Copyright William Read 1998 - -Send email if you like or dislike something to:
email: wrezzzad@ucsd.edu - -(remove the zzz in the address!)The Aimless Quest of Bungston Shag
Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9. Chapter 10. Chapter 11. Chapter 12. Chapter 13. Chapter 14. Chapter 15. Chapter 16. Chapter 17. Chapter 18. Chapter 19. Chapter 20. Epilogue.Chapter 17
A wave of hot air washed back as the machine came to life. Its many tubes and pipes glowed incandescently. Various parts blurred with independent vibrations, causing the machine to hop impatiently like an excited jumping bean. Then it leapt from the beach in a spray of sand and smoke and roared off along the beach, bounding faster and faster with the bobsled in tow. Bungston managed to pull hard enough on one of the chains to get the machine to turn left and move into the water. It moved across the water in the manner of a chunk of sodium metal - supported on a hissing sputtering cloud of steam, the phlogistified azogemobile barreled along two feet over the surface. At first the bobsled with its three intrepid passengers skipped behind with periodic spine-bruising skips, but Napoleon and Bungston together reeled in the attaching chain until it was short enough that the bobsled was riding atop the same cushion of steam as the modified motorcycle.
"Where do you think those time arch transporters are?" yelled Bungston over the wind and the ear-piercing scream of the engine.
Napoleon pointed down. Robigus wiped the water droplets off his welder's mask and held a hand to his ear.
Bungston pulled hard on a chain and the engine dipped down. Salt water and spicy fire essence met and annihilated each other in furious spurt of steam and charged vapor. The bobsled followed beneath the waves, and with the azogemobile in the lead they left the sunlit world behind. Now the adventurers travelled in a frothy submarine bubble of warm steam and hydrolytically seperated water; fortunately water is one-third oxygen, so the three compatriots could continue to respire. Napoleon was forced to hunch low or his kettled head would cross the outer zone of the bubble and seawater would go up his nose. The high local hydrogen content revivified the passengers, and Bungston broke into song. His high-pitched hydrogen-inspired aria was an improvisational piece extolling the enormity of the bottom of the Black Sea, and how easy it would be to get lost, and how they might easily drown if Robigus' machine stopped working. Rushing steam clouds confused vision somewhat, but their flaming juggernaut illuminated things well.
Robigus reached around Napoleon to tap Bungston on the shoulder with his sheathed shortsword. "Look, Bungston," he shouted. "Is that not the corpse of the dragon?"
Bungston fiddled with his telescopic visor to sharpen the image of the gleaming scales. He turned the azogemobile to move in that direction. Lolling in the slime, the tar-clotted corpse of the dragon slumped in front of the time arch it had passed through, distinguishing the arch leading to Renaissance Rome from the array of identical arches crossing the sea bottom. Bungston would have liked to pause and look at the colossal body, but he did not know how to slow down Robigus' fiery creation. In fact, it seemed to be gradually accelerating. The wizard figured it was best to go with what you know, and some careful steering got them through the arch and back to Italy in 1527.
Once through, Bungston directed the engine toward the surface again; the rich atmosphere around the bobsled had started giving him visions of paisley squids and Halloween-colored crabs. A fresh nutmeg from the Helmet's built-in reservoir served to banish these hallucinations back to the steam, and then the sled burst out into the light. This time the reborn Harley did not skip along the surface of the water, but continued along its trajectory in the air. This was no doubt in accord with the laws of physics, thought Bungston; because the fire had become so light it was trying to move to its natural place above the air. Fresh hot plasma snaked away in long tentacles from the top of the marvelous mobile. It was a pretty smooth ride, all things considered.
Once they were airborne Napoleon's nosehole exposed the canine to a panorama of smells, including a disturbing one. He leaned forward and pressed his kettle against the back of Bungston's helmet to convey vibrations better. "Hey Bung. I smell teakwood burning." Bungston smelled nothing but sweet aroma of nutmeg inside his helmet, but he believed the mutant's words were true. The reborn Harley had become so bright it was difficult to look at, and waves of heated air broke over the three passengers trailing behind. Hopefully a little charring would strengthen the wood, thought Bungston. Evaporate the impurities, like those Cro-Magnons did with their spears.
The ride was much more comfortable in the air, and as it heated up the fire cycle seemed to wear into shape; its painful roar diminished to more of a furnacelike whoosh, and instead of the awkward knot of pipes and chrome it looked more like an Art Deco marvel from a pinball machine. The wind of their passage still made a lot of noise, though. The sun was low as they flew northward along the Italian coast, and through his telescopic visor Bungston could see fishermen pointing at them as they passed. "I bet we look pretty cool!" he shouted back to his companions. "A portent of great things to come!"
Robigus leaned past Napoleon, holding tight to the wooden rails of the bobsled to make sure the wind did not scoop him out; it was a long way down the the water below. "Bungston, what area will we search now? Are we returning to Rome?"
Bungston held up a hand to pacify his gray compatriot, then settled back into his seat. He had been so pumped up both to finally learn the true name of the thing he was supposed to get and to escape having his legs chewed up that he had not given much thought to their destination. Also, driving the azogemobile had kept the wizard occupied. After some communication with Napoleon, he persuaded his mutant to swap positions with him so Bungston could talk to Robigus more easily. Napoleon picked up his hind end and let Bungston crawl underneath him, then the big dog took the chains of command while Bungston began a planning conference with Robigus.
Both men bent low to avoid the wind; Napoleon was a fine windshield, and the bobsled was spacious for three, so there was not much problem. Bungston showed the warrior his bare arm with the name printed on it. "Bob, remember when we were at Mr. Erskine's? Did we find anything about anything named this?"
Robigus frowned at the arm, then looked up in concern. "No, I cannot recall this name. Is this the true name that traitorous Firestorm concealed from us?"
Bungston also tried a concerned frown, but only for a second to keep his monobrow from sticking that way. "This is the name, OK. Humm. What can we do with it?"
Napoleon leaned back until the back of his head kettle rested on the top of Bungston's Human Cannonball Helmet. "Bung," he rasped in a loud chainsaw-on-aluminum siding rasp, "how about your map? Your triangulation. Maybe that ultra magic object you were talking about is what we want."
The wizard paused while he tried to figure out what the potheaded mutant was talking about. Triangulation? He had to think for a long time. Then he remembered the brief adventure with the three crazy old men. "Yeah! Good thought, Nap. I'm bet that's it!" Bungston dug in his pack and found the piece of paper with the triangles drawn on it. He spread it out on the curved floor of the bobsled and duct-taped the corners down to protect it from wind.
The picture was a series of lines which formed many triangles, all with one point in common - the point at the tip of the smallest angle. Bungston had a black magic marker in his pocket, and he used it to embellish the drawing. The triangles pointed northeast from Rome, that he remembered. So Rome went in the bottom left corner. He drew a circle and labeled it with an R. Italy is around Rome, and it looks like a boot. Mountains are north of Italy, and water is east, and some west too. Northeast is non-Italian countries. Bungston looked up to see if Robigus was following along with the map; he seemed to be. "What else do we need here, Bob? Hungary?" Bungston made drew an elongated blob for Hungary, then added some mountains just in case. An adjacent shape was Austria. The wizard paused, then quickly drew in Scythia, Poland, Romaina, Lemuria, Mongolia and Montenegro. He relabeled Poland to be Bohemia, but decided Poland was right after all. There was not room to write "Poland" with the marker in that area again, so he had to write it in off to the side with an arrow indicating where it belonged. Robigus' welding mask was fogging up, so it was not clear whether or not he approved of the map; he seemed to be pointing at some of the labels but Bungston couldn't hear him due to the chill wind. Next on the map went some more mountains and rivers, and then the mystic triangulation which would ascertain their goal.
The common point of the triangles fell in the mountains between the shapes representing Lemuria and Romania. Bungston capped his marker with satisfaction and his teeth chattered. His generous nose had also started to generously run; even with the hot wash from the azogemobile the weather had certainly turned cold in a hurry. There was even some frost on parts of Robigus' armor. The wizard tilted back his head to see a glorious riot of stars in a black sky, more than he had ever seen before. The stars were not twinkling. "Bob, look at the stars. They're pretty."
The frosted warrior looked up, then looked down. "Bungston, perhaps you should take out your blankets if we are to travel at such an altitude." Bungston peered down at the ground far, far below them and realized why he was cold. They were at least a couple of miles up. He turned and banged on Napoleon's pot headgear with the back of the marker. "Nap! Nap!" he shivered. "What were you thinking? Look how high up we are!"
Napoleon turned halfway around so Bungston could see his wet nose protruding through the bullet hole in the pot. "Say what? Where are we?"
Bungston grabbed his homemade map and crammed it up underneath Napoleon's helmet. "Here, hang on to this. Way to try for a low earth orbit when there's questing to be done." The wizard clambered back under the mumbling St. Bernard and picked up the control chains again. He pulled the fusion-fired wonder so it curved around to move eastward and earthward. With gravity on their side the adventurers moved at a meteoric rate, and the ever accelerating azogemobile glowed brighter red. It was only about twenty minutes before the Transylvanian Alps spread below them.
Trees were pretty thick in this area, noted Bungston as he flew their craft low over the mountains. A hamlet shot by underneath, momentarily lit by the passing blaze of the azogemobile. "Say Bob," yelled Bungston. "How do you turn off your machine? Or slow it down?" No answer was forthcoming, so Bungston decided to put his formidable brain to work. A landing strip would certainly be nice, he thought; there was just no substitute for good old-fashioned friction to slow things down. A frozen river would do in a pinch, and be easier on the bobsled. "Keep your eye out for frozen rivers," he admonished Napoleon. The mutant nodded his kettled head and wiped off his nose. There was not any snow in sight, so probably any rivers would not be frozen. Bungston drew his Colt .45 and took a shot at the flaming azogemobile; this caused a ropy spurt of phlogiston to float off into the sky, but their speed was not decreased. "Ok, ok.
"TORSION FISSION BLASTING CORE RIP FASTER THAN BASTARD AND MASHED IN A CASTOR WHEELED SQUEALING WEASEL-ASSED MISSION! LEWD LUGEY ZEUGMA! WOOP WOOP MUSTARD FLUID!"A package the same colors as Bungston's Human Cannonball Helmet appeared in the wizard's lap; he quickly hooked it to the side of the bobsled and threw it over the side. It unfolded and billowed out into a star-spangled drag chute. The bobsled lurched sideways from the sudden asymmetric pull on its wall, and Bungston steered the whole ensemble of chute, sled and cycle down into the forest.
The fusion-powered azogemobile moved down through the pine trees, mowing larger branches off and causing more flexible small ones to burst into flames. The passengers did their best to ward off the sparks and fiery needles that showered back on them. The former motorcycle hit the trunk of a large tree halfway up and broke it off, momentarily slacking the chains to the bobsled, and then the chains pulled tight again and they were through the forest canopy. Once through, the machine touched down gently, immediately igniting the forest floor below it. It roared along the ground with the bobsled skipping behind. Smoking pieces of teak and various chunks of machinery occasionally broke free and bounced away into the underbrush, no doubt loosed from their moorings by the lengthy heat treatment and tree beatings. The drag chute spun behind in classic drag chute fashion, but then caught on a tree and ripped away, taking one side of the bobsled with it; without lateral support the adventurers tumbled out. Freed from its payload and the restraining chute, the azogemobile leaped forward and smacked into a venerable pine, then blew up. Squirts of raw phlogiston described hyperbolas out of the broken machine and upwards, marking their paths into the night sky with luminous trails of air plasma. The pine tree could not resist the temptation of so much fire essence, and it lit up like a Fourth of July sparkler. The remains of the bobsled caught on fire too, but its combustory efforts were overshadowed by the immolation of tree and machine.
Bungston pinched out a few embers which had glided into Napoleon's fur. "Well! There's something you don't see every day!" The inferno was very impressive, and the trio watched the machine at its center goad the wood into ever greater conflagaratory efforts. "Lucky we got out when we did or it would be quester flambee. That turned out to be one heck of a machine you built, Bob. I wish I knew how you did it. Did you take notes?"
Robigus watched his wounded progeny engulf itself in flame. "Truly, it is a shame that it should be destroyed."
"Maybe its not destroyed. Maybe it's just going through a phase. We'll come back once all this burns out and see if it still works. I just hope that tree doesn't topple over on it."
The fire made the forest in the immediate vicinity more cozy, but the light did not seem to penetrate far. Bungston strapped on his pack and adjusted the tumpline. "Well, I guess the first thing is to go to that village and ask where the big magic things are."
They had passed over a village during their flight, and it was easy to backtrack; the adventurers just walked along the swathe left by the incoming azogemobile. It was a fine swathe; pieces of steaming chrome twisted up from the scorched earth here and there and the vegetation was blackened and charred. Napoleon picked up the larger pieces and heaped them together to make it easier to clean up. "I bet people will think a UFO crashed here," joked the canine. "But it was just us and Bob's machine."
Bungston nodded. "Or even better, maybe they'll think it was the Chariot of the Sun. We looked radiantly solar, if I do say so myself. Bob, isn't there an old myth about a kid who rips off the Chariot of the Sun and raises hell?"
"Indeed," said Robigus. "Helios is an old god; it was his son Phaethon who borrowed the chariot. It was so cruelly parched that day, I tremble to recall."
"Chariots of the Gods," rasped Napoleon. "It goes with my godly ancestry, and Bigfoot and all."
"More like Chariots of the Dogs," retorted Bungston.
Napoleon had removed his cooking kettle for better visibility but now he put it back on. "Plus we look like alien gods in these wild helmets." It was true; Bungston still sported the globular Human Cannonball Helmet, and Robigus wore his crimson crested helm and welders mask, which he had flipped up to protrude from his forehead like a Plexiglas beak. "Maybe these Transyvanians will respect us more if they think we're from space," added the shaggy mutant. Bungston could appreciate this idea and he gave his mutant no more guff about being an alien god.
The woods became dark quickly as they walked away from the fire. Despite the alien dignity it might provide, Bungston soon removed his Helmet and vigorously rubbed his crewcut until he had a blue static halo. This provided light locally, but the net effect was to make the dark forest around them loom even darker. Wolves howled not far away and Napoleon had to stifle an involuntary urge to respond in kind. Bungston charged his aura some more and looked around. "Guys, what we need are some torches. I guess we should go back to the bonfire and whip some up. I wish we still had Irn's ultralamp, but I'm sure it's toast by now."
Napoleon ran back along their path and returned with the lamp, somewhat worse for the journey. "It must've fell off when we hit," he rasped. "I didn't think we wanted it anymore, so I piled it with the other junk. But I bet the motorcycle used up all the gas in it, right Bob?"
"Gas? As in gasoline?" spat Bungston. "You mutants just don't have the mentality for physics. This thing runs on red molecules of pure fire. Bob, do you think you can get it working?"
Robigus shook the damaged light and was rewarded with a faint sloshing. The mechanically inclined god borrowed a converging condenser lens from the Human Cannonball Helmet, and the soon the light was bulkier and perhaps a little less bright but working fine. Robigus stood and swung the brilliant plume of light through the trees, picking out individual trunks far out into the gloom. "I would guess these woods are haunted."
Man and mutant had to agree with this pronouncement; the woods did have all the hallmarks of a haunted forest - evil trees, howly wolves, and a dearth of illumination. The burnt trail ended and they had to walk through undisturbed forest on their way to the little village. After a while they heard an inhuman laugh sound from a treetop nearby. The adventurers forged onward. Napoleon liked the haunted forest and he sniffed around trunks to find out what might have been doing the laughing. A little later there was a bone-chilling scream followed by more evil laughter.
Robigus drew his sword and looked around warily. "I like this not, Bungston. We are surrounded by lemurs and spirits."
Bungston directed the ultralight into the treetops. "Bob, a light like this takes half the haunt out of a haunted forest. Look." A pudgy imp was sitting on a branch, startled and squinting in the sudden glare. It was about one foot tall. "Yo, scram!" yelled Bungston. He threw a stick at it. In an effort to dodge the imp fell out of its tree, and landed with a painful-sounding thud. It ran off screaming like a banshee with Napoleon in pursuit. "See?" said Bungston. "If that was a lemur, it was the chubby worthless type. But just to be safe I'll make a special weapon." Bungston took a rubber mallet from his Voyageur pack and tied it to a branch, then took out his nifty nutmeg grater and grated fresh nutmeg to anoint the rubber. With his improvised staff, the wizard again took up the hike.There was no activity in the village. It looked deserted. Not even horse sounds occupied the silent air. The houses and buildings, however, appeared to be in good repair - they were just closed up tight. The three adventurers walked down the road, which though empty bore fresh looking foot and hoofprints. "Could the people have retired at this early hour?" asked Robigus. "It is not more than two hours past sundown."
Bungston inspected the door of a small cottage, which was thickly decorated with garlic, aromatic herbs and religious symbols. "Maybe they're really hard working. My type of people."
"I bet they're worried about witches and werewolves," said Napoleon. "Look at all this stuff they left out." He picked a weed off of the door and sniffed it, then popped it in his mouth. "Wolfsbane. And hey, look!" ground the mutant in a bass rasp. "Wolf tracks." There were indeed wolf tracks in the dirt, or at least big dog tracks.
"Well, we're probably not making them sleep any better, what with you outside their door growling and grumbling. How about you go hide, Nap, and Bob and I will go in and find out who takes care of the magical goods around here." The wizard braced his rubber mallet staff and knocked the door with the business end, but he got no reply. He pounded again and said reassuring things in Transylvanian. Still there was no reply. He was about to knock again, but then narrowed his eyes and withdrew the mallet head. "Bob, Nap," he called quietly. "Did either of you guys ever see that movie where the whole town was full of vampires? Where everyone in town was a vampire?"
Napoleon nodded. "Yeah, I saw it," he rasped. "Vampires suck. We don't want to meet any vampires."
Bungston again looked up and down the street, a vampire paranoia gnawing his reptilian brain. "They can turn into bats or pink clouds of gas. Or wolves."
Robigus frowned his familiar frown and gestured to the carefully painted eaves of the house - someone had gone to the trouble of painting each of the carved leaves green. "Surely no vampire would deign to paint his haunts with such care. And mount garlic on his own door - no vampire would do such a thing."
Bungston nodded. "That would be out of character, but you never know. Maybe they painted it and became vampires afterwards. Or it might be a trick to lure us in and then slurp slurp - no more blood. The undead are tricky, right Nap?"
"Yeah, some are. Some aren't. Zombies aren't."
"Vampires are. Better safe than sorry." Bungston picked a clove of garlic off the door and rubbed it on his neck, then passed it around. As an afterthought he slipped an Avalonian gold piece under the door as payment. "In case its just a regular guy; we don't want to hork his garlic."
"Even were he not a vampire," pointed out Robigus, "he would no doubt be unwilling to speak with us; as Napoleon has said we appear strange and alien. There is no honor in frightening simple peasants."
"Oh, I don't know," said Bungston. He pulled a succulent wad of turnip greens off of the door and thoughtfully macerated. "But hey - maybe from up on the roof we can look around and see the treasure storehouse. We can go, get our thing, drop off the gold to pay, and leave."
"A better vantage point would be the church," said Robigus. "It is the tallest structure here." The adventurers made their way through the silent town to the church. It too was locked up tight. But even the tallest building in the small hamlet was not very tall, and with a few boosts Napoleon was able to shimmy up the wall onto the roof. From there he ascended to the steeple and looked around. The village was in a valley, with wooded mountains rising up on either side. The night was clear and visibility was good, aided by the rising full moon.
"Might be a forest fire starting back where we were. But I saw a castle over that way," Napoleon told the wizard and warrior when he had climbed down to the street. He indicated the mountainside opposite from the one where they had landed. "If there's magic stuff, it'll be there. The count probably collects all the good stuff from miles around." With the dancing plume from Irn's ultralamp shearing away the darkness, the trio entered the forest and walked up a small path towards the castle.
As they walked up the trail, a wind picked up, and the night became colder and blustery. Low clouds moved across the silver moon. Loose leaves rustled along the forest floor, giving the impression that the woods were alive with rat-sized assailants. Also, the howling wolves were no longer distant, and Napoleon sniffed the air suspiciously. "Say boys," he rumbled gruffly. "Do you hear those howls? I think those wolves will get to us before we get to the castle."
Bungston shook his mallet staff. "Are we going to fight? My Wolfwhacker here will be waiting." Robigus readied his sword. "Nap, do you think you can whup a wolf? I read a book where a St. Bernard fought a wolf and he lost."
"The wolf or the St. Bernard?" asked Napoleon.
Before Bungston could reply, Robigus suddenly grabbed his shoulder and got wolfwhacked in the helmet for spooking the wizard. "Bungston, Napoleon," he whispered, swinging the light around madly. "I saw a beast moving through the forest. I believe it was a wolf."
Bungston popped a new nutmeg in his mouth and motioned for the others to continue ahead. "Wolves can smell fear. We can bluff them out." The three only walked a minute longer when the wolves became obvious. At first they could only see shining green eyes skulking through the trees in the distance. Then their gaunt gray forms slid into the light, and they closed in on all sides of the adventurers. Bungston took the light from Robigus and did his best to blind the beasts, but they were good at ducking behind trees. They moved closer and closer.
One huge gray wolf stepped out directly in front of the adventurers, no more than twenty feet away. Its shaggy ruff was almost as high as Bungston's shoulder and it grinned a toothy wolf-grin. Bungston shone the ultralamp in its eyes but then Napoleon stopped him with a paw. The mutant St. Bernard showed his own awesome teeth and growled a challenge to the gray patriarch. The wolf wagged its tail and growled back. Around the adventurers, the ring of wolves drew tighter, their tounges blood red in the light. "Hey, Nap," whispered Bungston. "What are you telling him?"
"I'm telling him we're a bunch of badasses and we'll shave his tail. But I don't think he believes you guys are badasses."
Bungston and Robigus waved staff and sword at the mighty alpha male to emphasize that they too were badasses. Napoleon resumed his growling. The gray leader crouched low and took a few short steps toward Napoleon, then lunged at the maroon mutant's throat.
Napoleon met him halfway with a paw and cuffed him to the ground, then jumped on top of him. This was the sort of fight Napoleon did best, and where his mutant heritage gave him a tremendous advantage. The wolf had teeth and claws, but Napoleon had bigger teeth and somewhat prehensile claws, and about twice the bulk of the biggest of big wolves. However, the timber wolf was faster than Napoleon, and it squirmed out from under him.
A smaller wolf dashed in from the sideline to nip Napoleon's ankle, but Bungston hooked its snout with his Wolfwhacker and levered it away from Napoleon. "Fight fair!" bellowed the wizard. The wolf backed into the circle. With Napoleon now down on the ground, the huge gray leader whipped around and locked its jaws on Napoleon's neck. Napoleon stood up with the wolf hanging from him, and just stood for a second, thinking. The wolf scrabbled with its back feet, trying to get some leverage against the ground or Napoleon's legs. Napoleon then reached up and pushed it the wolf to arm's length. It came away with an unproductive mouthful of maroon shag. Napoleon pinioned its legs in his hands then reached over with his great jaws and seized the wolf by the scruff of the neck. Then the mutant St. Bernard pranced around the circle of wolves dangling their alpha male like a bad puppy and pointing at him with both hands.
The wolves cringed and shrank away. The big male laid its ears back and snapped some desperate sideways snaps, but succeeded only in loosing some unneeded shag away from Napoleon's chest. Bungston walked up with his Wolfwhacker staff and gave the captive wolf a nutmeg-scented bonk on the snout to teach it more respect. Then Napoleon let it go and it raced away with its tail between its legs. The rest of the pack followed in a hasty retreat.
Napoleon sent a few sharp barks after the fleeing wolves. "Just rubbing salt in their wounds," he explained.
"You don't bark too often around me," said Bungston. "But you were definitiely badass there, big guy." He ruffled the mutant's drool-dampened fur. "We should get you out fighting more often."
"Indeed!" agreed Robigus. "Never have I seen a dogfight over so quickly. I was certain my sword would taste blood ere we won our passage,"
Napoleon chuckled, enjoying the praise. "Yeah, he's going to have more fighting tonight if he wants to stay boss of the pack. You can't have your king getting beat up by strangers. But I thought that was a fair fight, all in all. What were you yelling about, Bung?"
"That wasn't for you." said the wizard. "You can fight cheap if you want. I usually do."
"Perhaps, though," continued Robigus, "the wolves attacked because they were starving. It bodes no good that wolves should attack three stout warriors such as ourselves. And we have seen no deer or other animals on which wolves might normally feed. Their hunger may drive them to return."
Bungston shook a finger at the cautious mildew god. "I happen to know that wolves mostly eat mice and grubs and moss. I saw that in a movie too. Deer are a holiday thing. This place is crawling with wolf chow."
The wolves did not return. The three intrepids did hear occasional maniacal laughter and shreiking, but assumed it was from the same type of pudgy imp they had seen before and so did not worry. Once off in the distance they saw a bobbing light as if someone were carrying a lantern. Bungston directed the puissant beam of the ultralamp at it, revealing an unnaturally gaunt skeletal figure loping along with a lantern held over its head. It did not appreciate the attention, and it fled deeper into the forest. Another time they discovered a gaping pit in the ground, more than four feet in diameter. Dangerous looking furrows marked where something with claws had either come out or gone into the hole. The beam of the ultralamp could not negotiate the sharp crook in the tunnel to light up any occupants there might be, so the adventurers decided to leave well enough alone.
Although the light did reveal many wonders, as they drew near the castle Bungston decided to do without it to avoid unduly alarming the residents. They would make torches as per the original plan, and thus would approach with a veneer of normalcy. However, it proved very difficult to make torches in the stiff wind that had come up. Even when Robigus took off his helmet to use as a windscreen for Bungston's lighter, they couldn't light up the sticks they had cut. Eventually it was decided that they would just flash the ultralamp on every now and then when they needed it, and so they proceeded slowly through the woods with an occasional strobe flash hurling back the darkness like a miniature sun.
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