The rest of the group knew what Andy meant when he said it: Ned Lostmore’s encounter with Bungalow Bob, which had ended with his head shrunk. Ned had always been cryptic with the details of the event. He’d somehow escaped, probably with the help of someone in the Society. But at the time he’d written the note, it was obvious that he’d sustained severe injuries and didn’t think he was going to survive.
“Why was he here?” asked Abigail.
“He said it was because he was researching some new kind of medical cure that was present in some exotic moth. At least, that’s what I was told,” said Andy.
“Hogwash,” said Rusty. “There’s no way he would have come here and braved these dangers for a bit of medicine. I think he was looking for something else.” Rusty shared a meaningful glance with the group.
“Do you think he was looking for Begorra?” asked Abigail.
“What else could it be?” said Betty.
“I agree,” added Dotty, glancing at her sister. “And something went terribly wrong down here. Ned nearly died.”
Everyone was silent as they thought about the implications. A movement to their left caused everyone to turn at once. What they saw took them by such surprise that everyone stood frozen in place for several moments.
“I am Bungalow Bob,” came the sound of an elegant, youthful voice. “And you all have the distinct honor of being my latest acquisitions.” It seemed strange coming from a man who looked far older and more wrinkled than any Andy had ever seen. He had snowy white hair down to his shoulders and blazing blue eyes, and he was robed in ceremonial clothing with a large headdress. A necklace made of finger bones decorated his neck, and his gaze flashed with undisguised malice.
The ancient witch doctor looked around the group. “Now then, which of you valuable additions to my collection of shrunken heads would like to go first?”
Bungalow Bob! The name of the witch doctor conjured up horrific visions in Andy’s mind. He already felt sick from the plague, but this was too much. Anxiety washed over him. He couldn’t stand the thought of facing the same fate as his grandfather!
Rusty was the first to recover his wits and respond to Bungalow Bob’s question. “Just what do you mean, go first?” he demanded. “And by the way, I’m not interested in becoming part of anyone’s collection.” As he said this, Andy noticed that he twisted a lever on his Swiss Army hook, and a dangerous-looking pointed spike emerged, replacing the blade that had been there earlier.
The witch doctor gazed at Rusty’s attempt at intimidation with an amused expression. Then he noticed Abigail for the first time.
“Abigail Awol!” he said. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Andy turned to Abigail with a shocked expression. Bungalow Bob knew her?
Abigail stepped forward. “Hello, Bob. Since we last met, my situation has, er…changed a bit.”
Bungalow Bob’s smile widened. “I’ll say it has! I don’t recognize any of your new companions. How’s Professor Phink?”
“Quite dead, unfortunately,” Abigail replied. “An incident with a ravenous Hawaiian deity.”
Bungalow Bob’s smile never dimmed. “Ah, well, that’s part of the job, isn’t it?” He noticed the confused expressions of the group and asked, “Tell me, Abigail, who are your traveling companions?”
Andy’s head spun. Bungalow Bob had gone from threatening their lives to suddenly acting like he was receiving guests for a party. Who knew what he would do next?
Abigail introduced each one in turn, keeping her tone even and conversational as if she were trying to prevent another volatile reaction. When she got to Andy, Bob’s eyes brightened.
“You don’t say!” he exclaimed happily. “The grandson of Ned Lostmore? How wonderful!” Before Andy knew what was happening, Bob had bounded over and was pumping his hand up and down. “Truly a pleasure to meet you. Your grandfather is my greatest competitor!”
Andy stared up at the eccentric fellow, feeling more confused than ever. This was the same person who had shrunk his grandfather’s head, and he was acting like they were old friends! Andy withdrew his hand sharply and glared at the witch doctor. He couldn’t play along with this charade any longer.
Bob noticed Andy’s reaction. He folded his arms and gave Andy an appraising look. “You don’t understand the game, do you, son?”
“What game?” Andy demanded. He gestured around the temple ruins. “I don’t understand any of this! All I know is that you shrank my grandfather’s head and were working with his enemies. You obviously knew Professor Phink!”
Bob shook his head and chuckled, acting as if he were talking to a small child who couldn’t understand a larger concept. “Andy—May I call you Andy?”
“No,” said Andy.
Bungalow Bob moved closer and put an arm on Andy’s shoulder. Andy stiffened and glared back at him. Bungalow Bob continued, saying, “Andy, your grandfather and I share a passion. We collect magical artifacts. And we collectors are known to go to extreme lengths to get what we want.”
The witch doctor gestured to the temple. “This temple, for instance, was once inhabited by a very powerful cult. One that worshipped the Eternal Tree, the roots of which extend all the way here. It is a place of very powerful magic and one which suits my needs perfectly…for you see, I never intend to die. I am already over five hundred years old and still have much I wish to accomplish.”
Andy gaped. “Wait, you know about the Eternal Tree?” he asked.
Bob looked at him with a quizzical expression. “Why, of course I do. Do you really suppose that I would choose a life underground in this crumbling ruin unless there were a good reason for it?” Understanding suddenly flashed on Bungalow Bob’s craggy features, and he smiled. “Of course. You’re looking for it, aren’t you? And all this time I was drawing you to me, you had no idea that I had access to the tree. How ironic!” He chuckled.
“What do you mean, drawing us to you? We fell into this place by accident!” said Dotty.
Bob held up a long finger. “I don’t believe in accidents, my dear.” He snapped his fingers. A low growl emanated from somewhere in the ruins behind him. Then, to Andy and the others’ surprise, two huge Bengal tigers with glowing red eyes appeared behind the witch doctor. Andy took an involuntary step backward. The beasts looked just as strange and ferocious as they had when he’d encountered one of them earlier.
But he was thrown off guard when Bob began scratching the closest one under the chin, just like an ordinary house cat.
“You might recognize my pets. I have several others, too, including a Dingonek.”
Andy wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw Rusty clench his one good hand into a tight fist at the mention of the name of the beast that had taken his other appendage.
“Wonderful creatures. Magically summoned, of course. I had them act like sheepdogs, herding you along in this direction until you fell right into my trap. And how did I do it?” His teeth flashed in a triumphant grin. “With an ancient magical artifact, one that was believed lost, called the Beastcaller. I had to pay dearly to obtain it, but it is truly one of the gems of my collection. Which brings me back to my earlier mentioning of Professor Phink…”
Bungalow Bob paced in front of the group, growing animated. “The late professor offered me a certain artifact: a ring that could make the wearer turn into a fifty-foot-tall giant. A wonderful item! It was offered in exchange for reducing Ned Lostmore to his…er…current state.”
“In other words, he paid you to shrink Grandfather’s head,” said Andy flatly.
“Precisely,” said Bungalow Bob. “And I was supposed to be allowed to keep him in my collection! What an offer! You see, the magical properties of shrunken heads fuel my research. Their magic protects me from some of the dark curses associated with items that would normally carry with them too great a cost to use.”
He spread his arms in a broad, all-encompassing gesture. “I am nothing more than a collector, a doctor, a man of science who gathers magical artifac
ts for his own personal research. So does your grandfather. I have my own reasons for gathering them, as does he. We have vastly different ideas about how to use these items, but bottom line, we’re simply friendly competitors.”
“I don’t see anything friendly about shrinking someone’s head,” growled Rusty.
“Ah, well, that’s just part of the game,” said the witch doctor. “One which you’ll soon be part of! Come, follow me.…”
Bungalow Bob wheeled around and walked inside the temple. Andy was amazed at how Bob acted like everything was simply a game of checkers! But Andy knew that his grandfather’s life had been part of the stakes, and whatever his “game” was, it could be deadly.
However, seeing no other option at the moment, the group cautiously followed the doctor through a nearby doorway. Andy made sure his Zoomwriter was firmly in hand but tried not to grip it too tight as he trailed after the others down a narrow, twisting staircase.
They descended for several minutes, and the farther down they went, the darker and more oppressive the temple became. A flickering green light illuminated the slimy walls, and when they finally reached the bottom, Andy was surprised to see that the entire room was lit by torches that blazed with emerald fire.
The old man spread his arms wide and then brought his hands together with a resounding clap. The fire blazed even brighter, revealing walls filled with tiny alcoves…alcoves that each contained something horribly recognizable.
“Shrunken heads!” exclaimed Andy.
Bungalow Bob smiled. “Yes. My collection.” He gestured proudly to the countless shelves. “Some were great, some were not. But all have a place of honor in my temple. In fact, there was only one that I ever lost…and it was one that I wanted far more than the others.”
He grinned, baring rows of rather pointed teeth at his wordplay. Andy grimaced. The very thought that this was the same sorcerer who had shrunk his grandfather’s head was still staggering and almost too horrifying to believe.
It had always made Andy uncomfortable to think that such a bizarre ritual, which defied all science and reason, could have taken place. It had ruined Ned Lostmore’s life in a way, but the ever resourceful and optimistic doctor had found a way to keep on living anyway.
“Well, if you’re asking which one of us wants to go first to have our heads shrunk, I don’t think you’re going to get any volunteers,” said Abigail. Her arms were crossed and she glared at him with a defiant expression.
Bungalow Bob sighed, looking disappointed. “Well, you do look like a sickly lot,” he said, eyeing their black spots and gruesome pallor. “I would think it would feel much better to be shrunken and healthy than in your current state.”
He moved closer. “And had one of you stepped forward, I could have rewarded you with special magical attributes. You could have served me in a position of great honor.” He shrugged. “But now…well…”
And before anyone had time to react, the sorcerer picked up a small jungle totem from a nearby table. Then a bolt of mystical green fire spurted from the tiny statue, arcing toward Rusty Bucketts. The big pilot took the brunt of the magical blast directly in the face.
Then it happened. Andy watched in horror as Rusty’s startled expression grew smaller as his entire head began to reduce in size…shrinking before their very eyes. A thick mist surrounded his legs and torso, and in moments they had completely vanished. In seconds, all that remained was a horribly small version of Rusty’s head, lying on the floor. It was perfect in every detail, right down to the bushy red mustache.
Rusty’s eyes were wide and more frightened than Andy had ever seen them. With a flick of his wrist, the witch doctor motioned to Rusty’s tiny head and it rose magically from the floor and into the air, floated across the room, and landed neatly in an empty alcove.
“I’ll get you for this!” Rusty shouted. His normally confident, booming voice sounded small and shaky, as if he’d swallowed a bunch of helium from a balloon.
Bungalow Bob turned to the others and shrugged. His smile reminded Andy of a little boy who had just been caught doing a bit of mischief. “Not to worry. His head will be put to great use. You see, shrunken heads with low intellect, like your friend’s here, have a surprising amount of concentrated magical power. His is a wonderful addition to my collection. An interesting specimen.”
“You have no right…” sputtered Andy. A wave of anger overtook him and he felt like he would do anything to stop the sorcerer. On impulse, he raised his Zoomwriter and aimed—
But Bungalow Bob had only to flick the tip of his finger in Andy’s general direction, and the normally thunderous blast from the Zoomwriter’s atomic pulse emitter never happened. The pen just gave off a small, light hiss that died quickly. Andy stared down at it with a panicked expression.
The old witch doctor tut-tutted and slowly shook his head. “You really mustn’t try to fight me. There is nothing you possess that could have the slightest effect.” Then, with another quick flick of his wrist, Betty and Dotty’s favorite weapons were removed from the pouches at their belts. The sisters watched helplessly as a constellation of their razor-sharp throwing stars floated into the air and stacked neatly on a very high shelf.
The twins’ expressions went from surprised to furious. But, like Andy, they could do nothing. It seemed to all of them that the inevitable was about to happen whether they wanted it to or not. They were all going to end up as batteries to fuel this sorcerer’s power, and there was nothing they could do about it. Soon, Andy would be like his grandfather in more than just character.
Soon, he would need a cabinet of his own.
Flash! A second burst of green fire flew from the sorcerer’s totem and Betty and Dotty were subjected to the same reduction that Rusty had recently undergone, separated from their joined body for the first time in their lives. It all happened so fast that Andy could hardly believe it when he saw the sisters’ heads in alcoves positioned right next to Rusty’s. They were screaming bloody murder, which only added to the horror of the situation.
Andy knew if he didn’t think of something fast, he would be right there with them. He glanced around the room, desperately seeking some way out of their predicament.
Suddenly, a chime sounded. Andy clenched his fists, preparing for whatever pain was about to come next. But his eyes widened when, after a long moment, nothing happened.
His gaze settled on a gigantic hourglass with hour markings etched on its surface. The Doomsday Device had struck. Why hadn’t it affected them?
Bungalow Bob grinned, knowing Andy’s thoughts. “The Doomsday Device has no effect on me, or you, while you are in my temple. The magic I possess is greater than that any artifact could generate.”
He twiddled his fingers. Andy and the others felt a light breeze wash over them. When Andy glanced down, he noticed that all the marks of the plague were gone from his arms.
Bungalow Bob chuckled when he saw their stunned expressions. “I hate imperfect specimens.”
The witch doctor had raised the jungle totem again and was pointing his bony fingers in Abigail’s direction, about to shrink her head, when on a sudden impulse Andy shouted, “Stop!”
The old sorcerer started. “And why should I?” he asked after a pause.
“Because…” Andy paused, his mind racing furiously. “I have a deal to make with you.”
The witch doctor smiled in amusement. “And just what could you offer me besides your head?”
“My…head…is exactly what I’m talking about,” Andy said, thinking fast. Then he straightened, looking Bungalow Bob directly in the eye. “I challenge you to a battle of wits. If I win, we get to go free, and if you win, you get our heads.”
Bungalow Bob laughed. “I could just take them anyway. You do realize that, don’t you?”
Andy said nothing but continued to stare defiantly at the old man. Finally, Bungalow Bob shrugged and grinned.
“Why not? I haven’t had any amusement in a long time,” said Bob. “But
you might regret it. I hold degrees from all the major universities, both in medicine and the paranormal sciences.”
Andy didn’t flinch. He knew it was a desperate play and had doubted it would work. But thankfully, the old man seemed amenable to the idea. Bob motioned for Andy to follow him, and as Andy did, he noticed that they were heading deeper into the temple toward a large stone door. When they drew close, Andy noticed that it was covered with tangled vines and ancient carvings. Bungalow Bob stopped and stroked the door affectionately. Then, turning to Andy, he said, “Behind this door lies a challenging maze unlike any you’ve ever faced. In years past, I would test my potential protégés with its mental challenges to see who might be worthy to stand at my side.”
He gestured broadly. “And as you can see, I have no protégés. Unfortunately, they all failed my test. If you succeed, and I hope you will, you might join me! I could really use an assistant. Imagine the possibilities!”
Andy gritted his teeth. I’d rather die, he thought.
Bungalow Bob grinned at what he apparently mistook for a determined expression on Andy’s face. “I can see you’re eager to get started. Good! Well, know this…no matter how my little test turns out, it won’t be a total waste. The heads of all the others who tried and failed made valuable additions to my collection.” His blue eyes narrowed, flashing dangerously. “And if you fail, yours will, too.”
Andy gulped as the heavy door swung inward and he saw the darkness that lay beyond it. A dank smell wafted out from the hidden recess, and he had the eerie feeling he used to get as a small boy when he’d been about to enter the haunted house at a carnival.
He remembered just how much he hated haunted houses.
Then, steeling himself, he stepped forward. And as he moved past Bungalow Bob, the old witch doctor said, “Oh, I forgot to mention—there are terrible monsters in that maze that haven’t been fed in weeks. Also, there are weapons scattered about, but you can only earn them by solving my puzzles. There, you’ve been given a clue. I’m not so unreasonable, am I?”
Tales from Adventureland the Doomsday Device Page 7