Mr. Chickee's Messy Mission (13 page)

Russell said, “I get it! If some writer uses their imagination to come up with a person in a story and doesn't finish writing the story, instead of floating around in space or being trapped in a computer or on some paper, that pretend person gets to come here and live!”

Marvin said, “That's right, partner, except it's not only people. To get into H.A.L.F. Land or CO.I.L. Land it can also be an animal, real or fake, or a place or a thing.”

Richelle said, “So, what is this CO.I.L. Land?”

“Some more initials, they stand for Capable of Infinite Life. It's where only the greatest characters go.”

Great-great-grampa Carter's dictionary said, “It's like this. A completely drawn character in a book has the ability to live forever. Not many of Earth's literary characters are worth remembering beyond two or three decades, after which they must leave CO.I.L. Land and go back to the books they were created for. An extremely small group is still discussed and thought about centuries after their creation. In all of Yourside's written history there have been only several dozen who're more or less permanent residents of CO.I.L. Land.”

Richelle said, “Wow! If we have time, that's the place we should go. I'd rather meet some of the characters from my favorite books instead of some people who are just bits and parts of authors' dreams and imaginations.”

Marvin said, “Common mistake, but what else could I expect from a common little girl? You
really
don't want to go there. There's nothing that messes with you Yoursiders' minds more than finally meeting a book character you've thought was so, so wonderful. Then when you find out they are nothing but a total … oh dear, what is the word you Yoursiders use? Here we call them obnoxious scumquats, but I can't remember your term. Talking Book, what's the word I wanna use?”

Great-great-grampa Carter's dictionary said, “The closest translation would be
jerk
([
JURK
]
n. Slang.
A
person regarded as disagreeable, contemptible, etc., especially as the result of mean or foolish behavior
). Hey! That's a pretty accurate description of you.”

“Oh, man! I've just gotta get me one of these thumb drives!”

Richelle said, “Wait a minute, why in the world would great characters from books be jerks?”

The dictionary said, “I'm sure you've read a book where the characters in it seem so real that you can talk to them; that's because the author has done such a marvelous job that those characters not only seem real, they become real. They live. And just like any living person who is adored and worshipped and loved for no apparently deserved reason—think of most of your politicians, professional athletes and pop music stars—they have a tendency to become very full of themselves.”

Marvin said, “Yeah, some people here call you guys from Earth Your-otrash! The talking book is right, but let me break it down for you. Have any of you read one of your Earth books called
The Odyssey
?”

Russell looked away from the surly teenager, the way any really smart student does whenever their teacher has asked a question they don't know the answer to. Steven looked away too. He told himself, “Now not only do I have to not look at Richelle, I've got to stop looking at this surly guide if he's gonna start asking a bunch of embarrassing questions!”

Richelle said, “Of course I've read it, it's about Odysseus and his search to come back home.”

“Right. Well, let me tell you, he's the king of jerks! He's fighting to have a holiday named in his honor.

“And how about a book called
Moby-Dick
?”

Russell looked at his fingernails, Steven checked out the sky.

Richelle said, “Yes.”

“That Captain Ahab guy? What a loser! He is so obnoxious that he's been made an honorary member of the Sullen Guide family, but I'm going to tell you, not even any of us can stand him!

“But enough chitchat, are you ready to enter H.A.L.F. Land?”

Each one of the Flint Future Detectives tried to look brave. Madam President said, “We're ready.”

The only thing Steven and Russell could do was go, GULP!

You Must Be Hairy Plodder's Mummy!

T
HE GROUP OF FOUR OPENED THE DOOR
and walked through. The way the Flint Future Detectives had gone in was right in front of a door that read,
BOWLING
,
B. T.
To the right as far as you could see ran jillions of other doors with two knobs that looked exactly the same. To the left as far as you dared look were more double-knobbed doors than you could believe!

“Wow!” Richelle said.

“Man!” Steven said.

“Ooo-whee!” Russell said.

Great-great-grampa Carter's dictionary said, “According to my information, to enter a particular author's county you must first turn the knob on the left halfway to the right, the knob on the right three-quarters of the way to the left. You
then must pause three point two seconds, knock three and a half times, and look through the peephole and await permission to enter.”

Steven said, “Can't we stop talking and look in one of these rooms?”

Russell said, “Yeah, I want this one. Isn't B. T. Bowling the woman who wrote the Hairy Plodder books? She's one of my favorite writers, I want to see what's behind her door. I bet there're skillions of trol—oops …skillions of Whizzers and creatures and things!”

Steven turned the left-hand knob halfway to the right and the right-hand knob three-quarters of the way to the left, waited exactly three point two seconds, knocked three and a half times (a very difficult thing to do, try it. No, seriously, try it. See? Not as easy to do as it sounds, is it?), then looked through the peephole.

A voice with an English accent called, “One moment, please.”

Richelle said, “Who is it that's going to open the door?”

Marvin said, “Oh, that would be the Earth writer who made up the characters in the room, her name's B. T. Bowling. Every time your writers send another character here, they also have to give a part of their spirit too, to stay with their creations. The old folks hope if writers keep losing parts of their spirit, maybe they'll become frustrated and quit writing.”

The door swung up and the group stepped into a room that was around a mile deep and two miles wide with a ceiling
that was half a mile up. Right in the middle of the room was what looked like a great big aboveground swimming pool with a cover over the top of it.

On the left-hand side of the room stood fifty of the biggest dump trucks anyone had ever seen. But the only person or character or thing that was standing in the room was a woman who had her back turned to them.

Steven whispered to Russell, “I guess when you write books that are a thousand pages long, there aren't too many characters left over to send here.”

The woman turned around. “Welcome! It's so good to see people from Earth!”

Russell said, “Wow! You must be Hairy Plodder's mummy!”

The woman said, “I've never heard it expressed so peculiarly before, but I suppose that, yes, I am the one who gave him life.”

Marvin and the Flint Future Detectives introduced themselves, and Russell said, “Excuse me, Ms. Bowling, how come there's no one else in your room?”

B. T Bowling said, “But there
is
someone else.” She pointed up and everyone in the room gasped, for flying along the very top of the room was a most magnificent winged beast!

Ms. Bowling said, “That's the Great Morose Fire-Spewing Clabbernabber.”

And this animal was great indeed!

Imagine the graceful way a dolphin moves in the ocean,
think of how the water seems to let it pass without the slightest notice, much in the same way a thought slips effortlessly through your mind, that's how smoothly, how easily, this enormous dragon sailed through the air.

And my, how its wings moved!

Strength and power shimmered through the Great Morose Fire-Spewing Clabbernabber as each flexion of the thick muscles that ran the length of both of its wings brushed and stroked the air so rhythmically that the animal seemed to be dancing with the wind instead of flying through it.

Tucked tightly into its faintly reptilian belly the Flint Future Detectives could see bright yellow talons that wouldn't have been out of place on an eagle the size of a jumbo jet, each joint, each segment, looking as if it had been cast out of pure gold, each of its ten claws ending in spikes that sparkled as if molded from diamonds.

And the tail of the beast was horrific!

It was tri-pronged and whipped like a flag in the wind. Where it came to an end bolts of purplish lightning leapt and sparked and crackled between its three glowing tips.

But the most amazing thing about the Clabbernabber was its head!

No one in the room, not Richelle, not Steven, not Russell, not Marvin, not Ms. Bowling herself, could look at the head for more than a second. Anytime their gaze landed on the beast's head, something very basic, very primordial caused their eyes to slide away and down. Something about
the inky, swirling blackness of the eyes of the animal wouldn't allow more than the quickest of glimpses to be stolen.

Or, as Russell said, “This is one bad mamma jamma
here
, boy! And look at those claws! He's got bling-bling for days!”

Ms. Bowling said, “Actually she's a female.”

She snapped her fingers and the beast turned and dropped from the sky, landing several feet from her. When she touched down, a shudder ran through the floor of the room. As she folded her beautifully iridescent, hummingbird-colored wings into her sides, a gust of wind brushed past the detectives; it smelled strongly of warm cinnamon toast and butter. Once the animal settled down, Richelle figured she was at least fifteen feet tall.

Steven said, “I don't get it. That's the most amazing thing I've ever seen! Why haven't you used her in any of your books, Ms. Bowling?”

She sighed and said, “Yes, she is quite a creation, but unfortunately I haven't been able to use her because of one tragic flaw.”

Russell shot a quick look at the mouth of the Clabber-nabber. He couldn't keep his eyes on it long enough to decide if the mouth was shaped more like an alligator's or a crocodile's, but it was huge and bristling with two-inch-long yellow-streaked teeth.

He said to Ms. Bowling, “I know why you couldn't use her, she would have ate Hairy Plodder up in the very first book.”

Ms. Bowling laughed. “No, she's a vegetarian, but it
is
because of what she eats that I haven't been able to find a way to use her.”

Steven said, “Huh? I don't get it.”

Ms. Bowling said, “The Great Morose Fire-Spewing Clabbernabber has a very limited diet. The only things she will eat are vegetables that begin with the letter
b
, which pretty well limits her to eating Brussels sprouts, broccoli and Boston baked beans. I know, there are beets and butternut squash, but she has no taste for them at all.”

Marvin said, “Whoa, Ms. Yourside-Author, that's the second time you said that creature was a fire spewer. I don't know about these idiots, but I'm moving away from the mouth of this monster.”

Ms. Bowling said, “This is really most embarrassing, but I can assure you that the safest place to stand is up here near her head. Let me demonstrate.”

She clapped her hands twice and the cover over the pool started to pull away. It
was
a swimming pool, but instead of water it was filled with tons and tons of broccoli and Brussels sprouts floating on millions of gallons of Boston baked beans.

Everyone said, “Yuck!”

But the Clabbernabber filled the air with the cinnamon-toast-and-melting-butter aroma when it released a tremendous roar and half jumped, half flew to the edge of the pool. Using its golden, diamond-tipped talons to securely grab the pool's sides, it ducked its head into the nasty-looking mess and scarfed massive quantities of the noxious mixture.
It ate so ferociously that a little cloud of vaporized broccoli, Brussels sprouts and Boston baked beans hung over the pool.

After a few minutes of this
b
vegetable massacre Ms. Bowling snapped her fingers and the Clabbernabber leapt back to her side.

Steven said, “I still don't get it. You can't use her in your books just because she has real bad table manners and wants to eat that nasty vegetable junk?”

Ms. Bowling said, “That's the first part of the reason, unfortunately that's the least offensive part.”