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The Return of the Triboldies

By Dennis

Part 9

The Bugger merchants promised us that this dreary plain would end soon. We have been travelling for a week, and there is no sign of its end. I am a liar; at this very instant there is a shout from some of the more long-sighted among us . . . A long hill behind the pale rocks. Ottoman to my left maintains that this is not so; it is a mirage. Unwise of him. If he persists with his viewpoint he will be proved wrong.

Luckly we have entered a dip. and Ottoman is saved. Three days after the first false alarm we are certain that there is a hill ahead of us, though to the left of where some claimed to have seen it. In these three days we have all been in agony of indecision; those who looked hardest were most unsure and their eyes blurred. Sparadrap has very wisely been travelling backwards for the last week, that he might ignore the expectation that has made the remainder of us unfit for any task or thought. But it is only a hill! he exclaimed to me. and the hill is only the way to Aggabug, which is only the first of many cities on our way; if we rejoice too much on this occasion we may be disappointed on the next. [Here I fail, it must be admitted, to understand his reasoning, but have recorded it faithfully for scholars of future generations.]

We have come to the top of the hill past the desert. We are far above an enormous valley. Somewhere in this valley is Aggabug. We must follow the path. Now there are 87 of us busily scanning small parts of the view, searching for some sign of dense human habitation.

No sign can be found, and we are proceeding: It seems that many people live where we are going. This morning we passed a farmer on the road . . . a tall, heavy looking, pale-skinned fellow, as all here seem to be. For his sign of greeting he looked at our procession, his mouth wide open, and uttered no sign. For politeness I (and other, I presume) returned his greeting. It is well not to offend the locals; perhaps they can be useful to us at some time.

Phenobarbara has asked the way to Aggabug; it seems that we continue along the present road, past the staring peasants, who form a rapidly increasing consort about us. though they have not yet approached us in speech. Perhaps they are deterred by our animals, who look fierce, though they are gentle.

We are now camped just outside the walls of Aggabug. Probably there is not much room inside the walls; such cities are cramped, Sparadrap says. All are very quite and thoughtful—even the magicians are not working tonight. I wonder why. It is not like them to be disturbed by circumstances. In this wagon, the wisers are debating whether or not to enter the city, and how long we should stay here. Cantilever is of the opinion that no good will come of our entering the city or of staying long. We are looking for two things—our homeland, and the remainder of our people. And the alkahest, Quidditas put in; he was ignored by all but Cagliostro. Sparadrap is of the opinion that we should make a triumphal entry to the city and impress the Buggers. Ottoman and myself strongly endorse his opinion. We must show these ignorant inhabitants that we are now far more noble in demeanour than we were more than 2,000 years ago as our predecessors fled in the opposite direction to that in which we are travelling now.

At dawn a compromise is reached. First, messengers from among us will go into the city, inquiring from local historians about the route of our forebears, and any sight of our fellows or of the mysterious "dragonfly" who was mentioned by those in Ytinutroppo. Also, our messengers will look for a large flat piece of land on which we may camp. (The Buggers must regard our people as a peculiarly itinerant race.) I shall accompany the messengers, quâ historian.

A dozen of us took dragon-cats and at sunrise made our way towards the great iron gate of Aggabug. The gate was opened as we approached, not because we were approaching, but because the sun was rising. Phenobarbara asked one of the gatekeepers where the mayor might be found. The gatekeeper did not understand. Phenobarbara's dialect of the Blihrp language is so ancient that she cannot converse with the Buggers. Awkward! However the written form of the language remains the same; she wrote her question with a crayon on a piece of wood and showed this plank to the gatekeeper. (An illiterate fool.) At last a religious man leaving the city read the question aloud to the gate keeper, who replied; the religious man wrote the answer as follows:

Most peculiar! (I thought to myself) 12 what? We soon found out. The twelve were blue posts projecting from the ground. My dragon-cat tripped over a post. In anger it hissed, and the next post fell over. Suddenly, soldiers rushed from a nearby doorway, and pointed sticks at me. The dragon-cat hissed at a soldier, who fell over. Suddendly there was a number of thunderclaps and another soldier fell over. Retreat! Sparadrap called. We withdrew out of the gate; the Buggers then closed it. All were glaring at me, specially Whirligig. Now we have terrified the Buggers somehow, and I am blamed. Within a few minutes, the gates were opened again.

We have all returned to the camping place. Sparadrap is going to take the rainbow zebra-leopard and ride this friendly animal into the city, taking with him the Great Device of our people, and Waterlulu as interpreter (since Phenobarabara's dialect has been found incomprehensible). Now he leaves. His is an impressive figure as he rides toward the gate, his long black cloak and bushy brown tail flying behind him in the breeze. We shall anxiously await his return.

It is night, and Sparadrap has galloped in dishevelled without Waterlulu. The two of them, he says, entered Aggabug without hindrance, found the directions to be where they were dropped, and followed these directions (except for the last part) to the town square. They entered the town hall and asked to see the Mayor. Waterlulu was understood, but her request refused. She insisted, and was clapped into irons by a nearby soldier. Sparadrap was also clapped into irons, and freed himself with the Device, but could not longer see Waterlulu. This Is An Outrage Upon Our People! We shall spill the Buggers' blood for this. if necessary, to free noble Waterlulu and to regain our enviable reputation! We shall all return to the town. Anapaestic is being blindfolded that' she may paint the basilisk in hideous colours; all the Buggers will look at it with dismay and be blinded. We must spare them no mercy: the wrath of our people has been aroused.