Unbeknownst to Tim Laughingstock and Sir Cornelius Cornwit Gnawson, who were in the bowels of Larry’s Lockup at the moment, a terrible thing had befallen the village of Woolly Willows. The whole place had just been put under a curse by a witch!
It seems that Lawless Lucy, a rather prickly-tempered old bat-lover who was passing through the village, stubbed her toe on a loose cobblestone. In a rage, she waved her liver-spotted hands in the air to weave a poisonous spell about the innocent people of Woolly Willows.
“Ring around the toadstool -- a pocket full of snakes. Four and twenty weasels riding on long rakes. When their eyes are opened, the villagers take care -- I’ve put jumping powder in their underwear!”
So saying, Lawless Lucy hobbled out of the village -- never to be seen again. And the poor villagers began jumping about uncontrollably. The school children jumped out of their desk chairs and bounced out of the classroom. Their teachers bounced after them, but when they caught them they couldn’t manage to dribble them back into the school. People were jumping over candlesticks and horses and mud puddles in the street. They jumped over cats and dogs. They even jumped over each other in an endless game of leapfrog! No one could stand still long enough to take a bath or bake a pie, and the more athletic villagers had to remain outside of their own homes because they kept hitting their heads on their own ceilings. In a helpless frenzy, everyone began jumping higher and higher -- until they actually managed to spring high enough to reach the Moon. Once they landed on the Moon the curse was broken and they stopped jumping. The Moonies took pity on the exhausted and footsore Woolly Willowers, giving them a large crater to settle in and start their lives over.
Meanwhile, Tim Laughingstock had told Sir Cornelius Cornwit Gnawson all about his adventures since leaving Mountebank.
“By the nose of a narwhale, that’s a dashing tale!” cried Sir Gnawson in high glee. “Do you mind if I borrow some of the elements of it for my next fantasy novel? It will make a popping good yarn!”
As an embryonic hero, Tim did not know if he should encourage or discourage the spreading of his modestly heroic story yet. But Cornelius seemed like a nice fellow to Tim, so he gave him permission. Then it was time to plan his escape from Larry’s Lockup to get back to his own beloved village of Mountebank. Sir Gnawson suggested he simply walk through the tunnel to Woolly Willows and then make his way back home.
“And let me tell you how to deal with those wretched lumdiddles of yours” said Sir Gnawson, who was actually quite well educated and practical, despite being a writer of fantasy novels. “Sprinkle their tails with a pinch of dandruff and they will turn into amky stones.”
“What is an amky stone?” asked Tim.
“Amky stones are gems so rare that the King has decreed they belong to the Royal Treasury -- and those who bring them in are given an ample reward.”
“But where could I get enough dandruff to sprinkle on the tails of hundreds of lumdiddles?”
“Never fear, my dear Laughingstock. There is a dandruff mine just outside of Woolly Willows where you can pick up a large sack of the stuff for a few silver dimekins!”
Tim did not dare go back up to his office, since some of the prison guards had been giving him suspicious looks since he’d ordered them to stop wearing boots and start wearing wooden clogs. He regretted not being able to take Gullet the Ghoul along with him, as he had developed a fondness for the little roadkill snacker. But it seemed prudent to leave immediately, before any of the terrified guards that had fled earlier returned. So he told Sir Gnawson he was ready to leave immediately.
“One moment, my boy” said Sir Cornelius Cornwit Gnawson. “I want to pull some strings.”
Stepping out of his cell into the murky hallway, Sir Gnawson grasped several stout strings hanging from the ceiling and began pulling vigorously on them.
“I’ve always been curious as to the purpose of these things” he explained to Tim, who had followed him out of the cell. “The guards seemed to think they were of some importance -- I often overheard them saying they were the only thing that kept them alive down here.”
After a moment there was a gathering rumble, and then a trapdoor flew open from the ceiling. Potatoes and hams and small beer kegs and sacks of bread came pouring down. As did one of the guards dressed only in his underwear. And Gullet.
“You!” cried the undressed guard to Tim. “You had me put in the potato cellar! You imposter!”
“Quiet, fellow” said Sir Gnawson sternly. “You are in the presence of a minor hero who will soon become a bestseller. As the true Warden of this establishment, in the absence of my brother, I hereby command you to take charge of this prison fortress until such a time as I return or my brother returns or the King himself comes for a visit or so on and so forth and may your amber soul be still!” Then he gave the undressed guard a signet ring from off his right index finger. This seemed to satisfy the undressed guard -- at least he stayed quiet while he massaged an emerging bump the size of a lumdiddle egg on his head.
“Oh, so you’re not dead after all” said Gullet sadly. “I was hoping the potatoes had suffocated you and I would finally have a good meal.” He picked himself up, dusted off his black suit and readjusted his cravat. “You people take much too good care of each other around here. Nobody is sick or dying!”
Prompted by a heroic impulse for action instead of dialogue, Tim peremptorily told Gullet they were leaving through a secret tunnel -- right now.
“That’s fine by me -- but I’m faint with hunger!” said the little man.
“You are a ghoul, I take it?” asked Sir Cornelius Cornwit Gnawson politely.
“I am that, sir” replied Gullet, who recognized quality when he saw it.
“Then perhaps you would care to feast upon all the dead plots I have left in my tunnel over the years -- there are reams of crumpled paper on which I have scribbled the miserable beginnings of novels that I have never completed.”
“Well” considered Gullet, “it might do. Never let it be said that Gullet the Ghoul was afraid to try a new cuisine!”
The trio went back into the cell and started down the tunnel towards Woolly Willows.
“Try this aborted plot, my dear Gullet” said Sir Gnawson, offering the ghoul several dirty and crumpled sheets of parchment from the floor of the tunnel. “This was the story of an enchanted frog prince who met an enchanted toad princess -- they went on a quest together to regain their true forms by jumping down a wishing well. Alas, I couldn’t think of anything to do with them once they regained their true human form!”
Gullet nibbled the pages tentatively, then began chewing with gusto.
“This is very good” he told the fantasy writing knight. “But it needs more character development.”
Tim, who was holding the torch to light their way, nearly fell over a stack of parchment sheets that lay knee deep all around them.
“Ah yes” said Sir Gnawson sadly. “This was to be my magnum opus. I spent five years on this. The story of an ugly troll who came into possession of a magic ring that turned him into a handsome troubadour that all the ladies loved. The only problem was the ring actually belonged to an evil dwarf who wanted it back so he could marry the widowed Queen and become ruler of all the land. But the troll vowed to destroy the ring rather than let the evil dwarf have it back.” Sir Gnawson sighed deeply. “There were battles with dragons and ishgobs, and long histories of eldritch races and epic songs of ancient kingdoms. I was quite proud of it all.”
“What happened?” asked Tim.
“The story became so confused and tangled up with diverging stories that I had to give it up -- my brain developed a leak that nearly did me in!”
Gullet picked up a few pages of the murdered magnum opus and sampled them.
“Good, dense texture” he opined. “But rather derivative. More vinegar is needed, and less treacle.”
“Yes, I finally figured that out” said Sir Gnawson. “But by then my publishers were pushing me to abandon the whole project. So I wrote a story about ladybugs instead.”
They walked on in silence until they reached the end of the tunnel, which was overhung with mossy tree roots. Sir Gnawson flung the tree roots aside to announce, rather redundantly it seemed to him later, that they had arrived at the village of Woolly Willows.
They stepped out into the sunlight, to be greeted by absolute silence.
