Ford Prefect and Fenchurch walked down the long stone corridor in surprise.
Fenchurch was surprised at the interior of the Temple of Time. It was cold and a wind blew at them from somewhere unknown. Though she saw no light sources, there seemed to be a glow that followed them like a torch in their hands - except they had no torch. They could only see a few meters ahead of them at a time, but the floor angled downwards, so she knew they were going descending deeper underground. The walls were made of a polished stone that resembled marble, which is exactly what it was; stone that only resembled marble. She knew it wasn't marble because she would expect her footsteps on marble to create a hollow thump, but when she stepped on this stone, it produced an almost musical tone. The walls had been carved with strange symbols similar to the ones she had seen on the stone map. She didn't even bother trying to read them.
It reminded her of the interior of an Egyptian tomb. She half-expected a mummy to come lurching out of the darkness with bandages trailing from its ankles, a thought that she tried to dispel by reminding herself there was no such thing as mummies, but then another part of her cut in to remind herself she had once believed there was no such thing as aliens, and she had just spent the past few weeks riding around in spaceships with them and using their lavatories.
Ford Prefect was surprised to be inside the Temple at all. He had tried as hard as he could to fight going in, but they resorted to the most filthy and unscrupulous tactic of all - they reasoned with Ford. Trillian had pointed out that if his existence were wiped out, then he couldn't drink and dance with pretty girls anymore. Ford couldn't argue with that. Not to say he hadn't tried, but his argument that a robotic version of himself might drink motor oil and dance with robotic versions of pretty girls couldn't carry him that far.
Ford carried with him the only other thing that could convince him to enter the Temple - an Ultra-Pow Vape-O-Ryze bazooka he had borrowed from Zaphod. The weapon was ridiculously powerful, capable of turning entire cities into powder in mere seconds. In fact, the weapon was so powerful that most armies surrendered at the mere sight of it. Thus, the manufacturer had ceased producing the real version of it years ago, and manufactured hollow tubes shaped like the bazooka instead. The fact that no one had yet noticed is a testament to its reputation. Ford knew it was pointless to carry a weapon that powerful, but it was also a testament to his fear that it was only carrying a weapon that powerful that gave him incentive to enter the Temple.
Ford followed behind Fenchurch down the corridor. He preferred to be called a cowardly little man who hid behind a woman than a dead hero.
They crept down the dark corridor lined with fearsome hieroglyphics, a cold wind chilling their bones, awaiting the dreaded Beast that lurked in shadows, poised to tear them apart with bloody and fearsome ferocity until they turned a corner and faced a field of petunias.
They had entered an open room large enough to fit a skyscraper. Somehow, a shaft of sunlight had penetrated the Temple from the surface and fell through a hole in the roof onto a relatively small patch of delicate flowers in the center of the room. The petunias bobbed gently in the breeze that came from the same hole in the roof, hundreds of them. The petunias were neatly arranged in a large square. The garden (for there was no doubt that's what it was) had obviously been recently tended, since not a single weed or stray leaf could be found among them.
For a moment, Ford thought the flowers might be the fearsome Beast mentioned by Chakka Chakka and raised his bazooka to incinerate the lot of them, but Fenchurch made him stop being silly.
Fenchurch knelt to inhale the perfume of the flowers. They smelled richer than the flowers she knew from Earth, oddly alien, which made sense since they were alien. They still seemed thoroughly out of place in a fearsome catacomb such as this.
A low rumble ripped away the sense of relief that had begun to creep into Fenchurch. It reminded her of the low rumble she had heard in nature programs among lions, but far, far deeper and far, far louder. Goosebumps crawled up Fenchurch's back, trying to escape into her hair.
The rumble came again, louder.
At that point, Ford decided to incinerate the entire Temple and the Chronological Correcting Fluid as well.
At that point, Ford discovered that his bazooka was, in fact, a hollow tube shaped like a bazooka insted.
At that point, Ford discovered he was completely unarmed.
At that point, Fenchurch learned a wide variety of profanity in a number of alien languages.
The roar came once more, this time accompanied by a thumping sound like heavy footsteps. Actually, one could only call them footsteps if, instead of shoes, the feet wore the Great Pyramids. The thumps came along with the sound of something dragging along the stone floor.
Ford dove behind a stack of stone blocks in a corner and covered himself with his towel. There was only room for him, so he prepared to shove Fenchurch back out into the open if she tried to hide with him.
She didn't.
Ford was shocked to see that she stood beside the garden, facing the direction the sounds came from. He wanted to leap out and rescue her, but he wasn't going to.
Fenchurch stood her ground, listening to the thunderous footsteps, the tooth-rattling roar, watched a shadow pass across the shaft of sunlight to plunge her into darkness. The floor trembled under her feet like an earthquake. A massive form squeezed itself through an adjoining corridor into the garden chamber. The creature loomed over her in much the same way that the World Trade Center looms over a Volkswagen Beetle.
As her eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, Fenchurch could make out the creature's distinctive shape. The portion on eye level with her consisted of two massive flat grey slabs of flesh. Those slabs dragged with them and supported an elongated grey body the size of an ocean liner. The rubbery skin of the creature bristled with hairs as thick as telephone cables. The already enormous body widened upwards dizzyingly to where the slabs attached to shoulders as wide as an office building. The body went straight into a head with no neck in between. Two long fangs protruded from a mouth large enough to swallow a car, pushing aside an upper lip bristling with more thick whiskers. Two slits formed nostrils on the hideous upper lip, leading to a pair of beady red eyes.
With a shock, Fenchurch realised the creature resembled an enormous walrus.
The walrus rolled its huge eyes down to look at Fenchurch standing by its flippers. The rumble came again, louder and more terrifying up close. Fenchurch's body shook as if it had grabbed her and shaken her like a rag doll. Its head slowly came down to look more closely at her and she could see her reflection in its blood-red eyes.
Ford peeked out from behind the heavy stone blocks he hid behind. Fenchurch still stood there at the feet - flippers - of what he knew for a fact to be a Megavoidian Ultra-Walrus, one of the most fearsome creatures in the known Universe. The Ultra-Walrus was born angry and usually started its life in the world by fighting its mother for access to her milk. The Ultra-Walrus only grew more aggressive from that point on.
And Fenchurch seemed to be talking to it.
Ford winced, preferring not to watch as the Ultra-Walrus impaled her on its tusks, but unable to look away.
It didn't.
The Ultra-Walrus grunted and raised its head. Its head bowed slightly.
Fenchurch turned and waved at Ford. "It's all right. Come on out. He's going to help us."
"All right?" Ford blurted. "Come on out? He? Have you gone mad? That's an Ultra-Walrus. An Ultra-Walrus would happily rip the throat out of a Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal for coughing without covering its mouth."
"Yes," said Fenchurch patiently. "And he's going to help us."
The Ultra-Walrus looked up at Ford. Its whiskered jowls came up in what looked like a smile. It said in a deep voice that echoed through the Temple, "It's all right. I was just on my way to water my garden."
The Ultra-Walrus held up one of its flippers that had a watering can attached to it with cellophane tape.
Ford crept out, aiming his bazooka up at the Ultra-Walrus. "Are you the Beast?"
"Er, yes," said the Ultra-Walrus.
"The Beast charged with guarding the Temple?
"Er, yes."
"The Beast who protects the Chronological Correcting Fluid?"
"Er, yes."
"The Beast that horribly massacres anyone who dares to try to steal it?"
The Ultra-Walrus looked sheepish and shuffled its flippers. "Er, yes."
"And you're going to help us?"
"Well, quite frankly, I'm sick to death of the whole business. You can have the Fluid. Come. I'll take you to it." The Ultra-Walrus dragged itself around with its flippers and began to crawl away.
Ford charged up to Fenchurch and demanded in harsh whispers to know how she had gotten the Ultra-Walrus to help them. She refused to tell him.
In fact, she never did tell him or anyone else how she had opened the way to the Chronological Correctional Fluid. Yet she had done it the same way Noslenda Bivenda had opened the Five-Tailed Whirlwind Ultra-Clam on the third moon of Llullul in the Inner Northern arm of the Galaxy; she asked nicely.