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    "Be really careful, frst of all. Then if something really ugly and scary heads your way and tries to kill you, aim this and pull the trigger. And try to hunker down before you do—this thing has a hell of a kick."

    "What are you gonna use?"

    He pulled a little dagger out of his pocket. It glowed blue, and

wiggled a bit. Then it started telescoping out, growing like Pinnochio's nose or the biggest steel boner in the world, until it was a fearsome samurai blade. "This, and a few tricks I picked up from the Navy Seals."

    For the frst time, I saw Gombo remove his cloak and start to beat his wings. They were enormous, with a span almost half again as wide as he was tall, looking more like a bat's wings than a bird's. He rose into the air, hovered, and few off towards the north.

    Nick called everyone together.

    "There is a small garrison of Bhjennigh's troops not far up a road on the other side of those trees," he whispered, pointing off to where Gombo had fown. "With me now, quickly, no prisoners. Clean and silent."

    And everyone started off at a run towards the road.

    What? I thought. No prisoners? What exactly are we doing? I trotted down the road with everyone else, still not quite getting it. I had seen already that Nick Chopper was deadly serious, fanatically persuing some end that I didn't understand, dragging me along for god knows what reason, but I hadn't been sucked headlong into the vortex yet.

    About thirty seconds before we reached an ugly brick building, three or four of the giant green guys noticed us. They stood in front of the building, like statues, legs apart, with their axes at the ready, waiting.

    Nick and company charged—silent, determined, lethal.

    Jesus, I'm really gonna die, I thought. This is insane. I held the gun out in front of me, aiming it at the ground.

    Trees started rustling, crashing against each other on the other side of the building, accompanied by an ear-splitting trumpeting. I saw Gombo come charging through on the back of a massive, red elephant. It reared up, and down it came, pulping one of the soldiers under the weight of its front feet.

    Ah, I thought, element of surprise. I leaned against a tree, aimed the gun at nothing in particular. And watched the carnage.

    It was over in seconds. During the distraction, Nick, Ralph and the merry men had taken out the entire garrison, inside and out of the building—ffteen very scary individuals, half of them of the ugly green variety.

    Except one.

    I heard the whoosh of air before I saw anything; I whipped myself out of the way just in time to see the ax blade sink into the tree with a thunk. While the old boy was trying to get the blade out, cursing a blue streak, I fred the Magnum at him. I fell fat on my ass, knocked back by the recoil, and blood and organs sprayed all over me. I guess the gun was in super-enhanced working order, because the entire upper part of the guy's torso was missing.

    I leaned sideways to heave, again, surprised there was anything left in my stomach from the last time. I guess it takes a while to get used to being surrounded by wholesale slaughter.

    Most of the others were covered with varying degrees of gore, too, some of it from their own wounds, though it didn't appear that anyone was injured too badly. At the Tin Man's instructions, they had started to strip off the clothes of the dead soldiers, and replace their own clothes with the leather and chain-mail outfts.

    I realized then that all the killing had been the result of my casual suggestion to Nick that he fnd some disguises. I remembered him saying that it hadn't actually happened the way it did in the movie. My mind ran through several gruesome variations based on what I had just seen.

    Though I still can't picture a vicious, bloodcurdling Scarecrow. It just makes me think of a really bad horror movie. He must be just about as useless as I am in a situation like this. I started wondering then just what kind of a creature his legend was based on anyway.

    "I see that came in handy," called Ralph, running up, nodding toward the gun. He grimaced at the result. "Nice shot."

    "He suprised me," I replied spacily, still shocked I'd actually done it. I know it was a question of me or him, but I've never shot anyone before. I hope to never do it again.

    After a few minutes, I snapped out of it, and started helping. That was a mistake. The next half hour or so was spent trying to ft into the ogre suits that we'd disentangled from the bloody corpses. This was worse than shooting someone.

    We grappled with the smelly, mangled bodies, and pulled off some clothing and accessories that seemed like they might ft. Then Pimbi, Tiltel and I went to a well in back of the building, where we rinsed off the outfts we'd assembled. They cleaned up surprisingly well. I guess if they'd been cotton and silk instead of leather and chain mail, they might not have done so nicely.

    It wasn't as easy actually putting them on. Most of these guys were much bigger than we were, and we had to use leaves and grass to stuff them out so that they'd ft. In the end, we didn't exactly look like the Biker-Nazi guys, but were close enough. From a distance, nobody'd probably bat an eyelash.

    I walked around through the barracks building. It was nothing to write home about. Like its former inhabitants, it smelled really bad. There was half-eaten food lying around everywhere, straw pallets with blankets on them, and a big hearth with the remnants of a spitroasted pig in it. It took me a few seconds to realize what was wrong with that picture, then I remembered that here, pigs sometimes wear clothes and have religious leaders. I hustled out the front door in a hurry.

    Nick had put on these amazing boots that covered up most of his legs. His cloak ft under a leather breastplate studded with spikes. Somehow, he'd cut off some ogre's long hair and fashioned a wighat from that and one of the horned Nazi-type helmets. His own big gloves covered his hands.

    All the action had made him downright cheery. He smiled as he saw me looking over his costume, half of his face complying. "Pretty good?" he asked rhetorically.

    "Yeah," I said, "You look like you're from Gwar or something."

    "Bad place, is it?"

    I decided not to press my luck. "Oh yeah. Yeah."

    "Now there," he said, gesturing off across the decidedly blue forest valley, towards the center of the towers of smoke, "there's a bad place."

    I looked and saw, over the tops of far trees, through the mist, a gray monolith on the horizon. A tower rose from the center of it, menacing the landscape.

    "That would be the Hollow Man's Fortress? Freddie's?"

    "Bhjennigh's. That is correct. We'll be there tomorrow."

    And he stalked off, without another word.

    I'd absentmindedly stuck my hands into the pockets of the ogrevest I was wearing. I felt something cool and rounded against my right hand. It was a cylinder of some kind. I pulled it out to have a look. It was a little gold jar, a little smaller than a soda can, with a tin cover on it.

    I unscrewed the cover and found that the top was covered with little holes, like a salt shaker. I shook it—it was flled with some kind of powder. There were curlyques engraved in the gold all the way around, and a word engraved in equally fancy style, it wasn't English, but thanks to the Language Bush, I knew that it said "Life." I wondered if I'd stumbled on the equivalent of somebody's coke stash, and decided to scrutinize the contents later on, when I had some time. Back in the pocket it went.

    A gigantic shadow loomed in front of me. I turned around to see the red elephant, looking over my shoulder and kind of leering at me. If you've never had an elephant leer at you, you've never lived. He'd seen what I'd found.

    "You want to be careful with that shit," he warned, in a deep basso profundo. "More trouble than it's worth." Then he winked, and bounded off into the foliage, trumpeting out a song, sounding like nothing so much as a demented tuba soloist.

    Not much after that, after having stacked the corpses neatly behind the barracks, we headed out again, straight through the blue forest. I later found out it was, in fact, named "The Blue Forest." Nick had deemed it necessary to remain out of sight, at least until we couldn't help it any longer. Staying at the barracks would have just invited trouble, as some other soldiers of Bjennigh would happen by sooner or later. They'd all debated the possibilities of hanging around for more, as the last bunch had been such jolly fun, but fnally, Nick decided that, while killing several more of the soldiers would be a hoot, it was low priority at the moment. I still didn't know what exactly was high priority, except heading straight into Spookyland over there.

    I guess I will fnd out tomorrow. If I don't get some sleep, I won't be in proper shape to be drawn and quartered, or whatever's going to happen. I can't imagine whatever it is will be very pleasant.

    Poor Aurora. She's going to think I'm some kind of idiot. I'm here for fve seconds, and instead of turning up for Mexican food in Emerald like I'm supposed to, I end up in some Arnold Schwartzenegger Movie On Acid.

    Well goodnight, Thing in the Laptop. You've been quiet, thank God, so I'll leave you on like I promised. A deal's a deal.

    Go for it.

Omigod,

    Fonzie is dead. I just got the word from the owl on my windowsill. Fonzie is dead, and Gene is in serious trouble.

    Oh, Quilla: WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?

    I'm gonna try real hard not to drip all over this paper. But I gotta work my thoughts out, and I can't stop crying, so I gotta just
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.

    First things frst. If I don't save Gene, he's gonna wind up with his head—oh, I can't even say it.
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I don't know what Nick is thinking, but he sure as shit isn't thinking it through. Attack the Hollow Man's Lair? With Dorothy, maybe. With Gene…?

    
Logistics.
I need help. Maybe Tic Toc. Scarecrow would be good. I'll have to shut down the restaurant, but everyone will understand. When I tell them that…fuck. I can't believe that they CUT OFF HIS HEAD! When I think that they
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and everything, it's just too horrifc. Poor Pinkie will just die.

    FUCK!

    Somebody will have to fy us. Last time I heard, Enchantra had the Winged Monkey's Cap. She's never used it, but I bet she would. If I kiss her real good. And the Ambassador gets to watch.

    The question is: will she give me two wishes? Will she let me ask the monkeys to assist if there's a fght? God knows how far I'll have to go for that. There are moral issues involved, but I can't even think about that right now.

    We just have to get there in time.

     I will do what I have to.

    At least I stopped crying.

My journey commenced within the hour. There'd been some details to attend to frst. Immediately I'd sent word, through the owl, to Scarecrow; he'd need a little time to strategize, and that was all the time we had.

    I found that I was shaking, and promptly invoked the discipline: deep focusing breaths, deep muscular stretches, the beginnings of warrior mind. I'd lit a candle in preparation, set it before the great axe mounted on the wall. I pinpointed my attention on the blade's unwavering gleam; if there were piggels in the rafters, they were not dancing now.

    Fear is a chemical song-and-dance, but all substance is born of spirit. The chemicals can be spoken to. The substance can be transformed. As I moved, as I breathed, I felt the

    transubstantiation: coming on like a drug, blowing through like radiation. I felt frecore steam and withered cell fll and a wind like a rocket like a lava hurricane. It was welling up and blowing out, making sure that I was covered.

    It was all the body armor I was going to need.

    I was thinking about death, but only a little. A little about theirs. A little about mine. I was thinking this while turning all my water into wine, making something ferce out of my loaves and fshes. Transubstantiation is a miracle that Jesus loved, and who wouldn't? It's just focused soul in fesh.