugged the rope. An answering tug quickly came back and, within a few minutes, Christer emerged from the trash chute.
With Christer in the room, Helga said, “Now, Lady G, I have two questions. First, how many Skull Buzzards are there in this place?”
“Right now, I’d say there are probably about a hundred,” Lady G said. “The normal garrison here is more like a thousand, but lots of the Buzzards are out on mission now. In normal times, we work round-the-clock shifts, but because they don’t have enough guards now, we only work a single daytime shift. They lock all of us up for the night.”
“That’s helpful to know,” Helga said. “Now my second question. Who is the most trustworthy beast you know that is thoroughly knowledgeable about the layout of the fortress. Someone who knows every room, every passageway, every chute and pipe.”
“That would be Gogglet,” Lady G replied. “He’s the FixMot Lead—does most of the maintenance. Gogglet knows the place better than anyone.”
“And he’s entirely trustworthy?” Helga asked. “We can’t risk any double-dealing on this.”
“Gogglet is as good and true as they come,” Lady G replied. “In fact, he’s been responsible for every slave escape that’s ever happened here.”
“What? Slave escapes?” Helga exclaimed.
“Yes, it’s his knowledge of the place that enables slaves to escape from time to time,” Lady G said proudly.
“How does he get away with it?” Christer asked. “Don’t the Skull Buzzards suspect him?”
“No,” Lady G laughed. “They would never suspect Gogglet. When you meet him, you’ll understand.”
“All right, then, how do we find him?” Helga asked.
“You beasts stay here, hidden in trash carts, until the work days ends,” Lady G replied. “When work stops, we’ll leave you here alone. All of us slaves are taken to our cells and locked up. Thirty minutes after work stops, you’ll hear the Roast Mess bell. That calls all the Skull Buzzards together for dinner. Every one of them w
ill be in the mess hall, gorging themselves. The Buzzards eat Fried Lizard for breakfast and Roast Shark for dinner every day. They call breakfast, Fried Mess, and dinner, Roast Mess. Anyway, when you hear the Roast Mess bell, that’s your signal that it’s safe to leave this room. You’ll find Gogglet in the maintenance cell. Because he’s a bit unusual, the Buzzards keep him alone, in his own cell. To make it easy, they just lock him up overnight in the maintenance room. You say you have keys, so you’ll just let yourself into his cell.”
“Where is his cell?” Helga asked.
“It’s easy to find,” Lady G said, “follow the ‘Brock-a-Brock-a-Brock-a-Brell-oooo’ sound. That will be Gogglet yodeling. You won’t have any trouble finding him. Just turn left when you leave this room and follow the sound.”
“Thank you, Lady G, and all your friends,” Helga said. “We’ll have you all out of your cells and free beasts by morning.”
“Do you really think you can do this?” Lady G asked, looking seriously at Helga.
“Look,” Helga replied, “Christer and I are here. I have the keys to this place. If this Gogglet fellow knows as much as you say he does, we’ll have you free by morning. I promise.”
When the hour had nearly passed by, Helga and Christer each climbed into trash carts and Lady G buried them thoroughly in trash. They remained safely in hiding until the workday ended. Even when the Govern’r returned, his visit passed without incident.
As the workday ended, Lady G said, “Helga and Christer, if you can do this thing you’re attempting, it’ll be a magnificent thing. I hope you’re not simply young and brash like I was when I came here. I didn’t have a plan beyond simple anger. I slapped a guard and got my ears timmed. I hope you have a plan—for what you’re doing, your trim would be just above the shoulders.”
The Destruction of Tilk Duraow
Precisely thirty minutes after Lady G and the others quit work, the Roast Mess bell sounded. Helga immediately cracked the door open and peered into the passageway. There was no sign of activity. Beckoning Christer to follow, she stepped into the passage and moved left, as Lady G had instructed.