Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

PART 4: ASSAULT

A new day had dawned.
Out on the high seas, LeChuck and his ghost crew were making good time. The monastery ship was a bit small and creaky, but the wind was behind them, and the ghost crew were working like there would be no tomorrow. LeChuck stood above on the poop deck, occasionally barking out orders: "Man the mizzenmast! Tack! Furl! Fasten! Elbow grease ya scurvy slackers!"
Guybrush watched it all, helpless. "Whoop," he muttered.
He was hanging upside down, lashed to the main mast by coils and coils of rope. It had been uncomfortable enough as they were starting out, but now after hours of sailing the blood was really beginning to settle in his brain. It made him dizzy.
Guybrush strained, for the tenth or twentieth time, but the ropes wouldn't budge. There was no slack in them at all. He could just move his hands enough to reach inside his pocket, but that was all. And what would that achieve?
Guybrush thought about what he'd collected. Then he realised - the can of oil he'd used to get the rowboat into the ocean. He still had it! Guybrush rummaged around in his right pocket - nothing. In his left pocket, he eventually managed to grasp a metal bottle. This was it.
Concentrating, making every movement as inconspicuous as possible, Guybrush tipped the oil can over the ropes. His aim wasn't very good, and some splatted on the deck below him. He instantly froze, and waited to see if he'd been discovered.
No shouts. No one was even looking in his direction.
Guybrush wormed around in the ropes. Slick with oil, they now felt a lot looser. He kept wriggling around. This would attract attention, but there was no other way.
Suddenly, he slipped free. Guybrush fell through his bonds, hit the deck headfirst, and crashed straight through. "Arr!" yelled LeChuck.
The ghost pirates stopped, and looked at LeChuck. "Get back to work!" he yelled. "He can't escape!"
In the room below, Guybrush picked himself up, rubbing his sore head. "Ow. Rough landing." He looked around.
Normally, this room would have been in darkness. But there was a lit candle standing on a box, and the hole in the deck above gave good illumination. He was surrounded by boxes, standing in some kind of supply room. Most of the boxes and crates were utterly nondescript, save for a bright metal box near the door. Red lettering on the box said 'EMERGENCY SUPPLIES'.
Curious, Guybrush opened the box. Inside was a single flare gun. Guybrush picked it up. Not really a weapon, but it might be useful.
He opened the door and peered out.
Outside the supply room was a small, moody hallway, lit by lamplight. It ran in a straight line to a ladder leading up, and there were two doors on his left. The first door, when Guybrush reached it, opened on a small room containing a cannon. It pointed out a square hole in the hull. Cannon balls, matches and gunpowder were stacked along the floor beside it.
The second room, by contrast, was completely unexpected.
Gone were the greasy wooden walls and the round, 'quaint', portholes. The floor, walls and ceiling were coated with glossy white paint, and the room was empty except for a bafflingly complex piece of metal equipment. It looked like a very expensive piece of gym equipment, or so Guybrush would have thought if he'd ever been to a gym. It had a padded seat, and a single metal arm with rubber handhold. Looking at it, Guybrush got the impression there were supposed to be two arms.
A couple of pieces of paper were tacked to a bare bulletin board behind the machine. Guybrush read the first. It was a press release:

"Introducing the latest in Spiritual Transportation-

THE TRANSLOCATORTM

The Translocator� is a revolutionary new product that at one stroke makes getting from A to B as simple as thinking about it. Literally. The patented AuraReader� technology embedded in each Translocator� reads the actual thoughts of the operator, instantly executing every command. Moreover, it can shift vessels up to and including the size of a pirate ship. No more mutinous crew!

For more information on the Translocator� and other SpiritPower(R) products visit your local SpiritPower(R) store. Thanks for believing!"

Very strange. Guybrush looked at the machine - the Translocator? - and scratched his head. He looked back, and read the second note:

"To whom it may concern:

The Translocator is out of order. This is to fully comply with Hard Work Month, during which time no manual labour may be avoided. One of the metal roto arms from the Translocator has been removed and placed on the upper deck, to guard against temptation.

P.S. This means you!"

Well, that explained the missing arm. And now, a great idea struck Guybrush. If he could get this Translocator working, then he could stop the ship from reaching Booty Island! All he had to do was get the metal roto arm from the top deck.
Guybrush paused. LeChuck was up there.
Well, he'd have to deal with him sometime. He hefted the flare gun, and strode out the door.

Midway up the ladder, Guybrush slowly looked out the trapdoor.
At first, he could only see sea and sky. Then he slowly turned round, and saw LeChuck. LeChuck was standing with his back to Guybrush, looking down at his toiling ghost crew. A glint of light struck Guybrush's eyes, and he saw the metal roto arm. It was lying on the deck, just in front of LeChuck.
Guybrush sighed. There was no danger of being spotted by the ghost pirates, who were hard at their tasks. But there was no way he could take that metal roto arm without LeChuck spotting him.
Guybrush climbed up the ladder and stood behind LeChuck. He raised the flare gun. Maybe he could distract them with this...
Holding the gun high over his head, like an official about to start a race, Guybrush fired.
There was a loud pop, and a huge trail of colour whooshed over LeChuck and the ghost pirates. They all stopped and looked up, following the path of the flare. It curved away into the sky, climbing higher and higher.
LeChuck hadn't moved. Neither had the ghost crew. Guybrush had been counting on them rushing to the far end of the ship.
The flare, growing ever fainter, finally vanished. The ghost crew came back to life. "Come on, ya slackers!" yelled LeChuck. "Doubletime!"
Well, that was a pretty spectacular failure, thought Guybrush. He tossed the useless flare gun over the side of the ship. What now?
Guybrush paused a few seconds, thinking. Finally, he said "What the hell," stepped forward, and firmly shoved LeChuck in the back. Caught by surprise, LeChuck went sailing over the side of the deck, and fell through the hole in the deck. The ghost pirates looked around in confusion.
Guybrush picked up the metal roto arm. Got it.
He ran down the ladder, and pelted down the passage to the supply room door. Guybrush found the lock and turned it. That should keep LeChuck busy for a bit. He turned back and entered the Translocator room.
It didn't take much work to fix the arm back on the machine. Now it looked better. Guybrush sat on the padded seat and gripped the roto arms.
Now how did you work this thing?
Guybrush concentrated, then pulled the left roto arm.

On the deck, the ghost pirates had helped LeChuck back up through the hole. He was standing on the lower deck, looking around for any sign of LeChuck, when the whole ship suddenly jerked to port. It spun around in a full circle, creating a huge spray of water that flew over the ghost pirate crew. They ran around in total confusion. "Aargh!" yelled LeChuck. "What be happenin?"

"Wow!" said Guybrush. "This feels incredible!" He jerked his right arm.

This time the ship actually lifted out of the ocean and span round in the air before falling back into the sea. The wash of water nearly engulfed the deck. Two ghost pirates had already fallen off, and nobody knew what to do. "Main the sails!" LeChuck roared. "Pull the yardarm! 'Tis some devil wind!" Guybrush, he growled under his breath. When I find you...

Guybrush was thinking. "I wonder," he said, "what would happen if I sent the ship downward?" He rocked forward.

The ship's prow suddenly dipped, and was engulfed by water. The ship sank further, tilting even higher until it was nearly vertical. Then, like a dagger dropped from a great height, it slipped below the waves. The sea above sloshed around for a bit, bubbles of air floating up from the ship, and then was smooth.

Meanwhile...
Not all that far away, Wally was alone and sitting in a barely seaworthy coffin. He had a pencil and a few sheets of paper, and if he wasn't going to make it back to land alive - as looked increasingly likely - then he wanted the world to know why.
He wrote:

"Captain's log. Wally B. Feed. Lost at sea for... oh, hours now. I have no crew or navigational instruments (can't believe I forgot my sextant! Stupid!). No provisions except a nest of woodlice. Unless I find water soon, I'm surely done for. Only the hope of finding some solid ground keeps me going. Oh, but my quest for Blackbeard's treasure has left me in a sorry state. I thought it would bring me fame and glory... instead I got catapulted through the ceiling and here I am, sailing the seas in a coffin. I still suspect Guybrush had something to do with this-"

Here Wally stopped writing, because a wet bedraggled head had just appeared at the side of his coffin. Two hands grasped the coffin and clung firmly.
It was Guybrush - coughing, spluttering and wheezing.
"Guybrush? Is that you?"
Guybrush looked up at Wally. "Wally!"
"That's right," said Wally.
Guybrush didn't know what to say. "Wow, this is some coincidence!" he finally said.
"What are you doing here?" said Wally
Guybrush looked just a little smug. "Oh, LeChuck was just sailing his ghost crew over to Booty Island to rape and pillage, but I put a stop to that. The whole lot of 'em are down there in Davy Jones' Locker. Let's see them find his body now!" Now he'd gotten his breath back, Guybrush was feeling really good. He'd actually done it! This would show Elaine, all right!
"They're all dead?" asked Wally.
"Every last ghost. Say, are you thinking-"
Guybrush didn't get a chance to finish, because another head had appeared beside him. Two hands grasped the side of the coffin next to Guybrush.
The acolyte spat out a mouthful of water. "Say," he said, "have either of you guys seen a huge rundown pirate ship around here? Splintery, ragged sails, large ghost crew?"
"It's gone," said Guybrush. "Sunk to the ocean floor."
The acolyte looked downcast. "Oh no. And I was supposed to recover it, too. The Head Mo- er, LeChuck is going to be pissed."
"LeChuck?" said Wally. Something Guybrush had said finally kicked through. "Hang on, Guybrush, did you say you killed LeChuck?!"
"Yeah. LeChuck's dead. Again."
"You mean..." said the acolyte.
"Actually, both LeChucks are dead," explained LeChuck. "The real one and the fake one."
"Oh dear."
They sat there and floated for a bit.
"So, where are we?" the acolyte asked.
"We're floating in the middle of a sea on a barely seaworthy coffin," said Guybrush.
"It's not that bad," said Wally. "I was just about giving up hope before you guys showed up, but with three people to propel this thing, I reckon we could get a fair speed up."
"But where should we go?" asked the acolyte.
"Hmmm... Blackbeard's maps were no good. They didn't correspond to any land mass I know. So we should-"
"I know where," Guybrush interrupted. "Cutlass Island! The whole place must be utterly deserted by now. Imagine all the treasure!"
"Yeah!" said the acolyte.
"We could even set up our own colony! I can be Governor, Wally can be, um, Head Navigator, and you can be the Head Religious Guy!"
"Sounds good to me," said Wally. "And if that doesn't work out, the whole Caribbean is our oyster!"
"Let's go!" said the acolyte. They climbed into the coffin. Three pairs of hands sprouted down into the sea. They started thrashing away like oars.
Already moving at a fair clip, the coffin scudded away.

Ten days later...
It was a fine sunny afternoon on Booty Island. Elaine Marley was out in the sun, lying down on a deckchair and reading a novel. Occasionally she turned a page.
A noise made her look up. Striding triumphantly toward her, across the lawn, was Guybrush. He was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, a hat with corks dangling from it, and was holding two suitcases.
Guybrush reached Elaine and dropped the suitcases. "I'm back!" he announced.
"Oh, hello Guybrush," said Elaine.
A cool introduction, but Guybrush was too full of pride to worry. "Not a pirate, eh?" he said. "It all went super! I killed LeChuck, got myself appointed Governor of an island with nobody on it, and there's a whole crate of root beer in the trunk!"
Elaine didn't seem impressed. She looked Guybrush square in the eye. "Guybrush, do you recall why we had the argument in the first place?" she said.
"Ummm..." Guybrush stalled. This didn't sound promising...
"I was angry with you because you didn't do any work around here," said Elaine.
"Oh yeah," said Guybrush.
"Now, in the eleven days you've been away..." Elaine reached into a pocket and pulled out an ominously long list, and started reading from it. "Cobwebs have built up along the outer walls of the mansion, the dogs have nearly starved to death, fruit trees need to be picked, the corn fields haven't been tilled, there are weeds growing around the foundation, a two foot pile of paperwork has to be done, we've got dust in the pantry, the oven hasn't been cleaned, Philbert wants to get paid, there's a whole stack of garbage out the back, and two dead pigeons in the watertank."
"B-But-" stammered Guybrush.
Elaine fixed him with a smile. "Better get cracking, matey."
"But..."

THE END