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Secret Revealed
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Chapter 7: There is Another

“This is bad.” Guybrush moaned. “No, this is worse than bad.”
“Worse than having your girlfriend kidnapped by a sinister and undead pirate captain before you’re even initiated as a pirate?” said a voice from the door.
“Well, no, not as bad as that- hey! Who said that?” Guybrush wheeled to behold Elaine, framed by the soft moonlight filtering in through the hall window.
“It’s my snugglecakes!” he cried delightedly. He sprang to her and gave her a tight squeeze.  “Boy am I glad to see you. You’re not going to believe what’s been going on. I mean, first, remember that navigator head back on Monkey-“
Elaine held her hand up for silence.
“Never mind all that. I know it already.”
“You do?” Guybrush asked confused. “How?”
Elaine jerked a thumb back to indicate the three men of low moral fibre (pirates) who stood in the hall.
“They weren’t sure when you were ever going to fix things around here, so they came and got me.  It’s good to be Governor.”
“Great! Then you have a plan how to get those pants right?” asked Guybrush.
“Correction,” Elaine amended, “had a plan. I’ve already gone and gotten the pants.”
“Oh this keeps getting better and better!” cheered Guybrush. “Let’s go defeat some dead pirate butt!”
Elaine sheepishly grinned.
“There’s just one problem.”
Guybrush’s face fell.
“Guess the end of the game is further away than I thought.  What problem?”
“I traded your ship for the pants, AND she still wants to kill you.”
 “And I want my Voodoo Doll head back too,” chimed in the Voodoo Priestess.  “I was going to enter it in the Caribbean Witch Crafts and Projects at Home contest, and I can’t do that without a head.”
“Can too.” Guybrush said. “It’s art.  It’s very true to life.”
“I don’t think so, Guybrush. Just bring me back my head.”
Guybrush sighed.
“Alright, alright.  C’mon Elaine, we’d better look at those pants now. I think we’ve spent enough of our young lives trying to find The Secret of Monkey Island™. No sense wasting more time arguing over art.”
 “The pants please.” Elaine said to the men of low moral fibre (pirates).  The leather pants were handed over, and from the depths of one of the pockets, Elaine produced a grimy piece of paper.
“Do you feel nervous?” she paused to ask Guybrush.
“No, not at all. Why do you ask?”
“Your skin is ashen gray and clammy, and you’re knees are knocking together so loudly I can’t hear myself think.”
“Oh, well, I’m just cold.”
Elaine unfolded the paper.  With a sudden flash of light, she disappeared.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” howled Guybrush.  “Four complete LucasArts™ action games, twelve different islands, less than one year of marriage, and you take her away from me? Curse you narrator! Curse you! How could you be so cruel?!I hope you-“
Hold it right there.
Guybrush sunk to the floor sobbing, evoking similar tears of sympathy from all the not so tough as they thought hardcore gamers.
I didn’t do anything.  Why do you assume that I did anything.  It’s always the narrator’s fault. Sheesh. Show a little credit for all the good things that happen. There are no clouds tonight for example. But all you can think about is yourself and your stupid need to survive.
Guybrush looked up.
“Do you mind? I’m having a personal crisis here.  I told Elaine to open that paper and read The Secret of Monkey Island™ and now she’s dead.”
She’s not dead.
“Oh.” Guybrush got to his feet. “Why didn’t you tell me this before I made a fool out of myself?”
You were busy weeping like a baby.  Tell Elaine that when you see her. She might think it’s cute that you were crying over her.
“So where is she?” Guybrush asked, noisily blowing his nose on the handkerchief handed to him by the Voodoo Lady.  He passed it to Joe, who tearfully thanked him.
Think about it Guybrush. Going to what part of the island are you dreading the most?
Guybrush groaned.
“Of course. The volcano.”
Now go out there and make me proud.
*****
Guybrush peered in over the edge of the crater.  Far below him, molten rock swirled and percolated like a deadly brew of Starbuck’s.
“What’s Starbuck’s?” asked Guybrush.
You’ll like it. Promise.
“How can I help you?”
“Hi Lemonhead. Say, you wouldn’t know how to get to the heart of the volcano would you?”
“I sure do. And for you, I’ll even take you there myself.  Actually, for you, I’ll get one of my subordinate lesser people to take you. After all, it is an active volcano.  Do you see that doorway?”
Guybrush squinted, trying to distinguish anything along the interior rock wall.
“The one under the neon sign that reads ‘Grog, Baby, Yeah!’?”
“No, the one below it.”
“The one with the skeleton guards? That makes more sense.”
“Actually, for you, I’ll give you this nice memento rock to remember your time at The Authentic Cannibal Village, where it’s Food, Fun, and Food for the Whole Family.  Open on week days from 9 to 3, cash and all major credit cards accepted.  You can probably use it to hit the guards too.”
“Gee thanks,” said Guybrush dryly. “You guys are awfully generous.”
“We’re cannibals. We could eat you instead.”
“I like rocks.”
Lemonhead left with the three men of low moral fibre (pirates), who were trading recipes with him on the best ways to deep-fry the leather pants.
“Well this shouldn’t be to hard.” Guybrush said.  He whipped out the umbrella from Herman and leaped over the side. He plummeted towards the bubbling lava, then suddenly the umbrella opened, and he gently glided down, stepping onto the ledge where the two guards stood surprised.
“State your business,” growled one.
“Gee fellas, I couldn’t help but notice that you looked a little unhappy. Is it the dating life? Girls just can’t seem to appreciate that undead bones and bones type, huh?”
The skeletons nodded sadly.
“I just think it’s kinda funny that no one ever told you two about the benefits of a Lava-Wash.  All you have to do is say the magic words, and leap into the lava, and you’ll look just like me, with skin, muscle, and hair. See? Don’t I look great?”  One of the skeletons doubtfully peered over the edge down at the lava.
“I don’t know,” he said.  “How do I get out of the lava once I’m done?”
“You fly out of course. How do you think I got up here?”
The skeletons exchanged glances.
“Maybe we should just push you back in, just to be sure.”
“And make me late for my appointment? Chuck-Chuck isn’t going to like that. Let me in, I’ve got to do a facial peel and a Hibachi grill before I’m done here today.”
The skeletons opened the door and hesitantly let him pass.
“Wait a second, what are the magic words?”
Guybrush began to shut the door.
“Just think happy thoughts.”  He barred it, placing a waiting room chair against the handles.
“Happy thoughts, eh?” said a guard. “Got any happy thoughts Pete?’
“Not being a skeleton would make me happy.”
“I don’t know.” They continued to stare over the edge.
Guybrush surveyed his surroundings.  The plush chairs and soft elevator muzak really gave it a nice atmosphere.  The pasty-faced ghoul behind the receptionist desk stared at him over her glasses.  Guybrush walked towards the door labeled ‘inner office.’
“Stop!” ordered the secretary.  “You can’t go in there.  He’s in a meeting.”
“Stand aside specter, I mean to destroy your boss.”
“Oh, well, in that case, go ahead in. I’m tired of making coffee for someone who can’t drink it.”
Guybrush strode through the door and slammed it shut.
“Alright LeChuck, I have had enough! This time you’re going home in a box. Now where are you?”
“Right here Threepwood. PREPARE TO FACE THY FINAL DOOM.”
Guybrush strained in the darkness.
“Show yourself, dark and sinister man! I want my wife back. Come out and fight me!”
LeChuck’s voice reverberated around the room, making it difficult for Guybrush to determine where he was.
“You don’t want to hear my evil and dastardly plot first?”
“Not particularly.”
“Let’s talk about your childhood then. I know how much you loved your childhood.”
“I’m over that, LeChuck. I got therapy.  Which is why I’m not afraid to face you now. So come out and do something so I can send your rotting cursed self back where it belongs.”
“Really? That’s all you want to do? No heated political discussions, no board games? A little round of canasta might really hit the spot.”
Guybrush stopped pacing.
“What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you come out?”
“I’m a little self-conscious today, that’s all.  Besides, I can defeat you from where I stand!”
“Well do something, my leg’s falling asleep.  So what’s the torture special on the menu today? I guess I’m ready to hear your evil plot. How are you going to win?”
“THROUGH SHEER FORCE OF WILL!  Your doom is at hand, Threepwood, and its completion will give me the ultimate power and control of the ENTIRE WORLD!”
“Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You don’t sound like yourself. You sound more like,” Guybrush’s hand raced along the wall until he found the light switch, and flipped it on, “Murray!”
Murray sat on a cushion in the middle of the floor.
“You’ll pay DEARLY for that! I won’t STAND to be treated like this!”
“You won’t stand for anything. You’re just a skull.”
“Well, true, but when has that ever stopped me?”
“Can I just have Elaine back and we can all go home?”
“NO.”
“Aw, come on.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Murray, why not? I thought we were friends.”
“We WERE, until you choose that anchor,” whined Murray hurtfully.
“So why the whole LeChuck thing anyway? I don’t get it.” Guybrush said.
“I was hired.  I used to do a lot of acting you know, before the whole dead thing.  I’ve done Hamlet. Now all I can do is Yorick. I just sit there and look dead. It’s just not fair!”
“Gee, I’m sorry Murray, I was just so caught up with saving the monkeys, animal rights activists protesting and all, I simply ran out of time. Next thing I knew I was getting married [“Which I wasn’t invited to!” grumbled Murray] and off on my honeymoon.  And then there was that whole phony death report catastrophe, and oh Murray! I am just so sorry! Wait, did you say, hired?”
Murray scowled.
“Yes, hired. And you’ll never guess who.”
“Who?”
“Guess.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You’re going to have to. I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“I’ll give you a cookie.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal.”
“So who is it?”
“Guybrush, there is another.”
Guybrush frowned. He sat down next to Murray.
“Another what? Another sequel? Another fake LeChuck? Ano-“
“NO FOOLISH MORTAL!” roared Murray. ”Another Threepwood, Guybrush. And she’d like to kill you.  You need to catch up on your Lucasfilm™ productions.  Here I am delivering a heavy and important line and all you can think about is your career. Why I put up with you is beyond-“
“Here’s your cookie Murray. I gotta go find Elaine.” He dashed off out the back door.
Murray crunched in the darkness.
“Oooo, macadamia.”
 



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