"No, brother, every child knows that the prime number of pi is a root, no matter how many times you try to explain it to me!"

Furious, Mario stood on the bow of his rowing boat and presented him a calculator, on which he immediately started typing wildly while calling out random numbers and symbols. But he failed to reckon with Luigi's abacus, because that would undoubtedly refute his theory! At least that was his plan, if Mario, his boat and the bathtub in which his younger brother was sitting, including the sea around it, didn't suddenly disappear into thin air. And he was so close to proving it to him once and for all! Instead of the blue sky, a darkness pushed itself into the foreground, as if the whole thing had been nothing more than a stage set of questionable quality that lost its colour in the middle of the play. What remained was a black canvas, ready for the next performance.

At the same time, his posture shifted from sitting to lying down, and the ground changed from plastic to wood, which immediately put his head and back in a bad mood: an intense, dull pain seemed to have settled down from above to his buttocks and made it impossible for Luigi to produce a grammatically correct sentence, let alone a clear articulation or a comprehensible word. At present, his vocabulary consisted solely of saddled moans that only grew louder as he slowly rolled over on his belly, moving his stiffened bones in the process. Couldn't he have fallen asleep sitting up? He almost longed to be smacked by a carpet-beater!

It must have been hours. It had been broad daylight before, his eyes were strained, before his nose touched the planks, with a dense blackness. Had he been moved inside? Impossible, for he felt a faint breeze on his exposed arms. His pupils, as soon as enlarged, revealed the indistinct contours of his surroundings and allowed him to orientate himself rudimentarily, as long as he didn't move too fast.

Then he stretched his arms forward and placed the open palms of his hands on the wood. He didn't yet stand up, but paused groaning, allowing the suffering tissue to recover. Once again the pain drove away the tiredness and spurred him on to grasp the current situation: What kind of mess had he got himself into again? First the fake holiday in a haunted luxury hotel and now a week later stranded at sea!

He let the meaning of this sink in. What it meant to be trapped in complete isolation, with no way out, no help, no friends, no access to supplies.

"Nooooo!" shrieked Luigi with both hands on his cheeks, out into the big wide world - Jeremiah and Mario would get sick with worry! Worse still, he would starve and die of thirst, the latter first, or drown and freeze to death if the ship sank due to capricious weather, accidents or monsters! He didn't want to kill and eat the other passengers, or be eaten himself! Not take the path of piracy, only to be hanged in the end! Was an undertaking which, for once, was not accompanied by kidnapping or other dangers, too much to ask? Why couldn't he instead deliver goods on Wario's behalf, say, across the country? At most he had to deal with time pressure and stupid customers. Crying now, one of the skills he was extremely talented in, didn't seem wrong with the prospects at all. Though as long as he hadn't run out of options, he saved the tears for later. But if he wanted to prevent the fates he had envisioned, he had to hurry. Had the other passengers possibly woken up in the meantime?

"Hello?" he shouted through the gaps in his set of teeth. "Can anyone hear me?" In response, the surroundings brightened in a flash of white and sank into darkness as quickly as the light had come. Three seconds later it thundered from a distance: The front must have reached them already. Fortunately without rain or stormy winds, but for how long? In the beginning, Luigi thanked the sky for its discharges and their additional brightness. Later, however, one of her primary goals would be to sail into calmer waters before the weather endangered the Soup hen.

He repeated his shouting after the crashing stopped - like the ringing of a lonely ship's bell, his words spread out over deck and ledges, where they were quickly swallowed by the sound of the waves. So either he was indeed the only one awake so far, not bound and gagged, or he had been left behind for whatever reason. Should the latter be the case, he would have to bring the barge to Toad Town on his own: without E. Gadd and his Polterpup. No one could tell him what to do, where to go, and certainly not save him from a dangerous situation. It's high time to get his grey matter into gear!

With the installed automatisms for the sails, he should be able to steer the wooden ship alone if the need arose, but what was one without an iron crew? So first of all, he set his course to find the remaining men and women. It was more advantageous anyway than immediately panicking and shouting that one's own game would end lonely and unworthy.

Above all, however, was the need for a lamp, so he didn't suffer an abrupt break of his neck while descending the steps. Therefore he rummaged in his trouser pockets like a lovesick Truffle Oink for his mobile phone. But all his fingers could get hold of were sturdy cotton fabric and warm, jingling metals. Quietly, he then hummed a melody that would keep the stress during the first ghost hunt to a safe level and dug deeper. After all, the device could have hidden in the folds. Searching again; this time without a key, they merely distracted him and had also laughed triumphantly as Luigi grabbed an elongated object - which on closer inspection revealed itself to be his house key, which turned his joy into frustration. He rewound his head back to the bus stop: had he lost his mobile phone on the way? Climbing up? Or even by the sneaky captain?

It hit him like a punch in the pit of his stomach.

Screeching, he jumped onto his legs with cracking bones and a sudden, glaring pain in his spine bent his upper body backwards. He had frozen to a grotesque statue of an imaginative artist who attributed dramatic meanings to his works in contrast to their appearance, and let a tear flow, moaning. Why, of all people, did he have to be one of those who couldn't sleep on his stomach?

Just the clouds discharged themselves anew, giving him a perfect view. So he saw the sails, tiredly hanging from the masts, moved by the occasional breeze. Since he was paralyzed for the moment anyway, for fear of making his suffering worse, he silently sent two prayers of thanks to the heavens. First, that they hadn't crashed and sunk somewhere or were attacked in the meantime, probably with the same end result. Following that the Soup hen possessed an engine. Unless the tank was empty.

In small steps, he began to lead his hands to his back pockets, where he always kept his wallet. He should normally have felt their absence or presence, but the uncomfortable floor had stunned his seat for an indefinite period of time. Nevertheless, a short wipe was enough to clean them; they were smooth and hardly palpable. He had bought these bibless trousers with extra pockets, especially for the summer, so that on hot days he could wear lighter clothes without being noticed as a walking fashionable sin with the usual work jeans. Fortunately only recently, as not too much cash had remained in his wallet. But the rest of its contents, bank card, personal data, registration document and other rubbish like receipts from petrol stations?

To calm himself down, he took wilful breaths and raised his shoulders with a smile. What was the captain going to do with this stuff? Nail it to the wall and brag to his buddies about what a big haul he had made? And even if he gained access to his bank account, the former would return the card out of pity and put 50 coins in his hand, as no one was allowed to be subjected to the depressing void. The loss of connection to the outside world was the far greater problem than plastic discs. Besides, with the "theft", the payment for the trip was settled. On the other hand, he could easily do without the red tape of new applications.

"Luigi, is that you?" it suddenly echoed from the hatch to the lower decks.

His heart skipped a beat. He was no longer alone! At last he saw light at the end of the tunnel; he wouldn't die in complete solitude if the ship was swallowed by the waves with sad creaking. Excited, he gave away his location aloud, "Here, up here! On the main deck by the rudder!" The answer followed swiftly, "Alright, I'm coming! And don't be frightened, I've got a lantern with me!" With this, the ghostbuster had come a big step closer to the end of the horror. But the longer the voice circulated through his hearing, the more suspicious he became: It belonged to a man and as he remembered, the grumpy Goomba was the only male being on board he had revealed his name to. Besides, he found it a bit strange to see him as friendly, almost worried, and not as an armless howler monkey with likely made-up anecdotes from the barracks. Apart from him and himself as a member of the same sex, the Boo was on board. And his back problem offered an ideal weak spot. The fishbowl was an amazingly hot place, as his forehead attested.

"N-no, no! Stay where you are!" Luigi decided differently, trembling.

"Wait, what? Why?" The plumber saved himself an answer. He then prepared himself physically and mentally to restore his mobility as quickly as possible: Grit his teeth, then press his hands against his hips and finally think of a slurring Mario with a ruff in the shape of an air shaft. Unfortunately for him, however, the picture couldn't make him smile, as he had hoped to double up with laughter, so it was all about willpower and pain tolerance.

So he tensed his muscles, panted twice and counted in his mind: One, two...

"Ah, there you are!" Reflexively, Luigi's body took on the consistency of a statue. Everything but him. "Wait a minute, why are you standing bent up like you've been stabbed in the back? Or is this a new form of gymnastics? If so, I'd be very interested to know who your coach is. Because it doesn't look good for your health if you ask me, but what do I know, I don't even have bones." Neither did the couch-potato see the wraith's own glow, nor his lantern and he didn't want to strain his backbone by turning around. But he felt his intentions, the malice in his neck, a mighty aura that caused spontaneous goosebumps like a life-sized electric razor. Already the scoundrel sensed his promotion to the right hand of his majesty, had possibly even prepared an empty painting frame. Luigi feverishly explored his ways to escape: As if he was sitting in a rowing boat, threatened by a voracious shark, and onboard he had various objects to choose from, each of which seemed to promise rescue. But time worked against him, allowing only one decision to be made before the inevitable attack took place. Run away? Where? He couldn't hide from a Boo! "Maybe your back is just stiff like an old bap from lying there? Good thing I didn't listen to you." Maybe in the water? Open a barrel, empty it out and then float away with it? Wait, how would he stay alive in there? "Hmm, looks like that to me. But don't worry, we can fix that with a little nudge." Play dead! Luigi's genius was radiant. That was the idea! What would the king want with a model who, well, was too busy rotting away to give him his favourite, fear-filled motives? Yes, as soon as his lackey lost interest and turned his attention to other things, the survivor of haunted localities would strike down the villain by surprise!

"This is going to hurt a bit though."

Instinctively, Luigi fumbled hastily in his trouser pockets for the next best item he could use as a weapon, pulled it out violently and held the pointed end over his shoulder, followed by a stammered warning, "Not one step further! I swear I'll stab you if you come near me!" Only then he did notice that a Boo couldn't walk any steps and was already in the process of reformulating the first part in his mind accordingly. Just in case the opponent wanted to take advantage of this loophole. But it wasn't supposed to get that far.

"Really?", the person behind him replied dumbfounded. "I want to help you and you want to gut me with a rusty car key?" He adjourned as if to give Luigi time to reflect on his actions.

"Uh, I meant float, so...", Luigi continued to talk insecurely instead, but brought his vocal cords to a standstill when the strange words penetrated his lost thoughts and forced him to deal with them. Rusty car key? Gutting? What? Did he think he was a maniac with no regard for his car? What disgraceful insinuations, how he indignantly threw it back at his non-existent ears, "You will take that back, as firstly the key was already like that when I bought my car and secondly I only want to give you harmless scratches..."

"It's because I'm a Boo, isn't it?"

"...to think I'm a lunatic because I'm..." His angry tirade suddenly and immediately lost all the wind in its sails when he heard, and the pitiful remnant of it yielded but one word, "What?"

"Don't worry, I understand. If I were you, I'd probably be pretty really mad too. But if we want to get out of this alive, I can only advise you to bury the hatchet for the moment, because we have far more pressing problems right now."

Despite the reasonable view of the cleaner, which Luigi gladly agreed with, especially due to the current situation, part of his being resisted a truce and urged a preventive strike. The wounds of earlier encounters were too deep, had crusted to festering cuts over the years, had been torn open by the ghost since their encounter in the hold. Now, simply sticking a band-aid on them and tersely fobbing off his qualms with "Let's love each other again", salt was sprinkled into the openings at best.

"I'll be damned if I will!" the plumber replied aggressively, strengthening the grip around the key. "To this day, every Boo has tried to kill my brother and me and now one of them suddenly wants to make common cause? Do you actually think I'm completely stupid? Certainly, you're one of King Boo's bootlickers, trying to lure me into a trap!"

"Me? King Boo's bootlicker?" the wraith repeated stoically and then replied, "It may sound unbelievable, but I can assure you that I never had anything to do with that pillock." As smoothly as the ghost made his statement, it was obvious that Luigi was by no means the first to suspect him of being some kind of agent. Often enough to be able to rewind every word, woven into a meaningful sentence including pauses in speech, like a sound recorder.

However, Mario's brother wasn't entirely convinced and grilled him sceptically, "For not wanting to have anything to do with him, you seem to be well informed. So well informed that you even know my name, although I never introduced myself."

"Do you think I have no friends, or at least good acquaintances? One or two..." He broke off in the middle of it, sighed and started again, "Come on, turn around first. Talking with an unhealthy bent back feels kind of silly."

"I could, but I'm afraid my spine would snap in half." The Boo didn't react to this. At least not verbally, because instead of words, Luigi heard rattling metal - a shady sound for him, gave his fears new impetus and lent them the shape of a weapon. With two free hands, of course, the impending doom could be better handled. What could he now do against the enemy? With the agility of an oil tanker, his "knife" proved frighteningly useless. Running away also failed...he was spinning. His limbs trembled uncontrollably, sweat flowed from every pore and his head served rapidly changing images of Mario, Jeremiah, King Boo, his portrificationized, fear-distorted self and, finally, his bloated body in the harbour's dirty waters. And his friends would find him like this.

Why?! He didn't want to finish his game! Not now! Not like this! So many years he had to spend, discovering the world, finally stepping out of his brother's shadow, teaching Jeremiah how to make coffee, and and and and! Why was life so unfair and dumped him like a piece of rubbish?!

That was it. Luigi couldn't hold on to himself anymore. It built up like magma in a volcano, threatening to tear him apart from the inside if he didn't let it out right away. The brain was already shutting down and couldn't provide any additional resources like thinking, except for the basic functions of survival. It could only open his mouth, and already from a tiny slit, everything that troubled him broke out screaming into the world: shrill – and angry.

Then something rammed into his back.

For a short time, the never-ending screaming mixed with a loud crash and within the blink of an eye, Luigi found himself on the hard planks, the bulbous nose of the fall flat as a flounder and had completely failed as a damper.

Silently he remained lying, stretched out. His eyes were wide open, not fixed on any point and looked straight ahead. Like the body of a shipwrecked man who had fought the elements for days and finally had to admit defeat. On the beach, washed over and around by the maltreating waves, the scavengers had a welcome meal. The heart, unlike those unhappy souls, continued to beat, unnoticed by the rest of the body.

"Don't pretend to be so theatrically dead, is your back better now?"

Shocked, the seemingly dead reanimated, leapt up, built up some distance, turned around and came to a halt face to face with the Boo. Warningly, the key was raised, the tip sparkled in the lamplight and another flash gave the bunch of keys the shape of several blades. The plumber's steely stare showed no effect, but his tool shall impose his will.

"Do you still want to kill me?" the Boo asked with a serious expression and lifted the lantern from the ground. "After I've straightened your back? Are you crazy? What have I ever done to you? I've told you I'm not with King Boo!"

"A good deed doesn't make you trustworthy right away," Luigi countered in the same tone of voice, after the rest of the reconstructed brain regions had told him that he was standing upright. His spine was still showing signs of a painful aftermath, but should soon recover. Nevertheless, he forced himself to say "Thank you anyway".

The ghost snorted laughing and shook himself like someone else their head.

"Pah, so I have to earn your trust first, huh? And what, pray tell, shall I do to prevent you from jamming the key into my eye when I make a supposedly wrong move?"

If he had his way, Luigi would lock him in a box and only let him out when they were back home. But his Polterpup alone was the perfect example of why ghosts mercilessly destroyed such a plan. Drumming into him that one wanted to take a bath and not be disturbed and one locked the door? Didn't stop him from coming into the bathroom and watching him or, alternatively, begging to be allowed to get into the tub with him. What the plumber actually needed for the Boo was the professor's escape-proof container.

On the other hand, however, what carved a fine crack in his solidly built image of these creatures, was the latter had gone so far as to help him with his back problem instead of reaping the benefits from his misery. Was this man really the first peaceful representative of his kind? Or did he simply want to lull him into a false sense of security?

"So if you have nothing else to say and are just staring," the monster dispelled the unpleasant silence in frustration, "I would like to end this waste of time and get this stinking cockleshell going again. And to do that, we need a crew first." He was already turning his face away from him. Not so fast!

"Just keep your hands where I can see them." A smile mixed onto Luigi's tense face for a moment. He always wanted to say that!

"If that's all, so that we don't bash our faces in, then whatever. Can we go now?"

Before that, the ghost hunter checked the cleaning staff thoroughly. Especially the headscarf was scanned by the eyes for suspicious bulges that could indicate concealed utensils. To hide a picture frame underneath it was physically impossible, but one never knew. Just when the Boo looked as if he wanted to annihilate him with his look, Luigi straightened up and let the bunch of keys slide into his trouser pocket. Then he nodded and said, "Yes, but I'm watching you, understand?"

His reluctant partner merely turned to face the hatch, apparently without responding. But when Luigi focused his concentration to the ghost, he heard a soft murmur between thunder, waves and fluttering sails. "What are you talking?" the plumber asked alarmed, but waited for an answer until the Boo had reached the first step of the stairs and illuminated them for him.

"I said it's a disgrace that I have to be treated like a criminal just because of my race." Luigi's reason for the bad reputation followed unabashedly not a second later.

"No wonder, as your kind has done..."

"Oh, just shut up and come on. Chop-chop, will you?" For this tone, Luigi thought about taking the lamp from the cheeky rascal, but fighting over a light source in the middle of the darkness rarely turned out well. So, no matter how tempting it was to make the crook dance to his tune with the lantern.

"You don't happen to have a mobile phone on you by chance, do you?", the Boo suddenly asked, but couldn't hide a certain expectation.

"No, it was taken from me along with my wallet," Luigi replied. "Did the captain also slip that sleeping draught off on you?"

"Unfortunately yes, and I really should have suspected something. He was quite a miser; he only let the holes in the ship's sides patch up when a blooper was washed into the lower deck and soaked everything with ink. And then suddenly arriving with tea for all the passengers just doesn't suit him." He growled and contracted his mouth until his teeth made contact with the bottom lips. "Not only did that bastard steal my headphones, he also owes me two months' salary. Now I have to see how to scrape enough cash together for rent." Now he beat the tips of his arms against each other twice. "I tell you, when we find that mug, I'm gonna shove my mop so far up his butt, he won't be able to sit down for the rest of his life!"

Here Luigi agreed with him for the second time. Although the thing with the apartment seemed extremely strange to him, because in his opinion, a Boo should never have gotten one, as wicked as they were. But this was a question for later and he breathed another "thank you" in the direction of his partner, which wasn't met with any reaction by the ghost.

So their common plan was clear: find Beanelda and the couple, put the ship into operation and find the way home. The first two steps shouldn't be a problem - the final part, however, would decide everything.

Arriving at the hatch, the escort was already positioned next to him and lit up for him.

"If we hurry, we can still escape the storm," Luigi's companion informed with a glance out

to the sea. "Because if not, I hope you're a good swimmer. That dead-beat boat will

probably not survive it." A tacit nod of the head confirmed the hint, whereupon the

Ghostbusters paused regardless. There was still one important detail missing before he could go to work with a clear conscience.

"You still haven't told me your name. I don't know about you, but it makes me nervous when people know me, but I don't."

"Booccaneer" the ghost gave his name without emotion and made no attempt to offer him a free arm to shake hands with. Not that the couch-potato took offence at this, would have even refused. "That's all you need to know." Well, Luigi certainly didn't need to know in which criminal activities he was involved in; the name was sufficient.

After this brief introduction, the two finally went below deck.