“Oh my!” stated Crinkle, finding the whole affair difficult to watch, “it’s bitten Slip on the… “
“Penguin!” Slip shouted in agony, “arghhh! Help!”
“I told you so,” Dink told them so, “should have listened to me shouldn’t you, but no, cute little harmless penguin, well now look at you, he’s bitten you on the… “
“Dinkle,” Pete cut him short, “that really isn’t helping matters! Okay hang on Slip, I’ve got an idea.”
“What have you got in mind Pete?” asked Crinkle.
“Well you’ve heard of fighting fire with fire right, I reckon we fight evil penguin with deadly snakes,” he answered reaching for the fire extinguisher.
“Okay, this may smart a little,” he went on, aiming the extinguisher at the penguin and pulling the trigger.
Suddenly the penguin was showered in deadly snakes, and relinquishing its apparent fishy, then made a speedy exit back through the door from which it had entered.
“Nice work dude,” praised Slip who no longer had any animal attached to him.
“Anytime.”
“Oh Pete,” put in Crinkle, “what about all the snakes?”
“Oh yeah right,” he remembered, “well you’ve heard of fighting evil penguin with deadly snakes, I now propose we fight deadly snakes with…” he paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, before declaring, “…Run away!”
And that said Pete, Slip and Crinkle ran away.
Dinkle Mormid was left alone with the snakes, but after a few well selected foot stomps, he was soon the only thing there left living.
“Those idiotic fools,” he began eerily to himself, “I will have my revenge. First they cost me my hand, then my job, then my girlfriend, and now they think nothing of the fact that I’m sharing a jail sentence with them! What am I? A punch-bag? A faithful ass? Did they just wake up one morning and decide over breakfast that they would ruin my whole life?!”
He paused for a moment to vent his anger on some already-perished snakes that loitered about his feet. Then wiping reptile goo from his shoes, went on.
“As God is my witness, I make this promise today, that I will destroy this renegade gang! Even if it takes the rest of my life, even if I have to destroy everything else in the universe, even if I have to become the Co-leen Emperor himself to do it!”
Mormid then pulled out his hand, which he had conspicuously kept lodged in his pocket since waking up in the Sentencer. No longer did he possess a so-called fishing rod where his hand should have been, but instead, glistening black in the virtual light, was a handgun.
“Hang on guys!” he shouted after the gang, stuffing his new murderous hand back into his pocket, “wait for me!”
43.
“So he knows about the shears,” began King Slip to his Queen, “well, I’ll just have to make sure that this knowledge goes with him to Davy Jones locker!”
“Oh come now Slip,” she replied, “surely it won’t be necessary to kill him, he has already been banished from the king-tank after all.”
King Slip and Queen Crinkle were alone in the palatial hall. The queen was currently at rest atop some exquisitely gilded algae, whilst the King swam back and forth across the hall like some perpetual underwater yoyo. The King was clearly ill at ease.
“But if he knows about the shears,” he went on, “why hasn’t he come for them yet? If he knows of the power they possess, then surely his first reaction would be to possess them at literally any cost!”
“Now, now my King,” she replied, “if we are entirely honest, then we would have to say that we don’t even know anything about the power they possess, nor do we know what the Shears of Salamaloo actually do!”
“Nonsense,” he disagreed, “why, the Shears of Salamaloo are the most powerful shears in the whole king-tank!”
“They’re the only shears in the whole king-tank!”
“Yes, but their power is obvious!”
“Okay, what do they actually do then?” she asked, not expecting an answer.
“What do they do?!” scoffed the King, “why what don’t they do!”
“Okay,” she replied under-whelmed, “what don’t they do then?”
“Nothing!” declared the King, the very bastion of misplaced confidence.
“Fine, prove it.”
“Erm,” he replied finally at a loss, “I would, except the palace gardens are already looking so lovely.”
“So you’re telling me that the sacred Shears of Salamaloo, do nothing more than merely prune shrubbery?” she asked incredulously.
“Of course not,” he replied, “that’s just one of the many wonderful things they can do, and perhaps the one thing most befitting their appearance.”
“Okay, what else?”
“The sacred Shears of Salamaloo can,” replied the King, pausing for thought, “on top of being very good at topiary, and general foliage maintenance,” he added insistently, "can… “
“Slip,” she interrupted.
“What is it Crinkle, I’m telling you all the amazing things the shears do!”
“You don’t know do you.”
The King paused in his swimming to and fro, then holding her gaze for a moment or so, replied:
“No, not the fishiest.”
“At last,” she said, clearly relieved, “so what exactly is so precious about them then?”
“To be honest Crinks, I really don’t know,” he replied.
The Queen looked suddenly puzzled, as though she had seen a ghost, and that ghost had then asked her what she thought about quantum theory and how that may relate to what she had for breakfast that morning.
“That’s what you used to call me,” she said at last,” you used to call me Crinks.”
“Did I?” replied the King, un-astonished by the news, “well, what of it?”
“Can’t you see, something is very wrong here, it’s as though none of this is how it should be! “
“Don’t be ridiculous, whatever are you on about?”
“The shears Slip,” she appealed adamantly, “it’s all because of the shears!”
“But we don’t even know what they do!”
“I do,” said Fendel, who suddenly appeared out of nowhere.
“Fendel, where in the king-tank have you been hiding?!” exclaimed King Slip, startled by his quite sudden appearance.
“My King,” he greeted them, bobbing down as he spoke, “my Queen.”
“Damn it,” growled Slip, put out at his evasiveness, “how much have you heard?”
“Oh, I’ve heard everything sire,” he answered candidly.
“So you know about the shears too now!”
“Oh I already knew all about them,” he replied, “more than both of you put together.”
“Really?” said the King, “tell us then, or I’ll have your head!”
“All in good time Slip,” he replied casually, reaching beneath his cloak, “all in good time.”
“You dare to address your King in this way!”
“Well it is your name after all,” put in Crinkle, forgetting herself.
“Crink’s right Slip,” agreed Fendel, “you really should try listening to her more.”
“How dare you!” shouted the King outraged, “both of you!”
“Oh take a chill pill Groovy,” Fendel went on, pulling out a harpoon gun from a concealed inside pocket, the same weapon he had used to murder his brother earlier that morning.
“Hey easy tiger,” said Queen Crinkle, her eyes fixed rigidly on his trigger finger.
“Now have I got your attention?”
“Yes,” she replied earnestly.
“And how about you, King Ding-a-ling?” he asked, pointing the gun at Slip.
“Yes, yes,” Slip replied quickly, his anger have long since changed to fear.
“Good,” announced Fendel, “now that I have your combined attention, there are a few matters that I think we need to discuss, before I kill you both.”
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�Just tell us what you want,” growled Slip, dropping his regal airs.
“I will,” he replied, “but before I do, I think it best that you both know that what I am doing, I am doing for your own good.”
“Killing us for our own good huh?” remarked Crinkle sarcastically.
“Yes,” he said, “and I would kindly remind you that this harpoon gun is loaded, and also that I am an excellent marksman.”
“You mean marksfish dufus,” put in Slip.
“I know what I mean,” he replied unfazed.
“Come on then Fendel mint cake,” coaxed Crinkle, surprisingly unperturbed, “tell us what you think you are doing.”
“Well my queeny weeny,” he began, “it has of late, come to my quite remarkable attention, that existence has gone wrong. What first aroused my suspicion, was a rather impossible memory that I had never in fact learnt to swim. And by this, I do not mean to present some nature/nurture dilemma, but instead the raw fact that I cannot swim.”
“Ridiculous!” scoffed the King, “you’re a fish!”
“But what if I’m not,” he replied instantly, “what if none of us are?”
“Preposterous!” rebuffed the King, “not fish, I’ve never heard such nonsense! Why it’s borderline treason!”
“Not treason Slip, but rather,” he paused as he imagined how a great detective might, before continuing, “reason.”
“He’s got a point Slip,” put in Crinkle, “what if we aren’t fish and none of us are meant to be here? I mean I’ve always wanted to travel, and I can’t for the life of me recall whatever possessed me to marry you, no offence meant.”
“None taken,” squeaked Slip in a voice so tiny, even he barely heard it.
“You see,” said Fendel excitedly, “now you realize why both of you have to die!”
“Erm back up a cycle Fends,” said Crinkle uncomprehendingly, “so let’s just say that you are right and that reality has gone wrong. You propose to fix this by shooting us both with your harpoon gun?”
“Yes.”
“And why exactly are you going to do this?”
“Because reality is wrong.”
“I think you’re skipping a wee bit there,” she replied patiently, “why would killing us make reality right again?”
“Oh I see,” he answered finally getting the point, “good question, very good question.”
“Thank you,” she said clearly relieved.
“Now prepare to die,” he went on, raising the harpoon gun for the kill.
“But you didn’t answer the question!” protested Slip staring down the barrel.
“And you’re still alive!” he barked back, placing his finger eagerly on the trigger.
It now appeared that Fendel was very presently going to execute King Slip and Queen Crinkle in the understanding that this would provide a quick fix to reality. Taking aim so that the harpoon would lodge convincingly between Slip’s eyes, he started to squeeze the trigger.
“Wait!” shouted Pete, who suddenly rode in the palatial hall, riding on top of Ben the shark.
44.
“Where are we?” asked Slip, who was now huffing and puffing after running for so long.
“Dunno dude,” said Crinkle unhelpfully.
“Maybe we can stop running now,” suggested Pete, as they reached a dead end at the end of a nondescript corridor.
The Renegade trio were currently trapped in the Sentencer, a virtual torture chamber where the villains on Spank were digitally punished. Though each of them knew that what they were currently experiencing was not in fact real, and instead an electronic-synaptic distortion created by a machine they were all hooked up to, this in no way seem to assuage the tremendous feelings of terror that they were all fundamentally in the grips of currently.
“What can you see Pete?” asked Slip, who was a little way behind.
“There are three doors here,” he replied.
“Hmm three doors for three people,” mused Crinkle.
“What about Dink?” asked Pete, looking past Slip to see if he had caught up.
“He’s mental,” replied Slip, “he’s so mad he makes me look practically boring!”
“Slip’s gotta point Pete,” said Crinkle, “perhaps it’s best if we make our own way on from here, minus one Dinkle Mormid.”
“That’s got more vote,” agreed Slip, “so these doors, anything more to add?”
“Erm no not really,” replied Pete, “oh hang on, there’s some writing on them.”
“Okay, read away.”
“The first one says,” he began, squinting to see better in the virtual light, “certain death.”
“Good start, what’s next?” Slip asked hurriedly.
“Okay, the next one reads,” said Pete, moving closer to read the words of the next door, “abandon hope all ye who enter here.”
“T’riffic,” said Slip rolling his eyes, “third time’s a charm?”
“The last door reads,” Pete replied, “fate worse than death.”
“Well that’s just fab,” said Slip, “certain death, fate worse than death, and abandon hope doors! Just brilliant, who’s for ordering a cab?”
“We could go back the way we came?” suggested Crinkle.
“Back to the snakes and penguins, and that fishing hand loon? I don’t think so Crinks, and as we’re here now, it would be almost rude not to take a peek.”
“Okay Slip, which door then?” asked Pete.
Slip paused for a moment, as though performing some astronomical mental arithmetic, when in actuality he was pondering which flip flops would go best with his cowboy hat, before replying:
“All of them!”
“Off you go then,” proposed Pete, “we’re right behind you.”
“Three doors, three people, you do the maths!”
“I would except my calculator’s solar powered, and you’re facing me!” rebutted Pete.
“I’ll take fate worse than death,” began Slip, ignoring the slight, “Crinks does abandon hope, and you do certain death.”
“Or,” Pete suggested, “you could take fate worse than death, then you could do abandon hope, and to round it off nicely, you could finish on certain death, whilst Crinkle and I wait here discussing the merits of applied democracy.”
“Come on Pete,” put in Crinkle, “it does make sense if we split up.”
“That’s right Crinkle cakes, we’ll cover way more ground if we do it my way!”
Pete paused to look glum for a moment, before replying, “fine, but remind me to say I told you so later.”
“Top man,” praised Slip, ””right, last one in is a homo sapien!”
And that said, he yanked open the door marked “Fate worse than death”, and literally dived in.
“After you,” offered Crinkle politely.
“No, no,” declined Pete, “be my guest.”
So, looking less than enthralled at the prospect, she then opened the door with “Abandon hope all ye who enter here”, and walked trepidly through it.
“Certain death,” mulled Pete to himself, entering the remaining door, “wonder if I can get a burger?”
45.
Fendel lowered the harpoon gun, so that it was no longer levelled at the King’s head, and waited as he was told.
“Good,” said Pete, dismounting Ben the shark, “now, I think we should all have a little chat, as me and my friend Ben here, have a few things we would like to talk about.”
“Yeah,” agreed Ben emphatically, “a few things!”
“Fine by me,” said Slip, simply relieved at no longer having to face an imminent harpoon-in-the—face death.
“Why should we trust you?!” spat Crinkle, “everyone knows that shark’s not to be trusted!”
“What, Ben?” replied Pete taken aback, “oh he’s just misguided, father issues you know.”
“Daddy never loved me!” declared Ben all of a sudden.
“Fascinating I’m sure,” said Fendel, meaning anything but.
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br /> “Whatever you happen to think, or think you think, or indeed, imagine that you think that you should believe,” began Pete sounding confident, “it’s nonsense!”
“You’re nonsense,” said Fendel simply.
“Has he tried to kill you?” Pete asked.
“Yes,” they replied.
“Keeps harping on about the sacred shears?”
“Wouldn‘t shut up about them.”
“Then,” concluded Pete dramatically, “we arrived just in time!”
“Yes,” agreed Fendel, raising the harpoon gun again, “just in time to die!”
“Hang on a mo’ Fends,” replied Slip, “we’ve got a shark on our side now!”
“A neurotic shark with pater problems!”
“He’s still got a bite!” threatened Pete.
“We’ll see shall we,” began Fendel, “oh Ben, can you help me rewire this plug here, I think the fuse has blown.”
Ben the shark looked confused for a moment, then broke down so completely, that a new word like “madmadmad” would have to be invented to categorise him properly from then on.
“Cruel Fends,” remarked Crinkle, “neat going, punching a shark when he’s already down!”
“Yeah,” agreed Pete forlornly, “everyone knows that it’s your Dad who shows you how to rewire a plug!”
“I can do it!” shouted Ben through the tears, who had somehow got hold of a plastic bucket and spade and was wielding them both determinedly at Fendel.
“Its okay Ben,” said Pete in a soft voice, “put down the bucket and spade, the nasty fish was only joking.”
“I wasn’t joking,” replied Fendel seriously, “and for the last time, I’m not a fish, none of us are!”
“What do mean, not fish!” said Pete appalled, “I suppose next you’ll be saying that all of this is fiction, some idle fantasy devised by some twisted individual!”
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