The Phantom smashed his wine bottle against the tree and stomped up and down in front of it, crunching the shards with his large boots. The birds settled in the branches above his head and began chattering;
Phantom swore at them and waved his arms until they flew away. He muttered something about ‘spies’ and then sat down.
Hookbill put the paper down and rubbed his eyes. He suddenly noticed he had been wearing different clothes. It was the itching of the cotton shirt that first alerted him; it was grey and full of holes, covered in dust and specs of blood. On the sleeve it bore a number ‘
124616’ followed by a frowning face.
“What are we doing out here?”
Hookbill stared at
The Phantom, “What the heck is going on?”
“Bad things,”
The Phantom got up and groaned, “very bad things are happening. You see-” he stopped and looked behind the Goomba, “Ah! You took your time you lazy idiot.” A slimy green creature slid across the plain; it had a long head with two blue eyes, wide and shallow, not much of a body, just a long neck like continuation going all the way to the ground where there was nothing but a splat of slime.
Alien was carrying a box tied up with ribbon. He had no arms, but the box seemed to float in front of him as if being levitated. The creature hummed to itself and laughed occasionally.
Phantom rolled his eyes and pushed past
Hookbill.
“What did you get?” he asked, “Did you get more wine?”
“I gots us some magic beans!” said Alien triumphantly, “They tastes like oranges!” Opening the box he revealed six tangerines, a bit of string and four rocks that looked a little bit like Alien’s head.
The Phantom growled and stamped up and down in front of Alien, ranting and raving some more.
“Look,” said
Hookbill at last, “can you just explain to me what on Middle Earth is going on. What happened to my office? What happened to my clothes? What about my ants?”
“Oh, they went boom!” Alien grinned, “I saw it myself!”
“Come on, let’s find somewhere less conspicuous.” Said
The Phantom.
The Dead Face Inn had no walls. The ceiling was upheld by four poles, one in each corner, but the wood was quite damp, woodworm infested every square inch. The
Phantom sat down in a large armchair near the centre of the parlour, raising his feet on a stool and signalling to the waiter. Alien pottered around stealing money from unsuspecting men and Hobbits.
From their seats they could see the first hills of the Barrow Downs on the horizon to the north. Dark, heavy clouds hovered over the land like a fat bat ready to burst and annoy everyone. The damp air stung their skin as the cold wind whistled through the Inn.
Hookbill shivered and settled down next to the fire Alien had started using the money he had stolen. The few men who complained were soon eaten or frightened off.
“
Macalaure took over the Downs,” began
The Phantom, “but, it wasn’t
Macalaure, not anymore, anyway.”
“Pardon?”
Hookbill nearly knocked over the waiter as he brought their drinks, “I’m used to crazy stories, but try and make sense.”
“Do you remember the headline for week eighteen?”
Hookbill thought for a moment and then said, “No.”
Phantom fished in his pockets again and then flung another Newspaper at the Goomba. ‘
Millions Suffer from Fake Epidemic’ was the headline. He nodded and peered back at his companion as his eyes flashed brighter for a second.
“
Gimli’s Chin,”
Phantom hummed, “turns out it wasn’t fake after all. At least, not in some cases. You see, the bacteria that caused the condition only attacked Bearded Wights.”
“That explains the Beard tax.”
“Indeed. You see, throughout the last ninety nine weeks you have accidentally uncovered a great conspiracy! It all began when
Littlemanpoet took over the world; he was where the virus originated.”
“I thought it was a bacterium.”
“Shut up!”
Phantom thumped the side of his chair and snatched a mug of ale from the waiter, “Listen,
LMP caught
Gimli’s chin and then became a megalomaniac. After it left him it took another host, but the result wasn’t quite as it had expected. The subject died, the coffin was left on a hedge in the Downs. The corpse was taken by the police for examination and that’s where it took its next host.”
“
Davem?”
“Indeed. Fortunately, the megalomania didn’t take hold; the bizarre blend of illegal and dangerous substances in his system already prevented him from being too dangerous. But we think that
The Saucepan Man knew something of it. That’s why he introduced the Beard tax. That knocked that virus back a bit until it some how got into parliament and infected…
The Barrow Wight Himself.”
“But, he never had a beard!”
“That was the great advantage, and it probably saved us great troubles. The virus left the
BWH when he was kidnapped in week thirty. That’s where we lose track of it, until now.
Macalaure has
Gimli’s chin. While he has the virus in him, he’ll have the power to control the Barrow Downs so much so that he will plunge us back into the Dark Times.”
Hookbill lent back in his chair and took a sip of the drink which had suddenly appeared at his elbow. The Inn was deadly quiet except for the crackling of the fire and the laughs of Alien as he drained all the Beer Barrels into a baby’s mouth. Looking at the Frowner Newspaper,
Hookbill stroked his nonexistent stubble. He flicked through to the latter pages and examined the cartoon.
“What I don’t understand is why they attacked my Newspaper,”
Hookbill mumbled, “It’s not like I have a problem working for tyrannical leaders.”
“That’s what we’re going to find out,”
Phantom stood up and threw his empty mug at Alien, “come on, stupid, we’ve got work to do.”
Just then, a knife shot through the air and stuck into
Phantom’s chair. A thin Wight with dark hair and dressed in a blood stained tuxedo stood grinning at the ‘door’ to the Inn. In his hand was a drenched carving knife. Wiping his glasses,
Anguriel stepped into the Inn and laughed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I can’t allow you back in the Downs.”
TO BE CONTINUED’ED
Every day until Monday you'll get another episode of
The Story So Far! Be on the look out for clues, plot holes and guest appearances from surprise members!