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Every Grog Has Its Day
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Chapter 6: Gravely in Danger

Five minutes later, Guybrush still hadn’t thought of any great plans, which was fine, as he wouldn’t have been able to act on them anyway. The ship skulked through the early morning fog towards what seemed like a straight wall face, then suddenly a great hole loomed before them, long jagged rocks lining what looked remarkably like a snarling mouth. Guybrush couldn’t help but feel a shudder of horror pass over him as they entered the cavern, which glowed with an evil, dim green light. His one source of comfort was a far-off blinking red ‘exit’ sign, nestled high atop a narrow ledge.

“End of the line, everybody off,” growled Tiddlywink as the gangplank slammed down on a rock shelf. The ghosts, ghouls, and skeletons all shuffled off the ship, Guybrush trying to remain unnoticed as he tripped past the Captain, floating menacingly between the ship and the rock. The cold, glittering gold coins seemed to drill into him, following his every faltering step. Suddenly Guybrush whipped around, shaking the rootbeer bottle violently just before ripping off the cap and shooting a heavy stream of voodoo carbonation straight through Tiddlywink, who roared with fury as he watched himself disintegrate. Guybrush backed away, the bottle waving warningly in front of him to ward off the crowd of specters now pushing towards him. “I mean it, I’ll fire,” Guybrush said as he backed up, right over the cliff edge where he fell all the way down into the murky depths of the swirling sea…

The cold, glittering eyes seemed to drill into him, following his every faltering step. Guybrush sighed. It would happen just like that too. He was never the heroic type, too bumbling and clumsy to ever be the best. No one would ever write a book, or design a computer game after him, whatever that was... But what was it Elaine had once said, back in her mansion on Booty Island? “Your weakness and ineptitude make you infectious…” Elaine liked him just the way he was, even if he was a bit daft, and he was going to do everything in his power to get back to her.

“Hey, you,” said that voice again. Guybrush glanced around. The spook from the ship had managed to find the only shadowed crevice on the whole shelf. No one seemed to be watching, so Guybrush cautiously made his way towards the mysterious figure. And then he blanked out…
“Wha-where- how- Oh good, it was only you, but- WHERE ARE MY FEET!!!???” shrieked Guybrush. Too busily distracted by his lack of feet, he didn’t even notice his new surroundings.

“Oh shut up,” said the Voodoo Lady, sedately stirring something in a big cauldron.
“Here,” she said, tossing him a hand mirror, which to his dismay he dropped. Fearfully he glanced back and forth from its broken shards to the Voodoo Lady.
She waved it off. “Forget the seven years’ bad luck. You’re cursed for life anyhow.”
“Phew,” Guybrush sighed with relief. “Hey wait a second…”
“Anyway,” she interrupted. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about your feet, and the rest of you which you haven’t seen yet?”

Guybrush knit his eyebrows together, or at least he would have, if he had them. He thought he did anyway. “Oh yeah, my feet. Whad’ya do anyway?” He glanced down at his hands, and nearly jumped out of his skin as he discovered they were nothing but bones. Well, he would have jumped out of his skin if… oh you get the idea…
“What did you do to me!!!! I’m dead!!!!!” he howled, casting himself down upon the ground sobbing.

The Voodoo Lady briefly considered letting him cry for a while, but as that would be counterproductive, she merely ordered him to get up, and gave him a voodoo Tear-B-Gone™ handkerchief. He stopped crying and attempted to hand the hanky back, but she waved it off. Guybrush shrugged and tucked it in his pocket. At least he had one of those…
“Before you look at your feet again and start bawling- No! Stop that!” She commanded as Guybrush’s head started to drop. “Please, this is much easier if you would just trust me.”
“But what did you do?”
“Trust me.”
“Okay.”

The Voodoo Lady resumed her stirring as the cauldron started to bubble. “I have given you a disguise. You’re still lovable old pathetic Guybrush underneath, but this disguise will help you roam unchecked over Lockjaw Island. And, it will simply come off in 24 hours like that fake tattoo you got that said “Elaine is my plunderbunny” three months ago.”
“Hey! How’d you know about that?”
The Voodoo Lady shook her head. “Lucky guess.”
Guybrush sat down on a chair, which growled and walked out from under him. “Whoa!” he cried.
“Try the hassock, it’s much more friendly.”
“So what should I do now?” Guybrush asked, perched gingerly on the hassock, afraid of hurting its feelings, or perhaps suffocating it. After all, hassocks, aren’t very big.

A sharp knock on the wall opened a previously unseen cabinet, from which the Voodoo Lady pulled forth another mirror, which she this time brought directly over to Guybrush. He stared at it blankly before passing it back. “Wow, what an ugly guy,” he remarked.
The Voodoo Lady shook her head at him.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. Is that your boyfriend? Everyone’s got their preferences…”
“It’s a mirror, Guybrush.”
“Oh ick.”
“So now you must go out into the day and vanquish the evil that plagues Lockjaw Island and threatens to destroy all the binds pirates to the sea and indeed the entire buccaneering life.”

Guybrush sat back down on the hassock, which unfortunately had moved on to talk with a footstool. “Oompf!” he said as he sunk below the floor a few inches. “Why is my butt stuck beneath the floorboards,” he asked levelly, trying to not submit to anger or hysterics.
“I’m really quite proud of this spell,” the Voodoo Lady smiled. “Why look like a ghost if you can’t have all the benefits?”
“I don’t see any benefits to being dead.”
“And in the meanwhile you’re wasting time.”
Guybrush sighed. “So tell me more about my mission.”
“Your mission, should you decide to accept it (which is silly because if you don’t I’m going to kick you in the head), is this: Find the cookbook LeChuck recorded the voodoo grog recipe in and destroy it. It’s such an old and complicated recipe, complete with picture guide and helpful hints that without it, voodoo grog is impossible to make.”

“And no one’s copied it down somewhere else?” Guybrush asked skeptically.
“It’s voodoo Guybrush!” the Voodoo Lady snapped irritated. “LeChuck never was able to use it himself, and so he slapped an Originality Curse on it, which prevents copyright violators by basically turning them into small furry rats.”
“That’s stupid,” Guybrush remonstrated. “A rat? Shouldn’t they be banished to the bowels of Hell or some other eternal misery?”
“Who do you think you are, Murray? Being a rat is pretty boring. Remember those three men of low moral fibre you met on your first trip to Melee Island?”
“Course I remember those pirates…”

“Well the rat that was with them used to run the general store. He tried to get a pack of fierce piranha poodles to guard the store like Horatio had for the mansion. Of course, old Marley had hired me to originality-proof practically everything in the estate, which guaranteed someone would eventually turn into a rodent. That’s why there’s only one Idol of Many Hands and therefore a trial goal. Any contestant who forged it, well, he was in no position to finish the trials.”

Guybrush shook his head impatiently. “Okay, okay, I understand, no one can copy the book, but how do I find it, and how do I destroy it? And what are you cooking?”
“All questions have their answers Guybrush, and some must wait to be revealed.”
“So you don’t know.”
“Not a clue.”
Guybrush started to pace. He didn’t particularly care that he was doing it three inches above the ground.
He paused. “But you know what’s in the pot right?”
“If you really want to know, it’s cream of wheat.”
“And it’s blue.”
The Voodoo Lady shrugged. “Adds character.”
“So I guess I’ll be on my way then,” said Guybrush, looking around for a door.
“You don’t need a door,” said the Voodoo Lady, interpreting his look.
“Well how’d you get in?”

With a poof of smoke, the Voodoo Lady disappeared, along with the cauldron. The hassock squealed and hid under a bookshelf, which promptly kicked it out.
“And remember Guybrush,” the Voodoo Lady’s voice floated through the air, “Tiddlywink has all the ingredients LeChuck was never able to collect, so you’d better find that book before he raises an immortal army of darkness…” Her voice faded out and the room grew dim.
“Sure, no problem,” muttered Guybrush, stepping out through a wall. It turned out to be a bad wall to step out of, as it was a steep cliff face. “Oh drat,” said Guybrush as he started to fall…


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