Chapter Four

The halls of the S.M.B.'s fortress where dark and gloomy, and a thick layer of dust laid over the floor and the few objects that had been set up along the way. Perhaps, it was because of the sad hallways that Frito was traveling through with Chris, that the young elf was surprised when Chris began to talk with the air of one greeting an old and invaluable friend.

"I think I'm going to give up this nonsense," Chris said, sighing deeply. They passed a window and Frito saw that rain was still pounding down outside. "What was I thinking? Why would I want to control the world? Why would I want to kill so many people?"

Frito stared at the his old master.

"Wh-what are you saying?"

"What I'm saying, my dear house elf..." Chris replied, dramatically. "...is that I'm going to give up on this horrible villain scenario. Turn good."

Frito couldn't control himself, and he began to skip along the hallway, happily.

"You m-mean it?" Frito laughed with joy. "You really m-m-mean it?"

Chris just nodded silently. Then, they were there.

"Well, here he is," Chris said, pointing towards a door they had just came to. "John's right through there." The house elf grinned happily.

"W-wait until I t-tell Master John about you b-b-being a good p-person!" Frito giggled excitedly. He reached for the door knob, but Chris pulled his hand back, clenching it in his fist.

"I'd like to tell him that, myself," Chris said, still gripping the elf's hand. Frito stood there for a moment, looking at Chris, before he vigorously nodded.

"Okay, Master Chris, okay." Chris dropped the elf's hand, and smiled. Frito reached for the knob again, but as he grabbed it, the door swung open, and Frito felt his blood run cold. Frito felt as though ice water was being poured into him through every opening his body. And that's when he saw them. Dementors; three to be exact; all of them leaving the room that he was about to enter. Their frayed cloaks whipped out behind them, suspended on an invisible wind, and behind them followed the man Frito had seen earlier. He was clutching his head, and screaming, looking as though he was fighting an immense urge to just lie down on the spot and die.

Then the dementors where gone, along with the man, and Christopher Draconian. Frito shook his head, wearily. He twitched his long ears, listening intently. The rain was softer now; Frito must have lost consciousness for a bit. But there was no time to think about that now. He had to go see John.

The room with John in was very dark, maybe even darker than the hallway he had just been in, and also very large. Frito peered around for his friend, and just when he was about to give up and find Chris, to ask him if he was sure this was the right room; there was a voice.

"Frito...Is that you?"

Frito listened again, but he heard nothing. Then, there is was again.

"Frito?"

"John? M-master John?"

"I'm over here! Oh, Frito! Are Sam and Giles here? Oh never mind, just come over here!" John called back from the shadows. Frito followed the voice through the dark chamber until he bumped into a chair. He glared through the darkness, and was able to make out the form of John. After a few more moments of staring, the young elf was able to see the features of John, and his eyes had adjusted quite well to the gloom.

"We've got to get out of here, Frito," John said, his voice was weak. "Before Chris comes back. He's only a teenager, and it's only been about a year since I escaped from being held hostage by them, but he's more powerful. Much more powerful than I ever remembered. We've got to get out of here."

Frito stared at John. He must be confused. Chris wasn't bad. He wondered whether he should tell John about Chris being good now...

"M-master John!" Frito declared, trying to calm his friend down. "Chris said-"

"Don't listen to a thing that evil creature says to you," John cut him off. "Just untie the bindings for me." Frito obeyed, and quickly tried his best to loosen the ropes cutting into John's skin. He pulled them open, and they fell to the floor.

John got up from the chair, searching the sides of the room, and rubbing his raw wrists gingerly. He began to pat the sides of the wall, and putting his face up close to it.

"Uh..." Frito asked, nervously. "What-t are you doing, Master J-j-john?"

John continued to just search the chamber, until he let out a somewhat loud," Aha!"

"What is it-t?" Frito asked, startled.

"A door," John replied, triumphantly, opening it. "Yes! Frito come over here." The elf darted over to John. "Have a look at this. See that hole in the floor?"

Frito clutched his nose hard. There was a terrible smell coming from the hole. "Yes, I see it..."

"Well, if my hypothesis is correct, and by this smell, I think I am, then this hole is none other than an authentic sixteenth century toilet." John sighed happily. "It is also our ticket out of here."

Frito didn't know if he liked where John was going with this plan of his.

"This little invention is really just a long shaft that leads right to the ocean, so all we have too do is..."

"Oh n-n-o..." Frito moaned, pinching his nose harder.

"P-please don't say it, M-master John..."

"All we have to do, Frito," John continued. "Is slide down this chute, and boom! We're free!"

With John's: boom, the smell seemed to intensify itself.

"I'll go down first!"

He backed up out of the room, then ran back in. And then with a courageous, "Juranimoe!", John dived feet first down the chute!

And got stuck. "Oh... Blasts!" He wriggled around uncomfortably. "Frito! I'm stuck."

Frito would have laughed if the smell wasn't making him gag.

John screwed his face up, and turned red. The he started grunting, and squirming.

"Wh-what are you doing, M-master John?" Frito asked, his voice oddly changed for his nose was still plugged.

"Well, I've been tied up for a day now, haven't I?" John asked, innocently. "A man's got to relieve himself eventually. And you know... I am in an authentic sixteenth century toilet, after all..."

He paused for a moment, then-

"Ohhh! Master John!" Frito shouted, disgusted.

"I'm just kidding!" John reassured him. "I'm trying to turn into my hamster form." He grunted again, and his eyes turned red. Then his skin turned white, and whiskers sprouted from his cheeks. His skin puffed out, and grew fluffy, then with a whoosh, John was three inches long, white, red eyed, and sharp teethed. The Albino Hamster John let out a high pitched squeal as he hurtled down the chute, the slimy walls flying past him, and then with a small splash, John was out of the fortress and in the storm tossed sea.