Chapter 8: Comes a Parrot

Octorine was the color of magic. So Crackers, the Klatchian octorine parrot, was drawn like a magnet to the thaumic crystal of Ali Badhboi's amulet. But Crackers was not stupid. Before flying up to the lit garret window of the Pseudopolis Yard station, he landed on the roof across the way to check things out.

Sitting in the shadows near the garret was the hideous shape of a gargoyle. Crackers knew a little something about gargoyles. He knew they were made of stone, that they could sit for days, even weeks, totally motionless and then move with a quickness that would make lightning blush. He knew they ate pigeons. He knew that, even though he himself was not a pigeon, the gargoyle was most likely not going to notice any difference. Gargoyles were, after all, not particularly smart. They had rocks for brains.

So how was a parrot, octorine or not, to get passed this bird-devouring monster and into the garret to where Ali Badhboi was? What weakness did stone gargoyle have? It didn't tire. It was incorruptible. It didn't seem to notice if it were hot in summer and cold in winter. It didn't need to come in out of the rain. It didn't chase women, get drunk, or lose the rent money betting on roulette. But it must have a weakness.

How did that children's game go? Stone breaks scissors. Scissors cut paper. Paper covers stone. – - Could it really be as simple as that?

Cracker muttered, "Onwards and upwards," and took flight. He flew along at street level, reading the signs of businesses. When he spotted the Law Offices of Morcombe, Slant & Honeyplace, he looked around for an open window and flew in.

۞

Ursa Beargrease was sitting on one ice pack in the galley while having a second icepack applied to her newly-set broken nose. She let the second icepack droop down so that it chilled her split lip.

Vena asked, "Did she say why she attacked you?"

Ursa replied, "No, and I was even nice enough to loosen her manacles for a few minutes so she could get the circulation back."

Irene Ironfist was leaning up against the galley bulkhead. Her voice was a near growl. "Did she say where she was going?"

"No, miss."

With the rage of an injustice-not-righted burning within her sixteen-year-old heart, Irene turned on her heel and strode out of the galley. She made her way to the wardroom. "Magic Crystal!"

"ZZZzzkkphff. Hummm? Wha?"

"Where is Sireen de Wowwow?"

"It's the middle of the night!"

She glared at it. "I could drill three holes in you, and use you as a bowling ball. Now, where is she!"

"Uh, um, oh yeah. In the garret of the City Watch's Pseudopolis Yard Station."

"Are you sure?"

"Am I what? I'm a magic crystal. Of course I'm sure."

She spun on her hell and started to leave. "Thank you," she said. She started to leave again. "Gentlemen," she added, "Get back to sleep. You have a busy day ahead." She started to leave again. "Sweet dreams," she said and left.

۞

Crackers flew back to Pseudopolis Year, a document clutched in his claw. When he got there, he flew directly at the gargoyle and presented the document. "This is a Writ of Taurus Stercus," he announced. "I am Ali Badhboi's legal counsel, and this document grants me immediate access to my client."

Lance-Constable Entryway-Over-Pseudopolis-Yard examined the document. Most of the words were misspelled, including Crackers' own name; the space for "date" was filled in with the words "nextt Satruday nite?" and the space for the official city seal was filled in with an "X." However, all of this was of no significance because Lance-Constable Entryway-Over-Pseudopolis-Yard was holding the document upside-down. He went over, lifted up the window, and then returned to his sentry post.

Crackers entered.

"Crackerth?"

"Good evening, Igor. Miss de Wowwow, you're looking lovely tonight, I must say. And Ali Badhboi, well, what a fine mess you have gotten yourself into here."

"Crackers, do you have a message for me?"

"Woo hoo, do I ever! Oh, you mean from Doc? Yeah, he wants me to tell you that Tickles is demanding to be freed immediately and wants to know what he should do." Crackers began pacing back and forth, making little up-and-down bounces as he paced. "So ya got yourself locked up in Pseudopolis Yard, eh? Maybe you could use a little help in breaking out?"

Ali Badhboi slowly shook his head. "Half my crew is locked up in here. Tell Doc, he's on his own. He should do what he thinks best."

"Thirty-five perthent, thir, not half."

"Maybe old Crackers," cackled the parrot, "maybe old Crackers just might be able to bust you outta here. Are ya interested? Maybe a little, perhaps?"

"What are you saying?"

"What I'm saying is that, even since this voyage began, you've had that amulet hung uselessly around your neck. You have no more idea of how to use it than Vena the Raven-Haired has of how to use a cookbook. What I'm saying is that I'm a Klatchian octorine. I know magic."

Ali Badhboi fished the amulet from out of his shirt. "You mean this?"

Cracker hopped over next to him. "I mean that." He eyed the amulet hungrily. "You can keep its chintzy 12-carat gold; you can keep its flawed sapphires; just give me this." The parrot reached out with its beak, struggled briefly as he wrestled the thaumic crystal free, and then he swallowed it. "Whoa! By the fanged teeth of Offler!" The parrot staggered for a moment, and then righted himself and shook his head. He exalted, "Onwards and upwards! It's magic time!"