Banister and Camel Poop

“OH NO,” LISA said. “They’re prisoners!”

Doctor Proctor and Mrs. Strobe, who were standing next to Lisa, were staring out into the darkness from the window of room 1146 at the Radisson Hotel. Doctor Proctor’s hand was still clutching the loose cobweb they’d pulled back in, once they’d realized that the other end had been bitten off.

“And soon we may be prisoners, too,” Doctor Proctor said. “Yodolf has most certainly figured out that this web leads here. We have to get out of here. And how!”

And with that he let go of the strand of cobweb and ran out of room 1146 with the others fast on his heels. They stopped at the end of the hallway to wait for the elevator.

“We’w in luck!” Mrs. Strobe said, and pointed to the illuminated numbers over the elevator door. “De elevatow is on its way ub.”

“What if it’s full of moon chameleons on their way up?” Lisa said.

“Nonsense, dey’re not dat fast,” Mrs. Strobe said.

It was quiet. The display showed that the elevator was moving from the seventh to the eighth floor.

“On the other hand,” Doctor Proctor said. “It is healthier to take the stairs.”

The elevator was on the ninth floor.

“Stair climbing is very good for you,” Lisa said.

Tenth floor.

“Taking de staiws will help you liw longew,” Mrs. Strobe said.

“Come on,” Doctor Proctor urged.

And they all ran for the door with the green glowing EXIT sign over it and darted out.

The door clicked shut behind them just as they heard a loud, obvious pling sound from the elevator as its doors slid open.

“The banister,” Lisa said, looking down the stairwell where the banister descended in circles, appearing smaller and smaller, until it finally came to an end way down below them on the ground floor. “Nilly would take the banister if he were here.”

Then she swung her leg over to sit astride the banister, let go, and started careening backward. And before she’d even reached the first turn, she saw Doctor Proctor helping Mrs. Strobe up onto the banister.

They went around and around, faster and faster. Walls, stairs, and fire escape doors swirled past. And Lisa was so dizzy after she plopped onto the floor at the bottom, on the ground floor, that after she managed to stand up she just stood there swaying back and forth. Then Mrs. Strobe arrived. Plop!

“What happened to Doctor Proctor?” Lisa asked, peering up the stairwell.

And then he appeared. Sliding slowly, squeezing the banister tightly between his thighs as he moaned in pain.

“Don’t squeeze so hawd!” Mrs. Strobe yelled.

And the professor must have done what she said. Because suddenly he came swishing down and—plop!—there he lay too, as the scent of burned trouser fabric spread through the air and he frantically attempted to blow on his thighs.

Lisa heard a door way above them slam and peered up the stairwell. And there, at the top, she could see the silhouettes of faces looking down at her. Black faces framed by gray hair. And then a voice echoed through the stairwell, a voice that said: “Filthy britches! There they are! Back into the elevator, hurry!”

“Come on,” Lisa urged, running toward the only door she could see.

Through the door was the lobby, which was full of people. Lisa didn’t stop, but proceeded out the revolving door with the professor and Mrs. Strobe tight on her heels. They ran across the intersection at Holberg Square to the streetcar stop.

“Dey’re behind us!” she heard Mrs. Strobe gasp behind her.

“And they’re catching up,” she heard Doctor Proctor pant from even farther behind.

Lisa ran as fast as she could. She knew what she needed to do to keep from being made into waffles.

So she jumped up, sailed through the air, landed on the seat of the MWS—Motorcycle With Sidecar—flipped the ignition to ON and stamped as hard as she could on the starter while twisting the gas throttle. It didn’t start.

She stamped again.

Nothing.

One more time.

Nada.

She heard Mrs. Strobe tumble into the sidecar. And saw Doctor Proctor. She looked behind her. She didn’t see anyone. But she heard them, heard the rapid shuffling footsteps made by feet with long, unbelievably ugly toenails dragging across the asphalt. The camouflaged beasts were invisible, but obviously hard on their tail.

Lisa jumped up and landed on the starter.

Vrooom!

She’d started it, but what now? Lisa had never driven a motorcycle before.

“Clutch and gear!” Doctor Proctor called out. “Clutch and gear!”

Clutch this, clutch that, Lisa thought, fumbling around on the handles.

The footsteps had reached them. Lisa pressed and shoved. She felt something sit down on the seat behind her and put its arms over her shoulders.

“Like this.” It was Doctor Proctor.

The motorcycle surged off the edge of the sidewalk and down the street.

“MOVE YOUR TONGUE to the right now,” whispered Nilly, who had turned his head so that he could see Gregory’s bluish frog tongue, which he’d unrolled, through the bars of the cell.

“Whith way?” Gregory groaned with his mouth open.

“To the right. You have to get your tongue around the corner. Göran is sitting a ways down the hallway over there.”

“Thith ithn’t that eathy,” Gregory groaned.

“But you have to do it,” Nilly said. “It’s our only chance.”

Gregory groaned weakly. But managed to roll out more tongue. He also actually managed to get it to turn the corner, where it disappeared from their field of vision.

“And now feel your way forward,” Nilly whispered. “The key ring is probably in his lap.”

“Ow!”

“Whath ith it? I mean, what is it?” Nilly asked.

“My tongue ith frothen to the barth.”

“Heh?” Nilly said.

“Ow! Ow!” Gregory wailed.

“Shh! You’ll wake up Göran,” Nilly urged. But at that moment he saw Gregory’s tongue and understood what Gregory was trying to tell him. His tongue was stuck to one of the frozen iron bars! He shuddered, thinking back on all the times kids had dared him to touch frozen metal signposts with his tongue. And he’d done it and his tongue had gotten stuck. And he’d gotten it off again in the most painful way he could imagine. Tearing his tongue free. And that had just been a teeny tiny tongue, whereas Gregory’s tongue was . . .

“Yank it free,” Nilly urged.

“It hurths,” Gregory moaned, on the verge of tears.

“Now!” Nilly said in a stern voice with his eyes closed. And he heard the ripping sound of the surface being torn off Gregory’s tongue and saw Gregory’s body shudder as he hung there shackled to the cell wall.

“Ow! Ow ow!”

Triple ow! Nilly thought, opening his eyes again. Gregory’s frog tongue lay like a piece of blue, frozen whale meat on the cold, dirty stone floor.

“Heroically done, Gregory. Fight on!”

The piece of blue meat wriggled and moved. But then stopped again.

Gregory sighed. “I’m tho tired, Nilly.”

“Remember, we’re saving the world here, Gregory.”

“But I hate thith world!” Gregory wailed.

“So remember you’re saving Mrs. Strobe here.”

Gregory didn’t say anything for a minute, then his tongue started moving again.

“I feel a leg. Shinth,” Gregory whispered.

“Higher,” Nilly said.

“Kneeth,” Gregory said.

“Higher.”

“Thighth.”

“Higher.”

“And that’th a . . . a . . . what ith that? Thomething thmooth and bulbouth . . .”

“Uh . . . ,” said Nilly, who was picturing where Gregory’s tongue was at that moment, realizing that it was good that Gregory couldn’t see this for himself. But it was obviously too late.

“Eeeeew!!” Gregory squeezed his eyes shut and spit and spit again.

A steady snoring sound could be heard from out in the hallway, occasionally combined with a satisfied grunt. And Nilly just couldn’t hold it in any longer. He had to laugh. So there hung Nilly, doomed to death, bolted firmly to the wall, shaking with laughter. “Don’t give up, Gregory,” Nilly whispered, choking with laughter. “Did you find the keys?”

“Thewe!” Gregory said. “I hawe the key wing. It’th in hith lap.”

“Good! Bring ’em here.”

Nilly watched Gregory’s tongue move, slowly rolling up like a streamer, until just the tip of the tongue was sticking out between Gregory’s lips. And, sure enough, a key ring was dangling from the tip of the tongue. With keys for anything they might like to unlock, Nilly thought. The padlocks keeping their shackles shut, the barred door to the cell, the main door to the dungeon tower, the back door they could escape through unnoticed. Anything with a lock. There was just one problem.

“How awe we going to unlock the padlockth when we can’t even uthe our handth?”

Handth? What was that? Oh, hands! They couldn’t use their hands. Nilly hadn’t thought that far ahead.

He stared longingly at Perry, who was just looking weaker and weaker, trapped in that bottle. He couldn’t help them either.

Freedom was so close and yet so far.

“Freedom is so close,” said a voice right by his ear. “And yet so far.”

And even though Nilly had been freezing cold for a long time now, the voice made him feel even colder. Yodolf had let himself into the cell so quietly that they hadn’t heard him. And they hadn’t seen him either. But now portions of the stone wall in front of them changed, and the large baboon-like moon chameleon materialized.

“Now you’re going to tell me who your accomplices are,” Yodolf said. “And where they’re holed up.”

Even in this desperate situation, Nilly felt a little shiver of joy. Because Yodolf’s question meant that Lisa, Doctor Proctor, and Mrs. Strobe must have gotten away!

“Listen here, you clumpy-butted, unshaven baboon,” Nilly said. “You can do whatever you want to me, because I’ll never say a word. You’re going to make waffles out of us anyway. What could you do that’s worse than that?”

“A little torture?” Yodolf said.

“Torture away,” Nilly said with a big smile. “Redheads love pain. Didn’t you know that?”

“Hmfrh,” Yodolf said, and turned to look at Gregory. “How about you, froggy? Are you a fan of torture? Or what do you say we turn up the volume on the music?”

Nilly eyed Gregory nervously.

“The only thing I want to awoid,” Gregory said, the key ring still dangling from the tip of his tongue, “ith mowe baboon hemowhoids. They tathte like camel poop. Othew than that, bwing on the towtuwe.”

And Nilly couldn’t help it. He had to start laughing again.

Yodolf stared at him in disbelief, slowly shook his head, and scoffed, “Humans! You people really aren’t normal.”

Then he walked over to the window ledge, grabbed the bottle and shook it, jerking a lifeless Perry back and forth.

“Well, in any case, this one is ready,” Yodolf said, and chucked the bottle out the window. Nilly held his breath. They heard the bottle break on the cobblestones in the courtyard below. Yodolf pressed his baboon face right up against Nilly’s face. “What’s wrong, you dwarf? Aren’t you laughing anymore?”

Nilly gulped.

Yodolf laughed, snatched the key ring from Gregory’s tongue, marched out the door, and slammed it shut and locked behind him.