The Memoirs of Guybrush Threepwood, Volume II…
A Monkey Island 2: LeChuck's Revenge Walkthrough
In the time following the publication of my first volume of Memoirs, I have found myself much in demand as an author of books, discoverer of lost riches, and highly-regarded after-dinner speaker. Throughout my travels, many have found themselves enlightened, entertained, and overawed by accounts of my adventures – both my epic battle to the death with the Ghost Pirates LeChuck, and the many colorful exploits that marked my career thereafter. Yet none of these tales compares with my greatest marked my career thereafter. Yet none of these tales compares with my greatest adventure to date: my second encounter with the diabolical scoundrel LeChuck, and my discovery of the legendary treasure of Big Whoop.
Therefore, at the overwhelming demand of my large and loyal following, I, Guybrush Threepwood, do now take quill in hand once more and recount this tale of daring, cunning, and surprising wit, in the hopes that it will find its way into the hands and hearts of a larger readership. I have set down one version of my latest endeavor: it is the Full and Unexpurgated tale, complete in every detail and most suitable for the bold of heart and stomach. I warrant that the recounting is accurate in every degree.
Gentle reader, behold and mark well the tale that follows…
[h4]THE UNEXPURGATED ADVENTURES OF A JOUNREYMAN PIRATE[/h4]
I am robbed of my coin and learn more of my quest
I arrived on Scabb Island near sunset, rested from my long quiet days at sea and ready for whatever new challenges befell me in my search for Big Whoop, the largest and most mysterious lost treasure known to piratedom. I had brought with me ample coin and other rich baubles to help fund the expedition…weakth that U was not destined to enjoy for long. On the bridge at the Woodtick city limits, I was accosted by one Largo LaGrande, an obnoxious little man (vermin, really), who forcibly wrested all my belongings from me. Because Scabb Island has no local constabulary, it was futile to call for help. In that moment, I determined to have my revenge on this LaGrande, at whatever cost.
Left on the bridge, broke but unbroken, I noticed a nearby sign bearing the international symbol for “No Digging.” I attempted to pick up the sign, but only succeeded in breaking it. Still, I was pleased to have at least one new possession with which to fill my empty pockets – even if it was only a rusty old shovel.
I crossed the bridge and entered downtown Woodtick – a decrepit little hamlet of junked ships and the wreckage of unsalvageable human lives. The first shop on my right was that of the local woodsmith, who told me what he knew of the bully LaGrande. Next door, the town’s cartographer, Wally, proved even more informative: he knew a great deal about Scabb Island and its neighbors – and shared my interest in Big Whoop. I borrowed some writing paper from a pile in his shop, and, as he rested his eyes, I also helped myself to his monocle. (From my prior adventures, I had learned that a fine glass lens has many uses in the hands of a clever pirate.)
Continuing down the lane, I dropped down the hatch into the Bloody Lip Bar & Grill to see if I could get someone to buy me a drink in exchange for a good story. I was talking with the barkeeper when Largo LaGrande burst into the bar and shook down the barkeeper for his day’s earnings. (He also left a disgusting glob of green spit on the wall.) Since it was clear that there was no such thing as a free lunch – at least, not in Woodtick – I left the bar and continued my explorations.
Outside, I looked over the edge of the bar ship, and noticed three small, well-lit windows just below the stern. I carefully lowered myself over the edge of the ship and through the first window, into the ship’s kitchen. The cook was an extremely rude fellow, so I didn’t spend much time talking with him, but I did purloin a kitchen knife off the table in the center of the room before leaving through the open window.
Back on Woodtick’s main boardwalk, I kept to the left and soon found myself at the Swamp Rot Inn, the local hostelry. The innkeeper, who was only slightly more helpful than the chef, was not inclined to let me explore the inn, so I distracted him by using my newly acquired knife to cut the rope that restrained his pet alligator. I helped myself to a handful of the Cheese Squigglies™ from ol’ Pegbiter’s dish, and climbed the stairs. Opening the door, I found myself in a filthy bedroom – which, I soon learned, belonged to Largo LaGrande. Retreating (at least for the nonce), I returned to the boardwalk and pressed on.
The last place in Woodtick was Mad Marty’s Laundry ship at the far end of the boardwalk. Marty himself proved too deaf to hold any kind of meaningful conversation, but the three Men of Low Moral Fiber hanging around on the back of the ship looked oddly familiar. As soon as I saw their rat, it all clicked into place. These were the same three men who had given me those useless PTA notes in my last adventure. I stopped to talk to them and they brought me up-to-date on their dramatic adventures, and even let me take their bucket, just for old times’ sake. Nothing like old friends, I always say…
Based on my conversations with the various citizens of Woodtick, there appeared to be a strong consensus that something needed to be done about this Largo person, and soon. Like a voodoo doll, maybe. Indeed…a voodoo doll. Yes. And speaking of old friends, I knew just the person who could do it.
Tired of sightseeing, I returned to the bridge and headed for the swamp on the east edge of the island. Using the coffin awaiting me at the edge of the swamp, I rowed out through the trees until I came to a huge wooden skull with jaws that closed ominously behind me. I left the coffin and checked out the parlor or the International House of Mojo – for indeed that is where I was. There was nothing of real interest, though I did take a bit of string from the table with the skull on it. As I entered the back room, however, the Voodoo Lady recognized me instantly – even through my new beard.
As we talked, she revealed that Largo LaGrande was far more than a miserable little terrorist – he was, in fact, a toady and henchman of my old nemesis, the dreaded Ghost Pirate LeChuck! Not only that, he was extorting money from the poor residents of Wootick and refused to let anyone leave the island – he called it his “Largo Embargo”. The only good news was that the Voodoo Lady was delighted and eager to help me make a voodoo doll of Largo – once I rounded up ingredients from the four basic voodoo groups. She even gave me a shopping list: one item from Largo’s head, one from his threads, one from his body, and one from the dead. With renewed determination, I climbed back into the coffin and rowed back to shore.
I exact my revenge
As I rowed, I devised a plan for collecting the four ingredients. The first order of business was to get something from Largo’s clothes. When I arrived on the shore of the swamp, I filled the bucket with mud before heading back to Largo’s room at the Swamp Rot Inn. Once inside, I noticed a toupee on a wig stand on the dresser, and pocketed it. One from the head – that was easy. Next, I carefully propped the bucket over the bedroom door, and hid behind the screen, awaiting Largo’s return. I didn’t have to wait long. The bucket made a splendid mess of Largo’s clothing, and got stock on his head besides. He struggled unsuccessfully to remove it, and eventually stumbled out of the room in search of help. I quickly took my leave…though I ran into Largo again at Mad Marty’s, where he was dropping off his swamp-begrimed laundry.
Collecting a sample of Largo’s precious bodily fluids might have proved a difficult challenge for a lesser pirate. For Guybrush Threepwood, however, this type of subtle task is all in a day’s work. I merely wandered over to the Bloody Lip Bar & Grill, and used a piece of the cartographer’s paper to wipe up the gross green spit glob that was still clinging to the wall. Two down, two to go. Next, I went to Mad Marty’s to check on the status of Largo’s laundry. The old guy may have been half blind and totally deaf, but he wasn’t about to give me the laundry without the ticket, so I returned to Largo’s room. Fortunately, he wasn’t in, even more fortunately, he’d left his laundry ticket on the back of his hotel room door. I took it to Mad Marty, who promptly presented me with Largo’s threads. I didn’t recall ever seeing Largo wear this particular item before, but there are probably some questions better left unasked. Besides, I had my bits of head, thread, and body…and it was now time to turn my attention to the question for something dead. Yuck.
The cemetery on the southeastern corner of the island seemed the logical place to being my search. My hunt for Largo’s ancestors took me all the way up the distant hill, where I finally found one Marco LaGrande, buried under a large gravestone. I took up my shovel, and began digging. By and by, I hit pay dirt – in this case, a bone. Hoping it wasn’t just a beef sank buried by a neighborhood dog, I stashed it in my coat and returned to the International House of Mojo. The Voodoo Lady was waiting and ready. Moments later, I had everything I needed to make good my revenge on Largo LaGrande.
As I expected, I found Largo in his hotel room. Despite his repeated attempts to throw me out, I persisted until I got my chance. Quickly, I started poking the pins in the doll, with remarkable results. Within minutes, Largo was gone from Woodtick for good. The only drawback was that he’d gotten away with one of my favorite souvenirs: LeChuck’s living beard, from which (he said) that villainous spirit could be reanimated.
I learn a terrible truth, and face Dread
The Voodoo Lady confirmed that, for once, Largo wasn’t lying. The terrible truth of the matter was that I would have to face LeChuck once again. Although she could not offer me any protection, she hinted that my deliverance might lie in the successful discovery of Big Whoop and handed me a book entitled “Big Whoop: Unclaimed Bonanza or Myth?” According to the book, the only map ever made of the treasure’s location had long ago been torn into four pieces. The key to the treasure – and my ultimate defeat of LeChuck – would be to find each piece, and recreate the map. It would be a treacherous and difficult quest – a job for only the most skilled and resourceful of adventurers. Emboldened by the Voodoo Lady’s words, I set out in search of a ship.
I decided to ask Fink and Bart, the two pirates on the beach, for advice. (Along the way, I found a sturdy stick on the ground, which I added to my meager collection of belongings.) The two pirates referred me to one Captain Dread, a sailor who lived on the far peninsula at the southwest corner of the island.
Eager to being my expedition I headed over, only to find out that, the good Captain refused to take me to sea until I could come up with a new lucky sailing charm and 20 pieces of eight. I easily convinced him that the cartographer’s monocle would serve as a fine new sailing charm. Raising the money would require slightly more cunning. It looked as though there was nothing for it but to abandon my principles and look for a steady job…if only for a few days. On my way back to town, I devised a brilliant scheme by which I would be quickly employed. The trick, I realized, was to build a better rat trap.
At Mad Marty’s laundry ship, I opened the small box on the ground, and used the stick to prop it open. Next, I tied the string to the stick, and places some Cheese Squigglies™ inside the box. I walked to the end of the string, waited until the rat took the bait, and pulled. From there, it was a simply matter to open the box…pocket the trapped, cowering rat…sneak once more into Bernard’s greasy kitchen…neatly deposit my furry catch in the vichyssoise…and retreat once more out the window (Lest you, gentle reader, think me heartless and cruel to have subjected a helpless animal to such a fate, I hasten to remind you that vichyssoise is a cold soup. The rat had a good meal and went his merry way.).
All that remained was to enter the bar through the front hatch, ask the barkeeper about the soup, and wait for Bernard to be shown the door. Within moments, I was being offered a job – and a week’s pay up front. Money in hand, I hustled into the kitchen, out the open window, and off once more to Captain Dread. It was high time for me to get off this miserable rock.
I go in search of the first map piece, and find myself in Phatt City
After chartering his ship, we cruised aimlessly for awhile. While we did this, I stepped outside for some fresh air. I noticed a bag of parrot show and picked it up, thinking (quite correctly, I might add) that it would come in handy later. I then headed back into the cabin, and told Dread that I wanted to go to Phatt Island. After a long and circuitous journey, Dread and I reached the island, where I was surprised to find that, for some inexplicable reason, I was a wanted man. One of Governor Phatt’s goons arrested me the moment I stepped off the dock, stripped me of my belongings, and threw me into the most miserable jail cell this side of Part-au-Prince. Along the way, I had an unpleasant audience with Governor Phatt, who explained gleefully that the Voodoo Lady’s awful premonition was true: LeChuck was indeed alive and well, and had put a bounty on my head – a bounty the governor was determined to collect.
As usual, my native wit and cunning served me well. While cooling my heels in jail, waiting for LeChuck to come round and collect me, I found a stick under the bed’s rock-hard mattress, which I then used to retrieve a bone from the skeleton of my unfortunate neighbor. The bone proved to be attractive bait for the jailhouse dog who in his eagerness to collect it, dropped the cell door key within easy reach. Using the key in the cell door, I handily liberated myself – and the two large envelopes on the nearby bookshelf. One contained all my earthly goods, which I re-pocketed, the other contained a…uh…banana. And a barrel organ. (All things, considered, I would have preferred a sword and a bottle of near-grog.)
Stepping out into the street, I turned toward the library. In the first alley to my left, I discovered a fancy rogue engaging a local ruffian in a game of roulette. Among the prizes offered were a large pot of cash (which I certainly could use), a vacation (not at all attractive, given that I had just passed a restful stay in the nearby jail), and an invitation to the gala Mardi Gras party given by the rich and beautiful Governor Elaine Marley, administrator of nearby Booty Island. My own fair Elaine! Though I had not seen her in quite awhile, I craved the luxury of basking in her bounteous presence once again. Besides, I thought, she might know something about Big Whoop. I decided to secure the party invitation for myself.
The ruffian playing the game before me proved to be an unnaturally consistent winner; when he left the game, I trailed him into a second alley on the other side of the library, which was dominated by a formidable-looking green door. Hiding among some nearby crates, I watched carefully, for my sharply-honed pirate instincts told me that the secret to his success lay on the other side. The green door was home to the Gamblers’ Club, which used an elaborate password to identify its members. After the ruffian got his number and left, I approached the door and tried to open it. Using all the charm and savoir faire I could muster, I assured Bruno, the doorkeeper, that I was a legitimate club member. He put out his hand and began to signal the password numbers. By my keen powers of observation, I knew that the first number he showed in each set of two would be the correct password, no matter which number followed it. Convinced by my brilliant ruse, Bruno gave me a winning roulette number to bet.
Returning to the game, I quickly collected my invitation to Elaine’s party, and then ducked into the library for a little peace and quiet…and maybe something to read at sea during Dread’s endless meanderings. A model lighthouse by the door caught my eye. When I attempted to open it up for a closer look, a small glass lens fell out, which soon found itself a new home in my pocket. Next, I turned my attention to the card catalog, looking for anything that might be useful to me as a pirate, or in my search for Big Whoop. I made a note to remember “Great Shipwrecks of Our Century” (Filed under D for Disaster). “The Joy of Hex” (see Recipes, Voodoo), and “Famous Pirate Quotations (under Q, naturally). Finally, under “Humor,’ I found the classic “Dumb Pirate Jokes.”
The librarian at the rear of the library issued me a temporary library card, and found all my books except “Famous Pirate Quotations,” which she said had recently been checked out by Governor Phatt. After a brief conversation with an arrogant fisherman on the nearby dock (which ended when I wagered my fishing ability against his favorite rod), it was time to get to Elaine’s party. Besides, I thought it best to leave the island before Phatt’s goons realized I was gone. I returned to Dread’s ship, and set sail for Booty Island.
I find a Booty of two map pieces – and lose them both
News of LeChuck’s bounty had not yet reached Booty Island, and I was free to wander the charming Ville de la Booty. According to my invitation, costumes would be required for entry to Elaine’s party, so I began at the costume shop.
Something grand and manly, I thought to myself. A cannibal’s bones, or an Aztec warrior’s gleaming cape of feathers, or a rough but elegant suit of IndyWear™. Something to make Elaine feel all those old urges…
The shopkeeper had other ideas. Every costume in his shop had been reserved for Mardi Gras revelers, and he would scarcely even talk to me until I showed him my invitation. Fortunately, a costume had been reserved for the winner of the invitation. It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but I took the costume and left.
Outside the shop, I met one Captain Kate Capsize, who was passing out leaflets for her charter boat tours – and shared my interest in finding Big Whoop. Upon leaving her, I proceeded out the west side of town onto the path to Elaine’s mansion in the northwest corner of the island.
After presenting my invitation to the security guard at the mansion kiosk, I ducked behind a bush, changed into my costume, and proceeded down the path to the mansion. As I made my grand entrance – an eye catching vision in pink tulle – I spotted the longed-for-treasure of my heart: the first map piece. Good old Elaine comes through again, I thought. She had even framed it and hung it over the mantle, in plain sight. My fellow partygoers were having too much fun to notice as I worked my way over to the wall, surreptitiously tucked the map inside my tutu, and quietly stole out the front door again.
Although I had escaped the party without detection, I had the misfortune of encountering Elaine’s dog while crossing the front lawn. It seems the dog (whom, out of fondness, she had named after me – what a woman!) caught the scent of the map. He alerted the nearby gardener, who hauled me upstairs for that most eagerly anticipated of all human experiences – a chance to chat with an old girlfriend.
Even after all this time, Elaine still proved quite responsive to my natural way with words. Though she seemed a bit angry at first, I was quickly able to charm my way through her defenses, and very soon, she willingly offered me the map and her wholehearted support. Unfortunately, just as we were making up, a gust of wind from the open window caught the map piece and blew it away…
I bolted out of the bedroom in pursuit of the map (stopping only to collect a small token of our mutual passion: the oar that Elaine kept mounted over her bed). I chased the map outside, across the lawn, and into the trees – but all in vain. For, as I watched in horror, a larger gust seized it and carried it away to a distant cliff on the south edge of the island.
No way to retrieve it now: I would have to come back for it later. But, as long as I was here, I decided to help myself to a brief tour of Elaine’s new mansion. I began by confiscating that pesky dog.
Heading around the back of the house, I found some garbage cans by the kitchen door. Ever curious, I rattled the cans to see what might shake loose. I found nothing, but the noise attracted the attention of Elaine’s cook.
His nasty attitude suggested a strong family resemblance to the now unemployed Bernard. Wildly brandishing his meat cleaver, the cook chased me around the mansions and back into the kitchen. I caught a fine fat fish out of the bowl in the table before beating a hasty retreat into the woods. Back in Ville de la Booty, I ducked into Stan’s Used Coffins to catch my breath. That obnoxious used ship salesman from my Mêlée Island days had evidently found himself another, even more grisly, line of work. I took a quick look around, accepted a souvenir hanky from him, and departed.
My encounter with the antique dealer over by the wharf was more profitable. I quickly procured, at fair prices, a well-polished old saw and a large brass ship’s horn. I was also interested in the mirror hanging by the parrot’s perch – unfortunately, so was the parrot. To distract him, I purchased a Beware sign farther down the wall, and hung Dread’s parrot chow bag on the now-empty hook. After the parrot turned toward the food sack, I was able to purchase the mirror.
As I was paying for my selections, I found on the counter one more item of interest – the second piece to the coveted Big Whoop map! Unfortunately, the dealer’s asking price was just a tad steep, and I was forced to return to Dread’s ship without it. But, until I got my hands on it, that map piece was never far from my mind.
I commit assorted acts of pillage and plunder, and secure the first map piece
Back on Dread’s ship, I cudgeled my brains to discover a way to get Elaine’s map piece off that cliff. The solution proved to include a brief return visit to Phatt Island, where I showed that braggart fisherman my fine fat fish. I then had to make a few threatening noises, but he eventually made good on his wager. With my new fishing pole in hand, I returned to Booty Island, and made my way to the cliffs on the southern shore.
The fishing pole worked as smoothly and easily as one of the Voodoo Lady’s potions – right up to the moment that some stupid sea gull snagged the map piece off the hook, soared off to the northeast part of the island, and disappeared into a big tree. I cursed to think that she was probably going to make a nest out of my hard-won prize, and dashed after her as fast as I could go.
A spiraling series of holes had been drilled into the tree trunk, as though someone had once tried to build a stairway to the top. A sturdy plank jammed into the lowest hole confirmed my hunch – and inspired my next brilliant plan. Like most brilliant plans, this one was deceptively simple. I put Elaine’s oar in the second hole, and climbed up to stand on it. Just as I was about to reach back for the plan to continue my way up the tree, the oar suddenly broke, and I crumpled to the ground, unconscious. I remained there for some time, tortured by wild dreams of dancing skeletons with shifting bones. When I came to, I collected the pieces of my broken oar, and set out for the woodsmith’s shop on Scabb Island.
After getting my battered old oar fixed, I decided to try out my well-polished old saw. Finding the Men of Low Moral Fiber sound asleep, I decided that that find hardwood peg leg would make a fine trial of my new blade. It might also distract the woodsmith from his shop, giving me an opportunity to borrow his hammer and nails…
That, I felt, was enough mayhem and pillaging for one day. It was time to drop into the Bloody Lip for a drink of strong grog. The bartender was glad to accept my library car as ID, though he was perhaps less glad to see me again. Along with my drinks (a Yellowbeard’s Baby and a Blue Whale to go), the bartender (who was proving to be a very generous man) gave me a crazy straw. Wow. My mind reeled with the possibilities.
The entertainment in the bar that evening was Jojo, a rather stupid-looking monkey – so stupid, in fact, that when I stuck my banana on his metronome, he was instantly mesmerized. I tucked him into one of my larger coat pockets, and left the bar. (With Jojo and the organ, I figured, I at least had a profitable street act to fall back on if I retried from the pirate biz.)
It was high time to get back to Booty Island. That gull was probably laying her eggs on my map that very moment. Arriving at the Big Tree, I used my reinforced oar and the plank in alternating holes, and climbed to the tree house at the top. Before ducking inside the house itself to get the map, I ran up to the tiptop of the tree and grabbed a telescope. Inside the tree house, the gull proudly protected a huge paper junk pile – with my map somewhere underneath. Fortunately, it didn’t take long for Guybrush the Wonder Dog to sniff out my prize. The first map piece was mine!
I spit into the wind, and recover the fabulous Mad Monkey
Returning to town, I joined the spitting contest being held on the village green. It would add much to my reputation as a fearsome and unruly pirate to hold such a championship, and I applied myself to the challenge with my usual cunning and wit.
First, I amended the game to better suit my abilities. Blowing the ship’s horn to distract the crowd, I quickly changed the field flags around to a more advantageous configuration. Second, based on my observation of Largo’s spitting ability back on Scabb Island, I enhanced the quality of my projectile by mixing the blue and yellow cocktails into a vile, sticky, green concoction, which I sipped through my crazy straw.
As I stepped to the line, I noticed that a handsome young woman at the end of the bench was clearly smitten with me. She kept trying to get my attention with her long red silk scarf, which fluttered tantalizingly in the slightest breeze. Realizing that she was sending me a secret signal about the wind direction, I watched that scarf and waited until the winds favored me. On cue, I let fly my spitball with a loud “Ptooie!”. The crowd went wild, and I collected a heavy bronze plaque in recognition of my unparalleled prowess with phlegm.
It occurred to me that such an impressive-looking plaque might be of some interest to the antique dealer. Upon entering his fine establishment, I asked him once again about the map piece, hoping that he might lower his price for the one-and-only conqueror of the Ghost Pirate LeChuck. He mentioned that he might be willing to exchange it for the fabulously carved figurehead of the Mad Monkey, a ship that had been lost at sea some years before. When I told him who I was, he was so awestruck that he also quickly agreed to buy my bronze plaque for 6000 pieces of eight.
Back outside on the town green, I perused my copy of “Great Shipwrecks of Our Century,” looking for any reference to the fate of the Mad Monkey. The book was a veritable treasure chest of information – including the coordinates of the spot where the ship was lost.
Dread, of course, was disinclined to take his leaking sieve of a tub out on the high seas – and I would have been just as reluctant to be his passenger. Captain Kate Capsize, however, was more than willing to take me to the site…in exchange for all the money the antique dealer had just given me. On Dread’s map, I showed her the coordinates I had found in the book. And, before I knew it, we were there.
Diving over the side of the ship, I descended to the darkest depths of the Caribbean, hoping against hope that the book’s information was right. It was: I came to rest on the sea floor just a few feet from the wreck of the Mad Monkey. It was a simple matter to pull off the figurehead (which, I though, bore a stronger resemblance to Bonzo than it did priceless work of art), step onto Kate’s anchor, and return to the surface.
As promised, the antique dealer gratefully exchanged the second map piece for the monkey head. Two down, two to go. And I had a good idea about where I’d find piece number three.
I consign Stan to a premature burial
The last bit of business to finish on Booty Island concerned my old friend Stan. During my Monkey Island adventurers. Stan, you may recall, had bilked me out of a great deal of gold. Stan, it should be noted, sent me out on the high seas on a ship that barely floated. Stan, faithful readers will remember, was simply the most obnoxious man alive. If revenge is a dish best served cold, I was about to savor an iceberg-size portion for myself.
Upon entering his used coffin shop, I set my scheme in motion by faking an interest in a good used coffin. Stan, ever eager to make a sale, gave me a personal demo of his most expensive floor mode. As he sat in the coffin, chattering on about its useless featured, I closed it, then used my hammer and nails to seal him in. It’s a good thing Stan was so enthusiastic about that particular model, because he probably spent quite along time in there.
With Stan safely out of the way, I did a quick search of his store. Nothing much of interest…except a grisly-looking crypt key on the back wall. I had a hunch that the key opened one of the crypts in the Scabb Island cemetery. I had a chilling image of wandering the cemetery for hours, fumbling that key into the doors of endless dead people. It was certainly something to look forward to…after I cleared up a bit of confusion on Phatt Island.
I get the better of Governor Phatt, and am introduced to Rum Rogers
The first thing I did upon our landing at Phatt City was use Kate’s leaflet to cover the face on my wanted poster. That should confuse the Governor’s moronic goons, I figured. I then took to the path on the left side of town, which led u the hill to the Governor’s Mansion.
The mansion proved to be completely unguarded, which surprised me: if I were as amoral a scoundrel as Governor Phatt, I reckoned, I should have surrounded myself with much more vigilant security. I proceeded through the main gate, across the lawn, and into the house completely unchallenged, only at the stairs did I finally encounter one lone guard, the same ugly bruiser who had arrested me before – a man with fewer brains than your average head of lettuce. It was pathetically easy to convince him that the Governor Himself had ordered my release, and that he was urgently needed elsewhere in the mansion.
Stealing upstairs, I found Governor Phatt sound asleep, with “Famous Pirate Quotations” lying on his stomach. I used my “Stupid Pirate Jokes” book as a replacement (The joke book had not failed to live up to its name). Quickly and quietly, lest I awaken the sleeping blob, I left the mansion and returned to town.
Meanwhile, back in town, my good friend Kate had unexpectedly come ashore, and even more unexpectedly gotten herself arrested. Imagine that.) Though quite indignant, she was glad to see me, and even more glad to see my cell key. As she stormed out of the jail, I noticed that she’d left behind her envelope – a vanilla envelope containing a full bottle of near-grog. Of course I kept it: I was heading for the island’s interior, and would probably welcome the refreshment.
Returning to the path, I eventually found myself beside a waterfall in the northwest part of the island. I climbed to the top of the falls for a better view, and came upon a shiny new water faucet…an odd thing to find in such a remote areas. I found that the still mesmerized Jojo made a perfect monkey wrench, so I used him to turn off the faucet, and walked back down the hill. As I suspected, turning off the faucet had stopped the waterfall’s flow, exposing a gaping hole in the rocks underneath. Entering the hole, I wandered through some decidedly non-primitive waterworks, which led to a sandy beach.
On the cliff above the beach I found a small cottage, the residence of one Rum Rogers, a retired pirate with a penchant for privacy. I soon discovered that sweet-talking the old coot was useless, so I took a more aggressive tone…and goaded him right into the fatal mistake of challenging me to a drinking contest.
Rum may have been cranky, but he was a hospitable guy at heart. He brought me a full mug of strong grog, then returned to the liquor cabinet to get one for himself. While he was gone, I emptied the mug into the potted tree on the back wall, and refilled it with Kate’s near-grog. Rum had lost that drinking contest before he even sat down at the table.
When my host passed out on the floor, I took a look around. What was it about this house that attracted treasure-hunters, and made Rum so vicious about his privacy? First, to shed some light on the subject, I opened the shutters by the front door, and put my mirror in the mirror frame on the back wall. Then I put the telescope in the hands of the giant monkey statue out front. A beam of light reflected from the telescope to the mirror to the brick wall in Rum’s house, burning a spot onto a single brick. Gingerly, I pushed the brick. When the dust settled, I found myself in Rum’s cellar, face to face with a grinning corpse. He had a lot of smile about, for in his right hand was the third map piece.
The chute on the left wall of Rum’s cellar returned me to the beach. I hurried back to Dread’s ship, confident that I would find the fourth piece awaiting me back on that dismal rock, Scabb Island.
I have dealings with the dead, and am rewarded with the ultimate prize
No matter what time of day it was anywhere else, it always seemed to be a dark and stormy night in the Scabb Island cemetery. Drawing my overloaded greatcoat around me, I began to search for the crypt that fit Stan’s key. It didn’t take long: the key easily opened the second crypt in the cemetery, a small stone mausoleum remarkable only for the tiny cross atop its roof.
Entering the tomb, I perused my hard-won copy of “Famous Pirate Quotations,” looking for anything by Rapp Scallion, the one-time proprietor of the beachside Weenie Hut. Next, I compared Rapp’s words of eternal wisdom with the epitaphs on the various coffins. All too soon, I found what I was seeking.
My hands shaking with cold dread, my eyes half-closed to steel me against the specter of death and decay that awaited me, I slowly opened Rapp Scallion’s coffin. When the lid was fully off, the chill moonlight illuminated the coffin’s grotesque contents, and my eyes were filled with the horrible sight of…
Ashes. Just a pile of ashes. Rapp Scallion had been cremated! In a blinding flash, I recalled a dusty jar I’d seen on the shelves of the International House of Mojo, a jar labeled “Ash-2-Life.™” Quickly, I snatched up a handful of Rapp’s ashes and dashed for the swamp.
Unfortunately, the jar on the shelf was just a tore sample, and even more unfortunately, the Voodoo Lady had forgotten the recipe. Fortunately for both of us, my well-traveled copy of “The Joy of Hex” had the information she needed, and I was soon on my way back to the swamp to have a nice friendly chat with a dead man about a map.
This adventure was getting creepier and more surreal by the moment, because the first thing Rapp wanted to talk about when he came to was his Steamin’ Weenie shack. All these years, he had been tossing and turning in his grave, worrying that he’d left the gas on in his restaurant. (Just what I needed. A neurotic ghost.) Just to shut him up, I agreed to go check it out for him. He handed over the key.
Went up to the beach on the north side of the island, used the key to enter the shack, turned off the gas, hurried back to the cemetery, used the Ash-2-Life™ to resurrect Rapp a second time, and reassured him that he’d been right all along: the gas was on, but I turned it off. Eternally relieved, and ready to rest in peace at last, Rapp rewarded me with my ultimate prize: the fourth and final map piece.
Victory is won…and lost.
My triumph was so near that I swore I could hear its heart beating in the trees as I returned to Woodtick, the four map pieces clutched tightly in my pocket. Within hours, I knew, I would enter history as the greatest pirate of all time…the first and only to discover the lost treasure of Big Whoop.
After providing my old friend Wally with a suitable replacement for his missing monocle (the lens from the Phatt Island library’s model lighthouse), I was able to persuade him to reassemble my four map pieces into one master map. To repay his kindness, I ran a small errand for him while I waited. When I returned from this brief mission I found, much to my horror, that Wally was gone – along with my map. The hastily-scrawled message carved into his desk confirmed my worst fear: my old nemesis had been following me much more closely than I had imagined.
What should I do next? Clearly, there was nothing left for me on any of these miserable islands. The only loose end that hadn’t been tied up concerned a huge crate that I’d noticed on the bank of the swamp during my last visit to the Voodoo Lady. As long as I was caught in this dead end, I sighed, I might as well go check it out.
I climbed into the crate carefully, determined to make thorough inspection of its contents. Destiny, however, had other plans. It took less than five seconds to decide that I wanted no part of this crate and its writhing cargo, it took even less time for the efficient minions of United Pirate Shipping to seal me into the crate and ship me off to parts unknown. My adventure had just taken a very different turn.
It was five long days before my reptilian traveling companions and I saw the light again. It was not daylight, nor starlight, that finally greeted my eyes, however – it was the red, eerie firelight deep inside LeChuck’s own impregnable fortress.
I am subjected to LeChuck’s unique brand of hospitality
It was an enormous old castle, full of maze-like hallways that were similar enough to be disorienting, but different enough to let you know that you were completely lost. Of course, my long years as an explorer enabled me to maintain my bearings almost effortlessly. Off to the right of the crate, I discovered a staircase, which I followed up through a small passageway. I continued to bear right, and proceeded straight down a long hallway, finally emerging in a particularly dreary dungeon. To my dismay, I found my old friendly Wally hanging around in the lower cell. The dungeon keys, he said, were kept in LeChuck’s office. The map, I learned, was probably gone for good, but just in case, since Wally was my only link to the map, I decided to spring him.
Getting to LeChuck’s office required some advanced trickery. Looking through my pockets, I found a spit-encrusted piece of paper containing the words to a bizarre song. I didn’t quite remember ever hearing this song before – it was almost like something I’d heard in a dream once. The grisly lyrics sounded like something they might have sung at a truly demented surgeon’s college: knew bones connecting to am bones and head bones and so on. Some of the odder verses described anatomical configurations that were downright kinky to think about.
Speaking of kinky, though, the lyrics did seem to describe the rather macabre artwork on LeChuck’s walls. I looked at the first verse more closely. Though I don’t recall anymore what the exact words were, it was probably something like “head bone to foot bone to hip bone.” I wandered the long hallways until I found a wall panel with a head bone at the top, a foot bone underneath, and a hip bone at the bottom. As I pushed the panel, it opened into another hallway. Aha! Maybe I was onto something here…
I looked at the song’s second verse, and again found a wall panel that matched the order of the bones. In fact, each of the song’s verses had a matching wall. (I got lost once or twice, and found myself back at a central hallway that served as a sort of crossroads. From there, it was easy to begin again, with the first verse.) When I had gone through all the panels in the correct order, I found myself in front of the largest, heaviest, most imposing door I’d ever seen in my life.
LeChuck’s office. It couldn’t have been anything else. The door was guarded with many more locks than I had keys, but it was very easy (in retrospect, probably too easy) to let myself through the doggie door (Like everything else about this door, it was the largest one I’d ever seen – and I had no wish to meet the dog for whom it had been built.). Inside, the office, the key was hanging just where Wally had said it would be. I reached for it…
…and the next thing I knew, I was hanging by my thumbs in LeChuck’s dungeon, twisting in the breeze, an acrid green acid bath frothing gently below my heels. One booby caught in a booby trap. Or make that two boobies – for Wally was hanging beside me.
As I listened to LeChuck, it became apparent that his plans for me were nothing less than diabolical, so I kept him talking, stalling for time while I planned our daring escape. I soon learned that I couldn’t reach anything in my pockets…except the green drink and the crazy straw. It was all I needed. When LeChuck left the room, I proved once again that they don’t call me The Phlegm Master for nothing. First, I fired a web glob of green at the skull shield hanging from the ceiling to my left, then a shot to the shield on the ground in front of me. This was all preparation for the final shot. Carefully swirling the spit in my mouth, I prepared for the moment of truth. Then I shot a big ball of it right at the skull shield. The well-aimed missile ricocheted off of several surfaces before thoroughly dousing the candle flame, putting my little buddy and me out of immediate danger. We wandered, in total darkness, until I found some matches in the pink juju bag. I lit one…and that was the last I saw of Wally, LeChuck’s fortress, and the room full of dynamite we’d somehow discovered… Leaping major island groups in a single blast, I was transported to Dinky Island – the home of the legendary Big Whoop.
I find Big Whoop
When I came to, I was lying on the warm white sand of a beautiful west-facing beach, part of a scene so perfect I felt I’d stepped into a travel ad – except for the rickety sill nearby, which was tended by my old friend Herman Toothrot and a rather chatty parrot who never stopped begging for crackers.
Talking to Herman turned out to be even more pointless and frustrating than usual, but the parrot had plenty of interesting things to say. It occurred to me that he might have belonged to one of the original Big Whoop gang: he certainly was eager to tell me where to go. I found a cracker in the barrel by the still, gave it to him, and listened closely. This bird and I were going to get along just fine.
Combing the beach, I also found a crowbar, an empty bottle, and a martini glass (which I filled with ocean water, and transformed into fresh water using the still). There didn’t appear to be anything else of interest on the beach, so I headed into the jungle.
I wandered around for quite some time, bearing to the left, until I came to a tree with a small bag hanging from one limb. After breaking the empty bottle on the tree trunk, I used the jagged edge to slice the bag open. I box of cracker mix fell out at my feet.
Yeah. Cracker mix. Just add low-salt water – like the water in my martini glass – and before you could say “Where’s that parrot?” I had two more crackers, just the thing to make a certain parrot very happy. Sure enough, back on the bench, the parrot cheerfully ate my crackers and told me everything I needed to know to get to Big Whoop.
Following the parrot’s directions, I walked east (that is, to my right), until I came to a small pond. I first removed the rope, then used m new crowbar to open, the small box on the bank, which contained a bundle of dynamite, which (of course) I pocketed. From the pond, I took the middle path, continuing due east until I found the dinosaur. At that junction, I turned left, passing a topiary dolphin, then right (east) again at the rocks. And, suddenly, I was standing on the big black X that marked the spot.
Big Whoop was, at last, below my very feet. Little did I know then that my troubles were just about to get a whole lot worse.
I kick butt. Again.
I got out my trusty shovel, and began to dig. I had gone several feet, thinking that I would soon hit a box or chest of some sort, when my shovel hit a solid object…that is, a solid concrete wall.
No problem: I just used the matches to light the little bundle of dynamite, and threw it into the hole. After the dust cleared, I was standing on a pedestal inside what appeared to be a concrete bunker. There was a comfortably large hole in the ceiling over my head. And, on a second pedestal nearby, there was a wooden hest. THE chest.
Working quickly, I used the rope and the crowbar together, and threw them over the twisted metal rods above me. Holding onto the rope, I swung over to the other pedestal to grab the treasure. I’m not exactly sure what happened next – a wind came up? – yeah, that’s it, a gust of wind grabbed me…anyway, a moment later I was hanging by the rope, clutching the treasure chest. I was too far up to fall, and too loaded down to climb. I was swinging there, plotting my escape, when an unexpected visitor dropped in for a chat.
Elaine. Dear, faithful, brave Elaine. Her only thought was of saving me, but her rescue attempt ended in disaster. I fell, still clutching the chest, into the blackness of the pit with a resounding crash.
I was out of matches by this time, and quite frankly, after my last experience, a little hesitant about using them, so I groped around in the darkness. I found a light switch and turned it on. I then found an E ticket – as if this hadn’t already been the ride of my life. Turning around, I soon learned that I was not alone. I was, in fact, standing nose-to-nose with LeChuck himself.
It got worse. A lot worse. LeChuck, who had obviously sat through way too many Star War™ marathons, opened with the cheapest shot in the history of psychological warfare. He told me that he was my brother. (As if this was a good reason not to kill him.) He also had a voodoo doll with my name on it, which he used remorseless to torture me. (Some brother….) It was clear that I would have to fight fire with fire. I would have to build a doll of my own.
I explored the bunker, with LeChuck in constant pursuit. Passing the elevator, I found a couple of storage rooms. The first contained a helium tank and a broken grog machine. Out of habit, I hit the coin return on the machine…and a coin rolled out. Hmm. If LeChuck was really my brother he’d find that coin hard to resist.
As I expected, LeChuck soon materialized before me, wielding his ghastly little doll. Then he noticed the coin. As he bent to pick it up. I quickly grabbed his underwear and gave him a wedgie that left him walking even funnier than usual. It didn’t make him any less angry, mind you, but at least I had a piece of his clothing for my voodoo doll.
In the second stage room were hundreds of boxes – boxes of dolls, boxes of balloons, boxes of root beer. Since I knew from bitter experience that the root beer was useless, I helped myself to a doll and balloon. Then I moved down the hall to the First Aid room, a creepy-looking place furnished with all the usual instruments of medical torture. In the trash can, I found two used surgical gloves. There was a syringe in the drawer (which, I though, would do nicely as a voodoo pin). Lastly, I took the skull of one of the skeletons on the couch. If LeChuck and I really were brothers, then Dad’s dead head would come in quite handy.
With LeChuck harassing me almost constantly, I returned to the first storage room, filled up the balloon and both surgical gloves with helium, and went to the elevator. There was a 900-pound crate in the elevator, but with the helium balloons in my pocket, I was just light enough to evade the elevator’s overload mechanism. LeChuck, as usual, was right behind me. As he tried to board the elevator, I quickly flipped the lever, trapping his beard in the door. I put the little fibers into the juju bag with the underwear and the skull. Just one more ingredient to go…
The next time LeChuck appeared, I greeted him with Stan’s clean, white hanky in hand. It took a few tries to get him to notice it before hew hipped out that agonizing doll, but eventually he took the hint and wiped his nose before getting down to business. That was all I needed. I stuffed the hanky into the pink juju bag, and threw in the generic voodoo doll. Seconds later, I was ready to end LeChuck’s miserable existence once and for all.
With the doll in one hand and the syringe in the other, I waited for LeChuck. The very instant he appeared before me. I used the syringe with the doll. The effect was immensely gratifying.
LeChuck was gone for good.
My parents were very much alive.
And life seemed as happy and carefree as a child’s Sunday visit to an amusement park…
…at least for the moment.