Orlon gasped. "The Magic Dingus," he cried.
"What proof is there that this is the Ring?" asked the man with the pointed
shoes.
"There are many signs which can be read by the wise, Bromosel," announced
the Wizard. "The compass, the whistle, the magic decoder - they're all here.
And there is this inscription:
"Grundig blaupunkt luger frug
Watusi snarf wazoo!
Nixon dirksen nasahist
Rebozo boogaloo."
Goodgulf's voice had become harsh and distant. An ominous black smoke filled
the room. Frito gagged on the thick oily smoke.
"Was that necessary?" asked Legolam, kicking the Wizard's still-belching
smoke grenade out the door.
"Rings go better with hocus-pocus," replied Goodgulf imperiously.
"But what does that mean?" asked Bromosel, rather annoyed that he was being
referred to in the dialogue as "the man with the pointed shoes."
"There are many interpretations," explained Goodgulf. "My guess is that it's
either 'The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog' or 'Don't tread on me.'"
No one spoke, and the room fell strangely silent.
Finally Bromosel rose and addressed the Caucus.
"Much is now clear," he said. "I had a dream one night in Minas Troney in
which seven cows ate seven bushels of wheat, and when they were finished they
climbed a red tower and threw up three times, chanting, 'Say it now and say
it loud, I'm a cow and I'm proud.' And then a figure robed in white and
bearing a pair of scales came forward and read from a little slip of paper:
"Five-eleven's your height, one-ninety your weight
You cash in your chips around page eighty-eight."
"This is grave," said Orlon.
"Well," said Stomper, "I guess it's time we all laid our cards on the table,"
and with that he noisily emptied the contents of a faded duffel into a heap
in front of him. When he was finished, there was a large pile of odd objects,
including a broken sword, a golden arm, a snowflake paperweight, the Holy Grail,
the Golden Fleece, the Robe, a piece of the True Cross, and a glass slipper.
"Arrowroot, son of Arrowshirt, heir of Barbisol and King of Minas Troney, at
your service," he said, rather loudly.
Bromosel looked up to the top of the page and winced. "At least another chapter
to go," he groaned.
"Then the Ring is yours," cried Frito, and eagerly tossed it into Arrowroot's
hat.
"Well, not exactly," said Arrowroot, dangling the band at the end of its long
chain. "Since it's got magic powers, it belongs to someone more in the
mumbo-jumbo, presto-chango line. To wit, a wizard, for example," and he neatly
slipped the Ring over the end of Goodgulf's wand.
"Ah, yes, verily, in truth," said Goodgulf quickly.
"That is to say, yes and no. Or perhaps just plain no. As any fool can see,
it's a clear case of habeas corpus or tibia fibia, since although this
particular gizmo was the work of a wizad - Sorhed, to be exact - this sort of
thing was invented by elves, and he was only working under a license, you
might say."
Orlon held the Ring in his hand as if it were an annoyed tarantula. "Nay," he
said, gravely, "I cannot claim this great prize, for it is said, 'Finders
keepers, losers weepers,'" and brushing away an invisible tear, he looped
the chain around Dildo's neck.
"And 'Let dogs lie if they are sleepers,'" said Dildo, and slipped it into
Frito's pocket.
"Then it is setteled," intoned Orlon. "Frito Bugger shall keep the Ring."
"Bugger?" said Legolam. "Bugger? That's curious. There was a nasty little
clown named Goddam sniffing around Weldwood on hands and knees looking for a
Mr. Bugger. It was a little queer."
"Odd," said Gimlet. "A pack of black giants riding huge pigs came through the
mountains last month hunting for a boggie named Bugger. Never gave it a
second thought."
"This, too, is grave," declared Orlon. "It is only a matter of time before
they come here," he said, pulling a shawl over his head and making a gesture
of throwing something of a conciliatory nature to a shark, "and as neutrals,
we would have no choice..."
Frito shuddered.
"The Ring and its bearer must go hence," agreed Goodgulf, "but where? Who
shall guard it?"
"The elves," said Gimlet.
"The dwarves," said Legolam.
"The wizards," said Arrowroot.
"The Men of Twodor," said Goodgulf.
"That leaves only Fordor," said Orlon. "But even a retarded troll would not
go there."
"Even a dwarf," admitted Legolam.
Frito suddenly felt that all eyes were on him.
"Couldn't we just drop it down a storm drain, or pawn it and swallow the
ticket?" he said.
"Alas," said Goodgulf solemnly, "It is not that easy."
"But why?"
"Alas," explained Goodgulf.
"Alackaday," Orlon agreed.
"But fear not, dear boggie," continued Orlon, "you shall not go alone."
"Good old Gimlet will go with you," said Legolam.
"And fearless King Arrowroot," said Bromosel.
"And faithful Bromosel", said Arrowroot.
"And Moxie, Pepsi and Spam," said Dildo.
"And Goodgulf Grayteeth," added Orlon.
"Indeed," said Goodgulf, glaring at Orlon, and if looks could maim, the old
elf would have left in a basket.
"So be it. You shall leave when the omens are right," said Orlon,
consulting a pocket horoscope, "and unless I'm very much mistaken, they
will be unmatched in half an hour."


....


"This is indeed a queer river," said Bromosel, as the water lapped at his
thighs.

On the far bank of the river they found a thick strand of dead trees covered
with signs in Elveranto which said, "Come to fabulous Elf Village," "Visit
the Snake Farm," "Don't miss Santa's Workshop," and "Help Keep Our Forest
Enchanted!"
"Lalornadoon, Lalornadoon," sighed Logolam, "wonder of the Lower Middle
Earth!"
At that, a door in the trunk of a large tree opened, revealing a small room
filled with postcard racks, loudly clicking cuckoo clocks, and boxes of
maple-sugar candies. A greasy-looking elf slipped out from behind a taffy
machine.
"Welcome wagon," he said, bowing low. "I am Pentel."
"Come hither, conastoga," said Legolam.
"Well, well, well," said the elf, coughing importantly, "we are a bit out of
season, aren't we?"
"We're just passing through," said Arrowroot.
"No matter," said Pentel. "Plenty to see, plenty to see. On your left, your
petrified tree, to the right your Echo Rock and your Natural Bridge, and
just ahead your Old Wishing Well."
"We've come from Doria," Arrowroot continued.
"We're on our way to Fordor."
The elf blanched. "I hope you've enjoyed your visit to Lornadoon Land of
Magic," he said quickly, and handing them a sheaf of folders and pack-horse
stickers, he leaped into the tree and slammed and bolted the door.


....


"Welcome to Lornadoon," said Lavalier, rising slowly to her feet, and it
seemed to the company that she was as fair as a young sapling or scrub oak.
She had magnificent chestnut hair, and when she shook her head, handfuls
of magnificent chestnuts dropped to the floor like rain. Frito toyed with
the Ring and wondered at her great beauty. As he stood, as if in a trance,
Lavalier turned to him and saw him toying with the Ring and wondering at
her great beauty.
"I see, Frito," she said, "that as you toy with the Ring, you wonder at
my great beauty."
Frito gasped.
"Do not fear," she said, solemnly tweaking his nose.
"Nasties we're not."
Cellophane then rose and greeted each of the travellers in turn, and
motioning for them to sit down on the rubber toadstools arranged around the
room, bid them tell the tale of their adventures.
Arrowroot cleared his throat. "Once upon a time," he began.
"Call me Ishmael," said Gimlet.
"Whanne in Aprille," started Legolam.
"Hear me, oh Muse," commenced Bromosel.
After some discussion, Frito told the whole story of the Ring, Dildo's
party, the Black Schleppers, the Caucus of Orlon, Doria, and Goodgulf's
untimely passing.
"Woodja, woodja, woo," said Cellophane sadly when Frito had finished.
Lavalier sighed deeply. "Your journey is long and hard," she said.
"Yes," said Cellophane, "you bear a great burden."
"Your enemies are powerful and merciless," said Lavalier.
"You have much to fear," said Cellophane.
"You leave at dawn," said Lavalier.


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