The Questory of Root Karbunkulus - Quill (11 page)

Dwyn held court onsite, ushering in several
guests including Tamik, whose arrival, despite impossible parade
deadlines impressed everyone. She had come loaded to the hilt
-Party Central- with streamers and balloons and sparklers and
blowers and hats, all leftover from floats and costumes. Milden
came with a glass of milk. Um…okay.

The party was to be in Root’s room. Nice and
private, with no disapproving glares and comments. Not to mention
clobbering.

While Root went to get Krism, Milden helped
Dwyn and Lian finish hanging streamers. Tamik had also brought a
homemade cake and was setting it on display. It was hideous. But
she insisted the outside in no way resembled the tasty goodness of
the inside. And besides, considering the time constraint, they
should be lucky to have a cake at all.

When he thought she wasn’t looking Lian, who
had been pretty good at Baking in the Scholary propped the cake up
with a Rising spell. But Tamik
had
noticed. He realized this
when he turned and saw her staring right at him. With a big, huge
mushy smile. Why was she smiling at him like that? What, did she
think he was doing her a favour…that he wanted to impress her or
something? As if. He only did it ‘cause the cake looked like it
might crumble to pieces any second. It wasn’t to try and please her
if that’s what she was getting at.

Lian felt his ears going red again. He looked
away. His heart was totally out of control in its stupid fluttering
again. Man that chick irritated him.

Everyone was on standby with “The Jolly Good
Fellow” locked in short-term memory when Root’s doorhand announced
her arrival. Upon Dwyn’s cue, they launched into the rowdy,
off-pitch yet heartfelt melody.

But the look on Root’s face was not jolly. It
was stricken. The song drained in her friends’ throats. All except
Milden who had really gotten into it and had to be ribbed
quiet.

“He’s gone.” Root said so faintly they could
hardly hear her. “They took him away early. ‘Before he could ‘cause
anymore problems.’”

On the day of the race, there was much
distraction and for the time being Root’s thoughts of Krism clung
only peripherally. There was nothing she could do anyway. The good
news…well sort of good news…was that Krism had apparently escaped
his guards. Using Wilma most likely. Root was happy about that but
now there was the worry of where he’d ended up.

Jorab had not been informed of Krism’s
altered deportation date until it was too late and, for now all he
could do was file a complaint. However, Root knew from the flare in
his eyes that this scandal was filed in more than just the paisley
office of Slim Pulpit. It had been filed in Jorab’s conscience and
some time, somewhere Studaben Picklepug would pay for such
wrongdoing.

Tamik had taken up a conch shell similar to
the slobbering unit Loathsbin had used when he tried to auction
Root into slavery those many months ago. But, unlike Loathsbin’s
this conch shell did not drool. But it did make her loud. Man, was
she loud. Her bellows were heard across many floors in the hotel
and well beyond the front courtyard where people now gathered in
cheery bouquets for the Second Magisterial Treasure Quest of DréAmm
Sendoff.

Way more people than the first one, Root
thought. Possibly twice as many. She spied some familiar faces,
those that had participated in the first Quest, plus many more that
she did not recognize. It seemed word of the Quests was
spreading.

The thought gave Root stomach flips. All
these people, hundreds of them were here to see her and only
seventeen other kids race for a real live HaloEm Quill. One of only
five in all of DréAmm. For a brief moment Root entertained the
regret of losing theirs but reminded herself of the folly in
that.

She scratched the furry neck of Stogie, a
note of admiration in her eyes as she glanced over her teammates,
proudly wearing the red Valador cloaks. Lian was closing up the
travel pack. It was new, an upgrade of his that had had to endure
the rigours of Quest Committee approval. Of course it was accepted
and even orders were placed. How could one not? It was quite a
miraculous thing, that new and improved travel pack. Water and fire
proof, it even Skunked attackers with an odour that rivalled the
worst of Dwyn’s well-known flatulence.

The travel pack responded to voice command
and heck, it even included a built in Talker, though with limited
reception. This new and improved version was also much bigger and
with a million kazillion more pockets, most of which could not even
be seen as Lian had managed to place them in twin dimensions for a
lighter weight.

Twin dimensions? Root didn’t even ask, which
kind of disappointed Lian.

Until Tamik mentioned her curiosity.

Then he beamed in his report.

Until she made a suggestion.

Then he scowled.

Until he actually applied her suggestion and
saw that, indeed it did work better.

Then he was blown away.

What was with this girl? She was….He stopped
himself. No. No inter-relations, the guide clearly said. Right.
Absolutely. Not that he’d want to anyhow. Cause he didn’t. As
if.

After seeing the new and improved travel
pack, Tamik asked Lian to make one for her so she could organize
her committee duties. He agreed only on the condition that it not
be used for Kor’s Kings. The funny thing about Tamik was that this
was a given. She had no love for her teammates, Kor and Flink and
everyone knew it. It wasn’t that she betrayed them; she just simply
couldn’t bring herself to cooperating with them was all. And this
suited her just fine. Tamik didn’t harbour dreams of Quest
champion, like most. She was here for the ride, which was pretty
cool so far.

She put the conch to her mouth. “Number 568!
You’re too soon. Get back behind the trampoline!” She watched a man
on a float back up and edge his way to the proper destination where
sixteen dancing Figgoobbers popped like corn on a trampoline.
“Alright people! In ten…nine…eight...” The last three numbers were
done with the silent count of her fingers. “Go!”

Root had found her teammates and, along with
the rest of the crowd enjoyed “The most awesomest parade ever!” as
they later told Tamik. They could hardly believe she had pulled
something like that off. The floats were dazzling (though posters
of Picklepug’s triple chins were way too big). The acrobats were
amazing, in particular, at least to Dwyn the bikini clad Water
Nymphs. The marching band was incredible in its pyramid formation.
And on and on. It was truly a wonder, one that would linger for
years in happy memory.

As the last dancer took his bow, the audience
erupted in a roar of cheers. And when Tamik came out, even this was
outdone. She took a humble bow, gestured to the cast and crew and
walked off the stage. Not to join her team but to stand beside her
friend, Root Karbunkulus. It made Root feel, well very cool
indeed.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!”

Amazing how fast one’s joy can deflate.
Picklepug’s voice had always brought about a flinch but now it made
Root’s blood boil. She turned her eyes to him, hoping he would feel
her rage, that it would burn him to the ground somehow.

“Thank you! Thank you! Wow! What a crowd! I
can’t tell you how excited I am to be here, officially launching
the Second Magisterial Treasure Quest of DréAmm…yes, thank you…
where these six teams are off to find the powerful HaloEm Quills of
which only five exist! Indeed! Thank you…wow, what supporters we
have in the crowd today…well, this is bound to be another
adventurous journey for each of our young teams…”

As Picklepug launched once more into
committee introductions, and sponsors and courage and perseverance
and whatever else was on his bogus agenda, Root suddenly saw it.
How could anyone miss it? It towered over the crowd like a
floating, twinkling mini planet. And it was orbiting right for the
Valadors.

Ernest Skubblenob.

In long, red shorts, socks with clips and a
winter parka. His helmet tottered on his head in a junk heaped
block and from his shrivelled lips was heard ‘warmer… warmer…
getting warmer.”

Could there possibly be anything more
embarrassing?

Oh yes.

Ernest Skubblenob, like everyone else, had a
Hovermutt. But, unlike everyone else, or at least those
participating in this race, Ernest Skubblenob’s Hovermutt was older
than a corpse. It was a gaunt, ribbed attempt to live one last day.
It wheezed and gasped and peed in the middle of the courtyard. As
it brought the absent-minded inventor closer, Root saw that it had
one tooth. Sort of. The rest were missing in action...centuries of
action. And its eyes were, well, frankly they were not working.
They seemed as surprised as the rest of their body every time they
led head on into a wall or tree or, in other instances, the women’s
washroom.

When Ernest Skubblenob finally took his place
beside the Valadors, it was to the laughter and mockery of
onlookers and groaning horror of his charges. Root wanted to die
immediately and even sooner if possible. Dwyn rolled his eyes and
threw his arms up and shook his head, with no qualms whatsoever for
Skubblenob’s feelings. Lian simply scowled with bright red ear
nubs.

Skubblenob’s Hovermutt drew up to Lian and
licked him. It was a friendly enough gesture aside from the fact
that every single person in proximity nearly passed out from the
stinking, stinking, stinking, stinking stink of its breath. Lian
ran screaming for a nearby fountain.

Picklepug’s speech finally ended. But Root
hadn’t even noticed. All that existed in her being was the ghastly
idea that there would be no Jorab on this trip, that they were
trapped with a deluded old man who would annoy them to the brink of
murder. Skubblenob smiled and pet his beloved Hovermutt along its
bony, patchwork back. “This,” he crinkled a smile, “is
Chesterly!”

Picklepug lowered his finger. The bar of
light that reached across the gateway -the border between challenge
and victory- flicked from red to green.

“Go!”

“We were thinking of going along Twig
Valley.” Lian said long after the Valadors and the five other teams
had filtered out of the courtyard to the whistles and cries of
fans.

“You don’t need to yell, son. I’m not deaf!”
Skubblenob over-enunciated as if Lian were deaf.

“Fine. I was just saying that we have given
it some thought and decided that the best way would be along the
valley where..”

“What? Speak up, boy!” the old man
yelled.

Lian stomped off.

They had deviated way too far from their
original plans. Seasons had surely changed and still they were
Hovering. Just Hovering. Hovering along like turtles…that
Hover.

Ernest Skubblenob was humming the same song.
For the last time if Lian had his way.

Something had to be done. It just had to.
Before brains hemorrhaged and someone got….lost…someone old…two old
someones, in fact. Really lost. As in, permanently.

Dwyn averted his eyes and encouraged Hana to
speed up, leaving Root to deal with the situation. She cringed at
Dwyn and reluctantly moved Stogie up beside the old man. Chesterly
was practically blowing out both lungs in effort. And the fallout
was toxic. Root was sure birds would stiffen mid-sniff and
literally plummet.

“Uh…Mr. Skubblenob, sir…” she said, trying to
hold her breath.

“Alrightio, my little friendlies. Let’s get a
move on it. We’ve got ourselves a race to win!” Skubblenob said and
smacked his helmet. When nothing happened, he smacked it again. And
once more. And, yes, again.

Teeth grit and eyes rolled and several ideas
for ‘an accident’ were entertained.

Finally the helmet lit up with a series of
pins and pops and eeeee-oooooo-eeeeee’s. The old man carefully
brought out the gleaming silver remote and said “HaloEm Quill”

At once the helmet blinked itself into a
lather and squeezed Skubblenob’s head with such gusto that his eyes
looked like they were getting too big for their sockets. Root
thought it best to intervene.

…Or…(insert evil thoughts here)…not…?

But even as she paused for the musing, the
helmet relaxed and the remote began to throb from silver to
blue.

“It’s very cold. We’re not close at all.”
Skubblenob said and set the remote down on the fossilized mounds
that were Chesterly’s shoulders. He fussed with a pair of black
gloves that had to have come from a Bulk. By the time he picked the
remote back up again, it was chilled white. He pointed it East. The
remote balked with a splinter of frost. West. The remote coughed up
an icicle. North. A flurry of snowflakes swirled. South. The snow
turned to rain. Warmer.

“South! The HaloEm Quill is south! Let us be
off! Come Chesterly!”

Chesterly gasped and hovered straight on into
a tree.

When Skubblenob returned with a few minor
scratches and an assortment of leaves all over his helmet, he was
absolutely oblivious to the desperate looks on the faces of his
team.

The days were
looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong. Uncountable long. The kind of
long that was evidenced in moans and clenched fists and silent
inner tantrums. Sun up. Sun down. Sun up. Sun down. Really. Just.
Long.

And there was no opportunity for secret
discussions on how to best rid themselves of their guide. Like they
could anyhow. Not. For one thing the old man would be utterly heart
broken. Seriously, his heart would snap. Even though the rules were
clear:
they
were the ones to make
any and all
decisions and the guide was merely there
as support to this
;
no one could bare to actually tell him.