Carnival Chaos Page 8

  It was just what she needed. She rushed back to the booth, where Cuphead was still frozen in his pitching pose.

  “Sorry for the holdup,” she said, and put the bouncing ball into his outstretched hand. “Okay, go ahead.”

  Cuphead threw the red ball as hard as he could. Only this time, he missed the target completely (an embarrassing blunder for anyone who called himself a pitcher), and the ducks laughed and laughed and—

  BOINNNNNNNNNNG.

  The rubber ball hit the back of the booth and bounced… and bounced… and bounced. It ricocheted off the first target, dunking the duck with the newspaper. Then it hit the second target, dunking the sleeping duck. It dunked one of the card-playing ducks, then sprung back and drenched his partner. Before Cuphead knew what was happening, four ducks were splashing around in the tank, and only one was left on his ledge.… Derby duck.

  But even though the ball was zipping and zinging around the booth at supersonic speed, the smug, smirking bird just sat there smirking smugly. He didn’t flinch an inch. Finally, the peppy projectile made a beeline straight for him. Impact was imminent. A soaking was certain. But just as he was about to take one right in the kisser, he ducked (which, of course, is what ducks do) and the ball sailed past him.

  “Ha-ha! You missed me!” he squealed, blowing a raspberry with his tongue. “Why, you couldn’t hit a—”

  BOINNNNNNNNNNG!

  Poor duck. It seemed he’d forgotten one thing about rubber balls: They don’t just bounce, they bounce back. The wily whizzer ricocheted off the rear wall, goosed him in the tail feathers, and sent him into a swan dive.

  “No fair!” Brineybeard bellowed. “That’s cheatin’, that’s a hornswoggle, that’s—”

  BONNNNNNK!

  His speech came to a sudden and unexpected stop. You see, it turned out the ball had used only 999 of its thousand bounces, meaning there was still one left for the captain. He joined his crew in the tank.

  “That’s five dunked ducks and one soggy sea captain!” cheered Ms. Chalice. “Cuphead wins!”

  “I’ll take the watch, please,” Cuphead said.

  Brineybeard spit out a mouthful of water, climbed out of the tank, and made a sad, squishy walk to the prize case. In all the time he’d been operating the booth, he’d never had to give a prize away. Not one. This was a shameful day for carnival pirates. He grabbed the watch and held it out like a smelly sock he’d picked up off the floor.

  Cuphead took it.

  “Just a second,” the duck with the dripping derby howled. He crossed the booth and stood in front of Cuphead. “I never thought you could do it, kid. But you beat us fair and square. Just to show there’s no hard feelings, I’d like to shake your hand.”

  He extended a wing, and Cuphead (who, win or lose, was always a good sport) held out his hand. When he did, the feathered felon quickly snatched the watch, flapped his wings, and flew out of the booth.

  “So long, suckers,” he laughed.

  Cuphead couldn’t believe it. He just stood there, staring at his empty hand. The watch was gone. Gone! He wheeled around and pointed to the skedaddling scoundrel.

  “Follow that duck!”

  It was a depressing turn of events. The dastardly duck had stolen not just a watch, but any hope of giving Elder Kettle a happy birthday. As the thief soared above the carnival crowd, Cuphead, Mugman, and Ms. Chalice chased after him on foot.

  “Excuse me, coming through, sorry,” Cuphead said as they raced down the midway.

  “There he is! Over there!” yelled Ms. Chalice.

  She was right, of course. (Ms. Chalice was an avid birdwatcher and had a surprisingly good eye for hats.) The duck had landed at the far end of the aisle and was now running. The three friends were in hot pursuit when suddenly, the bird veered off the path and bolted inside one of the large tents lining the midway. This was their chance.

  Like knights storming a castle, the unstoppable trio dashed into the tent—and stopped. They had to. It turned out this was a show tent, one packed so tightly the audience had to take turns breathing. But the most unusual thing about this group wasn’t its size, it was that it was made up entirely of ducks.

  Cuphead looked around. There were ducks to the left of them, ducks to the right, here a duck, there a duck, everywhere a duck duck. It would have been laughable if it weren’t so tragic.

  “How are we going to find a duck in here?” he groaned.

  “Easy,” said a duck standing next to him. “Just use a duck call!”

  “Quack, quack, quack, quack!” the crowd laughed. (You hear a lot of bad things about ducks, but they appreciate a good joke.)

  There was something curious about these fowl festivities. Cuphead couldn’t help noticing that almost everyone was wearing a fez. And if there’s one thing more unusual than a room full of ducks, it’s a room full of ducks wearing bright-red matching hats.

  “What’s going on here?” he asked.

  “Why, the convention, of course. We’re the International Order of Odd Ducks, Flock 158,” said the duck. “Say, you’re not a member.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Cuphead.

  “So, what are you doing here?”

  “We’re looking for someone,” Cuphead said.

  “A duck?” asked the duck.

  Cuphead nodded.

  “So I guess that makes you,” the duck said, and paused for effect, “A DUCK HUNTER!”

  “Quack, quack, quack, quack!” Flock 158 screamed.

  Well, as much as Cuphead would’ve liked to stand around chatting with a bunch of joke-telling, fez-wearing waterfowl (and who knew when he’d have the chance again?), he had to find Elder Kettle’s watch before the party. He was running out of time.

  “I’m going to look over there,” he said, and pushed his way into the friendly, fezzy flock.

  But just as he was edging toward the front of the crowd, everything went black. In a flash, a blindingly bright spotlight lit up the stage. The show was starting.

  “Greetings, fellow Odd Ducks,” announced a plump mallard wearing a novelty fez with an arrow through it. “We have a heckuva show for you tonight. By special order of the Grand Quacker himself, I present to you the amazing, the astounding Hopus Pocus!”

  The ducks clapped and whistled and quacked, and then got tired and stopped because absolutely nothing was happening. Cuphead looked at the stage. It was empty. If this Hopus Pocus had hoped to make an entrance, he’d missed his cue. In fact, the only sign anything at all was going on was a quiet, rhythmic thumping sound coming from offstage.

  Thump… thump… thump.

  There it was again. He wondered what it could be. A moment later, an upside-down black-felt top hat hopped across the stage and into the spotlight.

  “For my first trick,” the top hat said, “I will pull a rabbit out of a hat.”

  Cuphead was confused. Where was the magician? This trick seemed to be missing one of its most important pieces. But then a white glove stuck straight up out of the hat. It was attached to a long blue sleeve that appeared to be some kind of well-dressed arm. Then, in a very theatrical manner, the glove reached into the hat, and when it emerged again, it pulled out a pair of long white ears and a fluffy white head and finally, an entire rabbit.

  “Ta-da!” the rabbit said.

  The ducks cheered. They’d seen a magician pull a rabbit out of a hat before, but never quite like this.

  Hopus Pocus might have been a rabbit, but he fit right in with the International Order of Odd Ducks because he was, well, odd. He wore a blue tuxedo and red bow tie that accentuated his deranged expression and bulging yellow eyes. But the strangest thing about him was his behavior. It was almost as if he were half magician, half monster—and you were never really sure which half you were watching.

  “For my next trick,” he said, “I’ll need a volunteer”— a hundred wings shot into the air—“who isn’t a duck.”

  The wings came back down.

  “How about you?” he said.
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  “Me?” asked Cuphead.

  “Why not? You’re not a duck, are you?”

  “No,” said Cuphead.

  The rabbit raised an eyebrow.

  “And you’re not a chicken?”

  “Quack, quack, quack, quack, quack!” laughed the Odd Ducks.

  Cuphead frowned.

  “No,” he said, gruffer this time.

  “Then what are you waiting for?” the rabbit asked.

  Suddenly, Cuphead was lifted into the air and passed from duck to duck until he reached the stage. Hopus gave him a wicked grin.

  “What’s your name, kid?”

  “Cuphead. I’m here with my friends Mugman and Ms. Chalice, and we’re looking for—”

  “Great, fascinating, glad to hear it,” the rabbit told him. “Now get in the box.”

  Cuphead turned around. There was a long wooden box on the stage. When he crawled inside, his head stuck out one end, his feet out the other.

  “Will you look at that? A perfect fit,” said Hopus. “Let me ask you something, kid: Are you really attached to those legs?”

  Cuphead gulped. “Uh-huh.”

  “Well,” said Hopus, breaking into a smile. “We’ll take care of that!”

  With fantastic speed, he whipped out a large, spinning buzz saw.

  “Cuphead!” Mugman yelled, but there was nothing he could do.

  “And now, my fine feathered friends,” Hopus proclaimed, “I will saw my volunteer in half!”

  And one quick buzz later, he’d done just that.

  At first, Cuphead was too stunned to do anything. Then he wiggled his toes, just to make sure they still worked. They did—which was strange, since they were on the other side of the stage.

  “Hey, what’s the big idea?” he yelled.

  “Take it easy, pal,” Hopus told him. “Pull yourself together!”

  The audience quacked hysterically.

  Cuphead gritted his teeth and kicked his feet, and though they were nowhere near each other, you could tell both halves were equally angry.

  “I can’t stay like this; I’ve got things to do. Fix me!” he demanded.

  Hopus yawned.

  “Yeah, yeah, in a minute, kid. First, I got a show to do,” he said, and turned back to the audience. “Now, does anyone have a watch?”

  To Cuphead’s astonishment, a duck with a black derby hat—the very same duck Cuphead had been chasing—climbed up on to the stage. He was smiling.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” the duck said, and held out the gold pocket watch.

  “That’s mine!” yelled Cuphead.

  Hopus took the watch.

  “My, this is a nice one. A real beauty.”

  “It was given to me by my poor ol’ gran-mudder,” said the duck.

  Cuphead couldn’t stand it any longer. He kicked his feet until the box tipped forward, and when he was upright, the downstairs half of him stomped furiously across the stage.

  “It was not given to him by his poor ol’ grandmother,” his upper half shouted. “He stole it from me!”

  Now the ducks booed. Hopus held up his hands.

  “Happens every time, folks,” he said. “You put a kid in the show and he goes to pieces.”

  “Quack, quack, quack, quack!” the crowd laughed hysterically.

  Hopus strolled over to the talking half of Cuphead.

  “If I put you back together, will you get off the stage?”

  “Not without my watch,” said Cuphead.

  “Fine, but you don’t get it until I finish my act.”

  “Fine!” Cuphead shouted.

  With that, the magician grabbed hold of the box with the top half of Cuphead and rolled it into the one with the lower half. The boxes tumbled to the ground, and—like magic—out fell a full-size Cuphead. His feet and face reunited, he marched across the stage and gave the cigar-chomping duck a stare that would curdle cheese.

  Meanwhile, Hopus went on with his show.

  “About this watch,” he said. “Does it have any sentimental value?”

  “It is my most cherished possession,” the bird lied.

  “I see,” said the rabbit, and he got a wild look in his eyes. “So I definitely shouldn’t do this!”

  Without warning, he pulled a large hammer from behind his back, and—WHACK!—smashed the watch to bits.

  The audience gasped. The derbied duck laughed. Cuphead nearly fainted. The watch that was supposed to be Elder Kettle’s birthday present was destroyed!

  “Oops, clumsy me,” Hopus apologized. “Oh well, let me just sweep that up.”

  He took out a small whisk broom and swept the pieces into his hat.

  After a lot of pushing and shoving, Mugman and Ms. Chalice finally made their way to the stage. They rushed over to Cuphead, but he pulled away from them and set his eyes on Hopus.

  “What kind of magician are you?” he snapped. “You busted my watch!”

  “Oh, did I?” the rabbit said, and reached into the hat.

  When he pulled out the watch, it was completely repaired. The crowd went wild, as did Cuphead, who’d never been more relieved in his life.

  “Thank goodness,” he said. “Jeepers, did you save us from a disaster! Now if I can just have the watch…”

  “Not so fast,” Hopus reminded him. “I said not until I finished my act, remember? And I’ve got one last trick.”

  The rabbit grinned, dangled the watch in front of him, and jumped into the hat.

  Cuphead rushed over and looked inside. The hat was empty. Appallingly, depressingly, heartbreakingly empty. Devastated, he turned to the crowd and began to convey the full extent of the hat’s complete and utter emptiness, and that’s when the four Mels popped out.

  You almost had the watch but didn’t grab it

  (DID-n’t GRAB it)

  And now it has been stolen by a rabbit

  (BIG white RAB-bit)

  He’s fluffy and long eared

  And now he’s disappeared

  So you can stand here moping in despair

  (DEEP despair)

  Or get in the hat and find that HARE!

  POOF!

  A billowy puff of smoke burst from the hat, and when it vanished, the Mels were gone.

  “I don’t know why, but bad ideas just sound better in song form,” Cuphead said.

  And without another word, he, Mugman, and Ms. Chalice dived into the hat.

  Now, had this been a regular hat, there wouldn’t have been nearly enough room for the three of them. But magical hats tend to be as roomy as you need them to be, so the minute they jumped inside, it became as wide as a tunnel. It even felt like a tunnel, all cold and black and empty. They plunged and plunged and plunged through the darkness until, eventually, they saw a round circle that looked exactly like the opening of Hopus’s hat. Cuphead was the first to fall through it, and when he arrived, he noticed two things: They were not inside the tent anymore, and there was a banana peel on top of his head.

  If these seem like curious discoveries, it’s because the round hole he’d seen coming at him wasn’t the opening to the hat at all—it was the opening to a garbage can in the alley behind the midway.

  Cuphead thought a garbage can was a strange place to put an exit from a magical realm. Then again, magical realms were pretty strange places to begin with. He was just glad to be back on solid ground, and he intended to stay there.

  And so he did—for about two seconds.

  Suddenly, Mugman emerged from the exit, lifting his brother on his shoulders.

  “Cuphead, CUUUUP-head, where are you?”

  “Up here, goofball,” Cuphead said.

  “What are you doing up there?” asked Mugman.

  And that’s when Ms. Chalice popped up. The three stood there, stacked on top of one another like wobbly building blocks sticking out of a garbage can. Ms. Chalice sniffed the air.

  “I don’t want to be rude, but I think it’s time to clean that hat.”

  Then, in one great
heap, the three-headed tower tumbled out of the can. They had no idea how they were going to find Hopus. Fortunately, Mugman spotted a clue.

  “There’s Hopus,” he said, pointing to Hopus. (Some clues are easier to spot than others.)

  “Well, look what the hat dragged in!” the rabbit shouted, and let out a weird, demented laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m not angry—just hoppin’ mad!”

  And with another, even more disturbing laugh, he hopped and bounced and bounded down the alley and through the backdoor of a creepy, old building. The friends went in after him—and gasped.

  It was a natural reaction, since the first thing they saw was the last thing they expected—themselves.

  Wherever they looked, in every direction, there was an endless maze of Cupheads and Mugmen and Ms. Chalices.

  “I think we’re in the house of mirrors,” Ms. Chalice said. “Let’s spread out and look for Hopus.”

  “Good idea,” said Cuphead. “Ms. Chalices, you go that way. Mugmen, you go that way. All you Cupheads, come with me.”

  “Right!” the reflections answered, and they all headed off in their various directions.

  Though Mugman would never admit it, he was uneasy about leaving Cuphead and Ms. Chalice. After all, he wouldn’t be facing just one magical rabbit; he’d be facing dozens of them. Fortunately, he had help—he was surrounded by himself, which for some reason, made him feel better. He was working his way through the maze when he heard a noise and saw a blurry figure shoot across the mirrors. He told himself it was nothing to worry about; it could have been anything… anything with a blue tuxedo and long white ears.

  “He can’t get all of us, boys,” he told the Mugmen. “All we have to do is stick together.”

  When he looked in the mirrors, the Mugmen were gone.

  “Cowards!” he yelled.

  Of course, the worst part wasn’t that he had been deserted by his own gutless reflections. The worst part was that he couldn’t go with them.

  Mugman continued the search, but he’d never felt more alone.

  Meanwhile, in another part of the maze, Cuphead was inspecting the troops.

  “All right, men. We’ve got a big job ahead of us, so we’ve got to be at our best. Atten-shun!”