“Last call for BA flight 133 to Rio, now boarding from Gate 29.”
Security men and women flocked in the opposite direction from Nelson and his monsters, who walked as quickly as they could toward the gate.
“What about our trunk and my uncle’s false leg?” said Nelson through clenched teeth like a ventriloquist (so people wouldn’t think he was talking to himself).
“The trunk is back there—we’ll have to leave it behind,” said Spike, tottering along on his stumpy little legs and clearly not enjoying the pace of their march along the moving walkway.
“I took the liberty of stowing the leg you speak of inside your bag,” whispered Miser, who needn’t have bothered as no one but Nelson could hear him.
Nelson smiled. He wanted to compliment Miser on his quick thinking, but they had arrived at Departure Gate 29 and there were too many people around to risk drawing attention to himself yet again.
That’s when he remembered that he was still covered in gloop.
“I’ve got to get cleaned up,” said Nelson, now heading straight for a bathroom reserved for parents with babies that was opposite the departure gate.
“We gotta get on that plane right now!” shouted Stan, but Nelson didn’t stop to answer.
The monsters followed him into the bathroom and Nelson locked the door.
“I can’t get on a plane like this. People will ask questions, and I won’t know what to say. Anyway, I don’t even have a ticket, and I’m not getting inside Nosh again.” Nelson sat down on the toilet seat and dropped his head into his hands. Crush honked and hugged his legs, but Nelson was too worried and upset to notice.
“I will acquire a ticket. But I will need some assistance,” said Miser, and Stan raised one of his enormous hands.
“Yes, I shall need Master Stan for this. And Master Puff.”
Puff just yawned.
“What are you going to do?” asked Nelson, flicking gloop from his fingers.
“Concern yourself with correcting your appearance, Master Nelson, and leave the rest to us,” hissed Miser, and he left with a very sleepy Puff crawling slowly behind.
The door closed and Nelson pulled Crush from around his neck, took off his sticky jacket, and began to wipe the gloop off his jeans with wads of paper towels. Hoot, Spike, and Crush shuffled about anxiously, while Nosh drank from the soap dispenser as if it was a delicious smoothie.
“Please don’t eat the soap—you’ll catch fire again,” said Nelson, but it was too late. A tiny flame, no bigger than that of a birthday candle, lit the top of Nosh’s head. Nelson shuddered at how close he had come to being cooked and digested by Nosh’s ghastly guts.