Chapter 2
Doom in Droon
Keeah glared at Neal.
Neal cowered. "Sorry, Princess."
"Queen," Keeah corrected absently.
"Queen?" Eric perked up. "Of Droon? Really?"
Keeah nodded sadly. "Yes, to my eternal regret. Only because I have no other choice have I shouldered this burden. My father, King Zello, fell off his pilka and is now paralyzed for life." Her azure eyes brimmed with tears. "And my mother has gone into early retirement to work in an animal rights group…" She sniffled delicately "…to protest the poaching of red tigers in the Bangledorn Forest. She's also working on higher protection laws for the habitats of white falcons, blue dragons, and black dolphins."
Eric nodded in sympathy and reached out to put a hand on her shoulder before thinking better of it. "I'm really very sorry to hear that," he said instead.
Keeah wiped away melodramatic tears. "Never mind that. You didn't come to listen to my troubles."
"We don't mind," said Julie, stoic but unconvincing. "After all, that's what friends are for."
Keeah waved her hand. "No, you must hear of the troubles of Droon," she replied, oblivious to Neal's groan. "Come. Let us go to Galen's tower, where I can tell you more."
Keeah swished her blue robes and glided off, beckoning the children to follow. Exchanging glances, the young adults followed.
They did not get far, however, before a familiar figure in a pointed hat came into view around a conveniently placed corner. "Galen," exclaimed Julie, and followed up with a rather redundant, "It's Galen Longbeard!"
"Galen Even Longer Beard now," said Keeah, "And being viewed for a promotion to Galen Trip-on-his-own-beard."
As he drew closer, it could be seen that Galen was muttering to himself under his breath. It could also be seen that a gawky, stumbling figure supporting a large, earthenware vessel on his head followed behind him.
"Who's that?" Neal blurted.
Keeah grimaced. "Goffrey, Galen's assistant. Max joined the WAU - Wizard's Assistants' Union - and quit on the grounds that Galen promoted servitude by asking to be called Master all the time. Actually, he started demanding to be called Lord High One about a year ago, I think that was really the last straw…"
Max the spider troll, a perky being with orange hair and a spider's body, had been with them on many adventures. It was sad news indeed to hear he was gone, whatever the reason.
"Galen," Goffrey was shouting, "You wanted me to bring you the scry bowl!" He listed a little, staggering under the heavy vessel. "I have it here! It's kind of heavy! What do you… oops."
The bowl had slipped from his tremulous grip. It tumbled to the ground - thunk - splitting into several large pieces and spilling a glistening liquid onto the grass.
"Nice," thought Neal. Not until Eric's elbow jabbed his middle did he realize he had voiced the sarcastic comment; fortunately, no one else showed any signs of having heard.
Julie, with a good heart under the spaghetti-strap tanktop and pink hair, had dashed over to help clean up. Eric and Neal followed, Neal rubbing his midriff, Eric massaging his elbow. Galen mumbled and tugged on his beard, prompting Keeah to walk over to him.
As Julie bent to pick up a shard of broken pottery, her eye was caught by the shimmering puddle of scrying liquid. She leaned closer; something floated in its depths.
"Holy cr-" she cried. The second word is censored in case children happen to get their hands on this, but I will tell you, it wasn't 'crow.'
"What? See your reflection?" Neal couldn't resist.
"No…"
Eric and Neal also went down on their knees beside the small puddle.
Deep in the murky pool, Eric could see something drifting upwards. It was black, far darker then the liquid it appeared in. It looked like a cylinder, a long, straight, rounded stick. Spikes sprang from one end, protecting within them a round black object like half a ball, or a domed pencil eraser.
"It's…" Julie murmured.
"It's…" Eric gasped.
"Monty Python's Flying Circus!" Neal put in automatically.
There was a distinct lack of laughter.
Then, like a pierced bubble, the vision was gone, replaced by the reflection of Keeah, who had come striding up. "What is it?"
"This British TV show…" Neal began, but so quietly he was quite drowned out by Eric's "I dunno. Some kind of black, spiky tower with a stargazing dome?"
"…parrots. But that's not important right now," Neal finished.
Galen, who had followed Keeah, looked quizzical. "Black towel, you say? Do I know you?"
"His hearing's going," Keeah whispered by way of explanation. Then, in louder tones: "He said, a black tower."
"Oh… sounds like Pludd…" Galen mused.
Keeah nodded, sinking into the depths of thought. "Yes, that could be. To find a tower of black spikes, as you describe, we should journey to Pludd!"
Neal moaned. "Every time! Every single time! We can't go to Droon without going somewhere spooky, dark, scary, dangerous, or life threatening, can we?"
"No," said Eric, unfazed, "When do we start?"
"Wait, wait, wait. Keeah's the Queen of Droon now! She can't just go plunging off on a wild adventure."
"Of course I can!" Keeah protested vehemently, "Jaffa City barely needs governing in the first place, you know."
Eric looked thoughtful. "Form a committee."
Neal protested. "A committee never gets anything done!"
"That's the point."
"Brilliant, Eric!" Keeah gushed, "I'll put Galen in charge of forming a committee. It will be Droon's first step towards Democracy."
"Okay, but I don't think we really have time. We never do anything sensible like packing, turning off our lights, or locking our doors before we leave – let alone start a democratic government," Neal stated.
Keeah apparently missed the sarcasm dripping from his flat tones like syrup from a plate of pancakes in the dishwasher, for she gave a sudden shrill whistle and, lo and behold, three pilkas came galloping out of the distance.
Three?
"Keeah, there are four of us."
"Five, including Goffrey. I suppose he has to come too," Keeah agreed. "Eric will ride with me, and two of you can double up."
Neal bit his tongue.
