CHAPTER 13

In which Elliot and Leslie demonstrate their inventions, and Cosmo Clutch raises a problem with Wednesdays

Ghorks!”

The horde of hideous creatures swarmed around Hercules. Nose-ghorks sniffed the landing gear. Ear-ghorks listened to its thumping innards. Eye-ghorks blinked in the windows. Hand-ghorks peeled away strips of the Coleopter-copter’s metal flesh and fed them to the mouth-ghorks, who chewed the iron and copper as thoughtfully as food critics.

Gügor frowned out the window. “Poor Hercules!”

“Time to see if our disguises work!” said the professor. “I’ll tell them we’re here to perform in the cabaret.” Before anyone could object, the professor stuck his head out the nearest hatch. “Excuse us,” he called to the swarm of ghorks, speaking in a stiffly polite voice. “We are but humble dinner-theatre-style cabaret performers, already dressed in our outlandish costumes and eagerly looking forward to the Simmersville Food Festival Final Feast. I fear we may’ve taken a wrong turn. If you would be so kind as to direct us—”

The ghorks growled at him, and the flying machine was pelted with snot-balls (courtesy of the nose-ghorks).

The professor ducked back inside. “I don’t think they’re buying it.”

Jean-Remy, top hat in hand, whizzed across the cabin to alight on Leslie’s shoulder. “I believe Elliot and Leslie can help us in zat department.”

“We can?” asked Elliot.

“Bien sûr! We took ze liberty of packing your inventions.”

“Our anti-ghork devices?” asked Elliot.

“But they aren’t finished,” said Leslie. “We never even tested them.”

Patti pointed out the window. “Now’s your chance.”

The professor pressed a button, and a section of the seats slid away to reveal a hatch in the floor. Inside were five separate compartments filled with a number of the children’s devices.

Elliot and Leslie were amazed. At DENKi-3000 Head-quarters, these inventions had hardly progressed further than blueprints and a few rickety prototypes. But here in the compartments, there were ten of each invention, all of them shiny and perfectly built.

“You actually made them!” Elliot cried.

“Precisely to your specifications,” said Harrumphrey.

Elliot reached into the first compartment and brought out something that looked like a small crossbow, but in place of the bow it sported a large blue funnel, the narrow end pointing away from the handle. An electric fan was positioned to blow air into the funnel’s larger end.

Elliot turned it in his hand, admiring the creatures’ handiwork. “This is for the nose-ghorks,” he explained. He directed the pointed end of the funnel at Harrumphrey and switched on the fan. A cyclone of air spiraled down the funnel, delivering a fine jet of wind. Harrumphrey’s beard rustled.

“No offense,” said the hufflehead, “but how’s that going to stop a ghork?”

“It’s not loaded,” said Leslie. “That’s what those are for.” She pointed to the enormous wheels of cheese, sealed in red wax and stored in the same compartment. “Each of those is a wheel of Buffalo Butt Blue cheese. According to Patti, it’s the smelliest cheese in the world.”

Patti nodded, wrinkling her nose.

Elliot pointed to a small porcelain plate, mounted between the electric fan and the large opening of the funnel. “You put a chunk of Buffalo Butt Blue right here, and fire the smell straight up their noses. We call it the Funky Cheese Wafter.”

“Ingenious!” cried Jean-Remy.

Next, the children demonstrated the Onion Stunner, an automated onion-grater device, complete with the world’s most pungent onions—for the eye-ghorks, of course. Then there was the Slobber-Robber, a kind of shoulder-mounted cannon designed to lob huge, extra-long-lasting gobstoppers into the jaws of mouth-ghorks. Perhaps the oddest of all was the the Four-Stringed Ear-Stinger, a contraption like a chest-mounted papoose, with a pair of robotic arms sticking out of either side. One robotic claw held a poorly tuned violin, while the other clutched a bow. The arms were programmed to play the instrument like a first-time music student. This, of course, was a tactic to annoy the ear-ghorks into submission. The fifth and final compartment contained wooden catapults that fired extremely soft cushions.

“The rest I understand,” said Patti, “but this? Fluffy cushions? What’re you gonna do, send ’em to sleep with a bedtime story? Good luck with that.”

Reggie came to the children’s defense. “Please, do not underestimate the power of a fluffy cushion! My own regiment made memorable use of bed linen during the berg-biter uprising of 1981. Bombastadon historians refer to our victory as the Million- Pillow Blitz!”

Some of the other creatures groaned (especially Bildorf and Pib). They sensed the blustery arrival of another one of the Colonel-Admiral’s long-winded war stories.

Before Reggie could go any further, Elliot agreed with him. “Sometimes the best weapons are the unexpected ones.” He picked up one of the handheld catapults. It was loaded with a plump pink pillow. “We call this a Fluffy Pillow Pitcher. It’s a diversionary tactic.” He ran his fingers through the pillow’s luxuriant fabric. “With their heightened sense of touch, those hand-ghorks are going to find these irresistible—which’ll hopefully give us time to escape.”

“Maybe we should escape right now,” said Bildorf, still quivering in his tiny tuxedo.

Pib nodded enthusiastically. “Are you sure we can go up against those things with nothing but stinky cheese and fluffy cushions?”

“We have to,” Elliot told them. “We can’t run away.” He pointed out the nearest window. “Those ghorks are going to tear their way in here whether we like it or not, and if we don’t fight back, who’s going to save Eloise-Yvette? We have to find her, not to mention find out what the ghorks are up to!”

“Elliot is right,” Jean-Remy said. “My sister and I may have our problems . . . she may be terribly vain and selfish, buuut . . . as Leslie says, she is my family. Today we are ze only hope she has.”

“Or, to put it another way,” said the professor, “it’s time for us to save the day!” He stooped to retrieve a Funky Cheese Wafter from the hatch, raising it bravely above his head. “And if there’s anyone here who knows a thing or two about saving the day, it’s—”

“Me,” said Cosmo Clutch. The danger-moose stood at the front of the cabin, legs akimbo, hands on his hips, a fiery glint in his one uncovered eye. “I’ve saved enough days to fill a calendar!”

Patti whistled in appreciation. “He does look quite heroic.”

Cosmo winked at Patti. “Not just heroic. Intrepid.”

Patti swooned (a dollop of mud fell from her hair and dribbled down her dress).

“Lemme tell you,” said Cosmo, “if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years of day-saving, it’s this.” He took the chocolate cigar out of his mouth and pointed it at the professor. “There are some days—usually Wednesdays—that can’t be saved by fighting. Days like that can only be saved by . . . hmm.” He tapped the cigar thoughtfully against one of his antlers. “What was it again?”

“You see?” said the professor. “Just as I’ve always said! There’s more than one way to—”

He didn’t finish the familiar phrase. A band of hand-ghorks broke in. They came straight through the back of the cabin, emerging onstage like villains in a Christmas pantomime. In seconds, they had torn the curtains to shreds. The professor, already armed with a Fluffy Pillow Pitcher, fired a lemon-colored cushion into the midst of the ghorks.

The first of them tried to bat it away, but the moment she touched it, she stopped. She hugged the pillow to her chest, and a look of dimwitted satisfaction melted across her face. Shocked by the sudden pacification of their comrade, the other ghorks approached her. Their huge cucumber-like fingers reached for the yellow cushion as if it were a sacred relic. The moment their fingertips touched it, a fight erupted.

Elliot and Leslie smiled proudly at each other. “It’s working!” Elliot cried. “I can’t believe it’s working!”

Seeing the hand-ghorks incapacitated by a fight over a fluffy pillow, everyone’s confidence was bolstered. Each of the creatures from DENKi-3000 armed themselves with one of the strange weapons. They threw open the flying machine’s bay doors and leapt out, ready for a battle of epic (and very odd) proportions.