"The Ties That Bind"
When my eyes had adjusted, I looked around to find myself in a small, dark chamber. The wound on my leg was still hurting badly, but the bleeding had stopped. My arms and legs were still bound and I was laying on the dirt floor. My first job was to get untied and to find my way out of here.
I had noticed, when they tossed me down the middle chute, that there were two other chutes on either side of. Assuming that all three chambers were next to each other and on the same level, the place label “Metal Melter” should be on my right and the “Dungeon” should be on my left. The girls would probably end up in the dungeon, but my first concern was to save Rob and “The Spell Book of Androganine” (which was still strapped to his back). The girls wouldn’t be harmed right away—at least not until after I had been tortured.
With that in mind, I examined my surroundings closely. There was only one door leading out of the chamber—other than the chute that had dropped me in. The only light was streaming in through a small latched window in the door; presumably so the guards could peer in on their prisoners.
There was a wooden bench in one corner. Bits of chain hung from a piece of wood that was suspended overhead. I couldn’t tell what was holding the wood up, though.
Struggling to my knees, I waddled over to the bench. Leaning up against it, I began rubbing the edges of the ropes (that bound my arms) up against a rough edge. Soon the ropes snapped, freeing my arms to quickly untied my legs.
The chamber had an odd, but familiar smell. The walls were brown, but a different kind of brown than the dirt. I went over to touch the wall and immediately knew what the smell was. The walls were made of paper. Brown paper, to be exact; the kind of brown paper used in brown paper bags.
Taking out my pocket knife, I cut into the brown paper without too much trouble and tore myself a large enough hole to peer into the next chamber.
I saw two guards trying to hoist Rob into a bubbling vat. Looking around I discovered that their spears were leaning against a small table just within my reach. I cut a slit down the bag wall large enough for me to fit through. Quickly reaching in, I grabbed one of the spears.
“All right, don’t move!” I ordering, tearing through the rest of wall. “Put him down, very gently.”
One of the ants quickly spun around, but froze when he saw me poised with his spear aimed at his heart (or at least what I thought ought to be an ant’s heart).
“Please don’t hurt us,” begged the ant.
“Just do as you’re told and no one gets hurt,” I said.
Slowly putting Rob down, they each took one step away from him. They seemed to be extremely fearful of me; more so than I would have expected.
“Now turn around, very slowly,” I instructed.
They complied, with all four of their arms in the air. They were very young looking and appeared to be more junior than senior guards.
“You,” I indicated with the spear, “reactivate him.”
The guard picked up the power pack and re-installed it in Rob’s back. Immediately he came out of his slumped position and I could tell by his lighted panel that he was quickly running through his diagnostic tests.
“All systems functioning,” he reported.
“Good to have you back, my friend,” I said.
Looking toward the guards again, I motioned the two of them with the spear. “Into the Torture Chamber.” I grabbed the other spear, figuring that it might come in handy.
They complied again and keeping a close eye on them, I instructed Rob to come on in to join us. Rob rolled toward the bag wall and using his pincers, tore at the hole, making it large enough for him to fit through.
“Rob, analyze the material of those chains and shackles hanging up there,” I indicated with my head.
“Iron,” he replied without hesitation.
“Can you magnetize them?”
“Affirmative,” he stated, extending his arms. I heard the familiar hum of his magnetic ray.
“How long will it last?” I asked.
“Three hours.”
“Perfect. Kindly hoist your former captors up to the chains,” I instructed.
Rob turned his magnetic ray on the two guards’ belts and hoisted them up toward the ceiling. When the chains had taken their magnetic hold, Rob lowered his arms. The two guards kicked and fought for a few seconds, but realizing that is was futile, relaxed for their three hours stay.
“Sensor scan?” I asked.
“Five lifeforms behind that wall,” indicated Rob, “sensors indicate Melissa, Lisa, Cindy, Woba and one formacidae.”
“Rob, you can call it an ant,” I smiled
“Affirmative.”
* * * *
When the girls landed at the other end of their ladle, they found themselves in a brown cell. There was one wooden bench off to the side and seated on that bench was one ant. A sad looking, imprisoned ant.
“I see the old bat’s got a few more visitors,” he said, “and meat-people at that.” He was a friendly looking ant.
“Are you a prisoner as well?” asked a surprised Lisa.
“Yes,” he replied pleasantly, “I am accused of the crime of being ‘anti-ant.’ Actually, I’m only ‘anti-Queen ant.’ You see, since the real queen—Queen Anna—died, her evil sister Agatha has taken over the throne. She is cruel and wicked; chopping off the arms of her guards if they disobey her. One arm for each time they disobey. There are five guards alone that are now down to only one arm each.”
“Why is she so mean?” asked Cindy.
“It has something to do with her being dumped by some well-to-do termite prince—the details are sketchy. But tell me about yourselves; I’ve never seen such tiny meat-people.”
After the introductions had been done, Melissa related the entire story of our adventures. Meanwhile, Lisa and Cindy untied Woba, who complained about the circulation in his leg.
“How do we get out of here?” asked Melissa, after she had finished her story.
“Well,” started the ant, who had asked them to call him Teddy (which was short for Theodore Salvador Clavidor Ant), “the walls of this dungeon were made to be ant-proof. But, since you are meat-people and not ants, you should have no problem with them.”
“What are they made of?” asked Lisa.
“Paper,” stated Teddy.
“Paper?” questioned Cindy.
“Certainly. We ants can’t chew through paper.”
“But wombas can kick through paper,” stated Woba, who had been galloping around once his legs felt better.
“Stand back,” he announced. Positioning himself against one of the walls, Woba readied himself to kick back his hind legs, like a donkey.
“I wouldn’t kick that wall, if I were you,” quickly cautioned Teddy.
“Why not?” asked the womba.
“It’s solid rock behind it,” he chuckled.
“Oh,” paused Woba.
“Try the other wall,” suggested Teddy, pointing toward the left. “Behind it is the Torture Chamber.”
“That’s where Larry is,” reminded Melissa.
“All right,” said Woba, repositioning himself against the proper wall, “here goes.”
His hind legs lashed back with such force, that the paper tore without any problem whatsoever. He then turned around and began munching on the paper.
“Brown paper is good eating paper,” Woba said, excitedly. Just as Woba began his paper feast, I peeked in from the Torture Chamber.
“So this is how you greet a long, lost comrade,” I chuckled.
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