***
Travel in Arcadia was never quite the same as anywhere else and it was never the same twice. Or would that be never not the same twice? In any event, while it might seem at times as bountiful in flora and enchantment as the Garden of the Hesperides, as ethereal and enigmatic as Shambala, or as basic as Valhalla, its nature ranged from nebulous to polymorphic. Like wind to a cloud, the geography was cast under the whims of so many passing powers that a sojourn replete with compass, itinerary, and touring maps was still more akin to wayfaring. To have climbed a sky-piercing mountain up to a vast desert that stretched out impossibly in all directions was as expected as having a dragon’s lair wander its way across the countryside to find a damsel-obsessed knight. Nothing was beyond bounds and purpose set the course more often than direction.
So it was that an incalculable distance away, after passing under the gaze of cackling moons and cheerful suns for something between a spell and a month of Sundays, through misty woodland, orange plain, and undulating prairie, they came upon a single, monolithic mountain. Stabbing up from perfectly pleasant green hills below into perfectly violet skies above, indeed it was an ugly mountain. Of that the Captain was quite certain. The jagged crags upon its gnarled face were the most unsettling sort of gray-green; like moldy oatmeal. What’s more, the crags seemed exploded and jutted in manners that to any sensible and civilized observer just seemed most unbecoming an earthen feature. It was more of a very tall mess than a mountain. It was as if it were a pile of debris awaiting the dustpan of some world-crushing giant.
But it was there, just as the pixie had said. And at the foot of this hideous mass was a cave, just as the pixie had predicted. And if the smell that wafted from its dark interior were any indication to the type of inhabitant, the Captain had to admit the designation of Gurglesplat somehow fit.
Tripp gave a nod to what seemed like a thigh bone protruding out of the shadows and said, “I'm thinking it’s the leg of a bear but this being the Land of the Fey....”
He gave a twist to the lenses of his goggles and turned the inky blackness into an array of dim hues denoting the spiritual residue marking the various bones of the Gurglesplat's prey. Such things did not last long. This was fresh kill. “It's recently fed,” the Captain announced. “That means it's not hungry, which is in our favor.”
“Unless it's of a ravenous nature. Many malevolent spirits carry a hunger never to be quenched.”
It was the Captain's turn to give his partner an incredulous look. “Always the optimist, old boy. Your eagle eye never fails to spot that silver lining.”
“It's a gift,” the sardonic Indian smirked. “Besides, you wouldn't be satisfied unless the continuation of our lives came into question at least once in our search for this engineer.”
It was true. No arguing that. The Captain thrived on such impending danger. If his life were not threatened, he would surely shrivel up and die. But it would seem, today he would blossom and flourish. He stepped boldly into the darkness without another word.
As one might expect from a lifelong, dearest friend, Ghost-Tongue sighed and followed shortly after. With the spin of a small gear on her side, Marybelle’s electric torch blossomed and illuminated the immediate area in a yellow glare. The mouth of the cave was nothing special; damp, grimy, and stony. Even the bones were inconsequential. No human or even human-like bones among them. It thoroughly reeked and forced one to breathe through one’s mouth but what else could be expected of a cave-swelling monster and a pile of bones?
In fact, the only curious thing the Captain found about the cave was the tunnel leading away from it. It was common design if not courtesy that all monster-inhabited caves would always lead downward; usually into stony morasses under weakened structures where the ceiling might give way to permanent entrapment beneath the earth at any given moment. This was what was expected by any veteran of the fantastic. For this tunnel to incline itself in an ascending manner was practically rude!
“Damned ugly mountain,” the Captain growled and took his first step up toward Gurglesplat’s lair.
The Vulgar Gnome of Kettle's Knob Page 2