“Us? Ride on you?” Red Whale said. “That seems a little disrespectin’ of your eminence, it’s not exactly the way me Mum taught me, you see….”
“STUFFER-NONE-SUCH-SENSE!” The Sealion bellowed, more loudly than before. “SCHNORRCKT! GUZZZANSHNORT! WHY DO YOU THINK I’VE GOT SHOE-LEATHER ALL OVER ME AND FOUR INCHES OF BLUBBER UNDER THAT? THOSE WRACKSHEES ARE SO PROUD OF THEIR SLAGGERS—WHY I JUST SLIDE RIGHT ACROSS THE WHOLE MESS! SCHNORCKT!”
Reginald was extremely angry now—his huge neck bulging, ferocious-looking teeth snapping. He roared and bellowed, the stiff bristles on his nose quivering like trees in a high wind. And, of course, the loud bellowing that seemed like words exploding deep in his sinuses.
“CLIMB ABOARD, FRIENDS! I’LL HAVE YOU ON YOUR WAY IN THE TIME IT TAKES ME TO SNAP THE SHELL OF CRAB IN MY TEETH!”
Red Whale, Fishbum, and Katteo all climbed up on the immense beast, straddling his massive girth as best they could with their legs. But, once they were aboard, Reginald did not move, nor did he say anything. He appeared to be lost in thought and almost unaware of their presence on his back. Minutes dragged by and still nothing happened.
At last, Red Whale ventured to ask, “Say there, Reginald, old salt, did you say we’d be leaving soon? I’m a bit worried that our shipmates may be breaking rock before can rescue them.”
“SSZZZSCHORCHT! YOU WERE PERHAPS IMAGINING REGINALD M.Q. WAS SOMEONE ELSE? PERHAPS YOU IMAGINED HIM A COD-BRAIN OR SOMETHING? OF COURSE YOUR MATES ARE TIP-TOP-TIP IN MY MIND. SNORCHT! SZZORCKT! I’VE BEEN CONSIDERING THE BEST WAY TO EFFECT A RESCUE. JUST GETTING YOU ACROSS THE REEF DOES NOT HELP ALL THAT MUCH—SCHNORFT-SCHNOOFT—AND WHAT WOULD YOU DO THEN? SWIM THE REST OF THE WAY? NO-NO-NO-NO-NOHOOFT! THERE’S A MUCH BETTER PLAN!”
Reginald was so pleased with himself that his hearty laughter set his immense body jiggling. As convulsive waves rippled through the Sealions flabby frame, the three comrades were nearly thrown off his back. “HOOOCH-HOOOCH-HAAACKKK-HAAACKKK-HOOOCHT! OH, IT’S TOO MUCH! WE’LL SET THE WIGGERS ON THEM! HOOOCH-HOOOCH-HAAACCKK! THE BORF WILL LOVE IT!”
“Borf, Reginald? And who would the Borf be?” asked Katteo.
“BORF RAIDING PARTIES ARE THE SCOURGE OF SLAVERS AND THEIR KIND! SCHNORKT! SCHZZORKT! OH, I REALLY NEED ANOTHER CRAB—ANYBODY SEEN A CRAB—OH, SO CRUNCHY ON THE OUTSIDE AND, OH, SO WARM AND SQUISHY ON THE INSIDE—OH, YES, LATER—NOW THE BORF HAVE A CAMP NOT FAR DOWN THE COAST. I TAKE YOU TO THEIR CAMP AND THEY HELP YOU GET YOUR CREW BACK! SZZCHORFT! AND NO SWIMMING IN SHARK TERRITORY—OH, I FORGOT TO TELL YOU ABOUT THAT—THAT’S ANOTHER REASON YOU WOULDN’T WANT TO SWIM INTO PORT NEWORF! SCHORKT-SCHZZZOORT! THOSE SHARKS ARE NOT VERY FRIENDLY—MORE LIKE SLICE YOU UP AND SELL YOU FOR THE GRILL! NO, YOU’RE BETTER OFF WITH THE BORF!”
Reginald gathered himself and set off, flopping and lumbering along with surprising speed, following the rocky reef up the coast. Red Whale, Fishbum, and Katteo rode along in something less than comfort—but happy, knowing they could never move across the jagged, slippery rocks without Reginald’s help.
Too Much Slug Beer
The pleasant, raspy cooing of trallés, piled on top of one another in their wagon, brought smiles to the faces of Reek and Stench as they rode along in their skimmer, now turned wagon. They joked, drank Slug Beer, and periodically lashed the team of slaves pulling them along.
“Yep,” Reek sighed happily as he took deep draws on his Slug Beer, “we’ve got ’er made now. A good lot of trallés to sell—we’ll be rich in no time.”
“Well, not so fast, there, Reek—working for Milky Joe’s going to slow down our getting rich. It appears as he’s got our gold to buy the trallés and all we get is Slug Beer until they sells, of which he gets 80% of the profit.”
“Ah, don’t gripe so much, Stench,” Reek replied. “Why, I’d say Milky Joe did us a fine favor letting us join one of his caravans. Since he’s got the trallé market cornered in these parts, we’d have ended up on the pointed end of a dagger, trying to go it alone. Those big hulking Wreckers he sent to educate us about the customs of trading in these parts probably saved our lives.”
“Oh, yeah, Reek,” his partner replied, “a right fine favor to send those goons to take all our money for the favor of not leaving a bludgeon stuck firmly in each eye socket and a dagger in the spleen!”
“Whoa, quiet like, there, Stench. I wouldn’t want to spook anyone with your complainin’—might not sit too good with Milky’s ears—I hear he’s got a lot o’ them on his caravans.”
“My, my, Reek,” Stench said, “here I thought you were Milky Joe’s good little friend.”