Fortunately the Milk

the sky? Is it a bird? You do not sound like a bird.”
    “I am not a bird,” said Professor Steg. “I am a marvelous yet mysterious and prophetic voice, telling you a mighty prophecy. So mighty that . . . Um . . . Very mighty indeed. Listen. When a huge and good-looking spiny-backed individual—”
    “Monster,” I told him. “The prophecy said monster.”
    “Accompanied by a scrawny human being of revolting appearance—” said Professor Steg.

    “That was not necessary.”
    “—lands in a Floaty-Ball-Person-Carrier, you must not sacrifice them. You must instead take them to the volcano and give them the Eye of Splod. And this shall be the way that you shall know them. The human being will hold up some milk.”
    “Is that the prophecy?” said the voice.
    “Yes.”
    “Is there anything about crops in it?”
    “I’m afraid not.”
    “Oh well. Thank you anyway, prophetic and mysterious voices from the air.”
    I pressed the red button.
    Daylight. We were in the middle of a very familiar volcanic eruption. “Quickly!” I said. “Give me the emerald!”

    A little way away I could see a balloon being blown through the sky, while fire and ash were swept around it by the wind. I could see me in the balloon, standing next to Professor Steg, with my mouth open. I looked miserable.
    Professor Steg— MY Professor Steg—gave me the emerald.

    I raced down the rope ladder and placed the emerald back into the face’s eye. Then, as the volcano stopped erupting, I looked around for the milk. I knew it had landed on Splod’s head when it fell.
    Fortunately, the milk had fallen into a small drift of volcanic ash, and was unharmed. I picked it up, brushed it off, and started back up the balloon ladder. Professor Steg pressed the button.
    The sky went dark .

    We were FLOATING above a landscape of ominous towers and disquieting castles. It was not a friendly place. Bats flew across the sky in huge flocks, crowding out the waning moon.
    “I don’t like this place,” I told the professor.
    “I don’t see why not,” he said. “It looks as if it would be very nice when the sun comes up.”
    There was a loud FLUT! , and where the bats had been fluttering, several pallid people were now standing. The man in front had a very bald head.
    THEY ALL HAD
SHARP TEETH.

    “Ve are wumpires,” they said. “Vot is this? Who are you? Answer us, or ve vill wiwisect you.”
    “I am Professor Steg,” boomed the Stegosaurus. “This is my assistant. We are on an important mission. I am trying to get back to the present. My assistant is trying to get home to the future for breakfast.”
    At the word BREAKFAST all the wumpires looked very excited.
    “Ve have not had our breakfast,” they told us. “Ve normally have vigglyvorms, vith orange juice on them. Orange juice makes vorms ewen vigglier. Like vandering spaghetti. But if ve cannot eat vorms ve vill eat assistant, or ewen roast professor.”
    One of the wumpires took out a fork, and looked me up and down in a hungry sort of way.
    The baldest, most bulging-eyed, rattiest of the wumpires said, “Vot is this box?”
    “It is my finest invention,” began Professor Steg proudly, but I interrupted.

    “It is to keep sandwiches in,” I said.
    “Sandviches?” said the wumpire.

    “Sandwiches,” I said, with as much certainty as I could muster.
    “Ve thought it vos a Time Machine,” said the head wumpire, with a sly, sharp smile. “And ve could use it to inwade the vorld!”
    “Definitely sandwiches,” I told him.
    “Vot happens if I press this button, then?” asked a lady wumpire. She had long black hair that covered most of her face, and peered out at the world with one suspicious eye.
    She pressed the button. We went forward six hours in time.
    “See?” said the professor happily. “All this place needs to brighten it up is a little bit of sunshine.”

    The head wumpire said, “Vot?” and dissolved into a cloud of oily black smoke. So did all his friends.
    “Yes,” I said. “It is a nice place here, after all. In the daylight.”
    The professor tinkered with the jewels and the string and the buttons. Then he said, “I think I’ve got it properly fine-tuned, now. This next press should bring you back to your own time, place, and breakfast.”
    But before the tip of his tail could touch the button, a voice said, “I’ll explain later. Fate of the world at stake.”
    A hand grabbed, and the milk, which I had carried safely for so long, was gone.