The mansion was in chaos.
Mario was loose, a pair of beasts had taken up residence in the south wing; the human called Comet was rampaging around the halls, making herself a living terror to the lesser ghosts and the other girl had set up some sort of fortress in the council room and utterly refused to move.
Naturally, that was about when the final guest arrived, and he had the distinct honor of being the first to use the front door.
Luigi banged for quite a while before realizing the place was unlocked, then proceeded to slip inside as quietly as possible, hoping no one had heard. The foyer was much warmer than the woods had been, and for the first few minutes he was more than happy to drip, shiver, and press as much water as possible out of his hat.
Once he was to some degree defrosted, he took a cautious step forward.
The place was a high-ceilinged, two story chamber with a massive bowed staircase sweeping down gracefully to either side of the room. It was so big, the beam of his flashlight got lost in the corners.
Slowly, the fact that he was indeed standing in the advertised mansion sunk in. The place did exist, and he had been proven squarely wrong. Mario was here already, it would seem, and had made himself right at home given the lit candles. He was probably having a ball right now with so much to explore.
Luigi wondered how far he had gotten. As fascinating as this place was, he didn’t fancy the idea of trying to track Mario down in it. With luck, he wouldn’t have to. Mario knew he was following after all; he would probably loop back to the door eventually to meet up. Luigi could wait until then. He wasn’t exactly in a hurry to explore, dripping as he was.
At least, that’s what he told himself. Despite this, it wasn't long before he engaged in his own bit of poking around, taking the place in as best he could through the narrow shaft of his flashlight. The beam was hardly flattering to the old place, revealing in patches the carved banisters and fading Victorian furniture. Dust hung in the air, suspended in glittering, idle drifts. The candles weren’t doing a terrible lot of good either; they were trying but most of their glow was lost in the expanse of the place. What he could see was promising, though: solid architecture, charming classic style. It was very old, but it was nice.
He found himself inadvertently counting the coins it would cost to get it habitable again. Excusing the half inch of dust over everything, the interior actually seemed pretty solid. It was the outside that was the real problem; from the little Luigi had seen, that was going to need a ton of work. Even if he did all the repairs himself the cost of replacing the windows alone would break the bank, to say nothing of repairing the roof. He had no idea what he was going to do with this place. There was still a chance this was a joke, but then again, the fact that the place existed at all left him inclined to believe anything.
As Luigi made his way deeper into the chamber he found another source of interest: there seemed to be a third light source hidden away in the far back of the room. His first thought was that it was Mario, and he stepped toward it with an excited smile, but his expression turned to confused curiosity when he got a better look. It was a wide swath of blue, totally the wrong shape for a flashlight. Was it a lamp maybe? Luigi continued forward to investigate.
Whatever the source of the light, it was tucked in a little chamber below the stairs. Three doors filled the cavity: the first two led underneath the stairs themselves, probably belonging to a pair of closets, the other was nested neatly in the middle. That one was much more elegant than the others, a double door engraved with a twisting pattern of hearts. The effect was ruined, though, by a nasty tangle of webbing slicked across its surface. That was where the light was coming from.
Luigi pulled a face, gingerly stepping away from the stuff. He had no idea what it was, and his gut told him he didn’t want to find out. He retreated back into the middle of the room.
There were a few more doors leading off the ground floor, and from what he could see, at least three others on the upper level. Luigi wondered which one of these Mario had taken. The itch to explore properly was gaining some serious tug, but Luigi still didn’t feel inclined to go waltzing around on his own, especially after that webbing. This place had been empty for a long time, that was obvious, and you never knew what would turn up in spots like this; it was the Mushroom Kingdom after all. He pushed that thought away before it could spoil his mood.
“Mario!” he shouted. The call rang through the room, bouncing off the hardwood walls. Luigi had a feeling it hadn’t traveled very far. He tried a few more times, but there was no response. At least, no human response.
Luigi’s last shout died in his throat. Something had squealed at him from the ceiling. He took a quick step backward and swung his light up just in time to see a fluttery black shape disappear between the rafters.
He added pest control to his list of expenses.
As it turned out, bats and rafters weren’t the only things to see up there. Embedded in the ceiling was a large, expensive looking chandelier, twisted gold frame glinting through a mask of cobwebs. Luigi craned his neck and stared, but it wasn’t the aesthetics that had caught his attention. The thing looked like it had bulbs screwed into it, honest to goodness electric light bulbs. If he looked hard enough, he could almost swear he saw a yellow wire snaking away from the thing, plastered against the far off ceiling.
Of course, now Luigi had to look for a switch.
It didn’t take long to find. The thing was big and bulky, with an industrial plastic casing, generally looking like it belonged in a warehouse rather than here. He went to flip it but snatched his hand away as he saw the exposed wires. They spewed from the casing and snaked up the wall, tacked into place by what looked to be garden staples. Luigi glowered at them, the display offended him on a personal level, but the wires themselves looked to be intact. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to be electrocuted, he flipped the switch.
Nothing happened.
He gave the thing a few more toggles, just for good measure, then left it in the off position. This place really was going to need a lot of work.
Curiosity with the light satisfied, Luigi went back to solving his Mario problem.
Beginning with the lower levels, he started trying doors, but with the exception of the two under the stairs--which did turn out to be closets--they were all locked. He made his way up the stairs next only to find the first door there locked as well. Luigi stepped back, rather confused. What kind of person left the front door open but locked the rest? Then again, Mario wasn’t in the front room anymore, so something must be open somewhere.
As if on cue, there was a clatter and a bang. Luigi looked up sharply, maybe a little too sharply for his dignity; it had come from the next room, behind another set of double doors.
“Mario?” he called again, but there was no answer. It sounded like he had banged his shins on something. Luigi hurried to the next door and tried the handle. It was tight, but it wasn’t locked.
The room beyond was very dark. A sweep of the flashlight revealed several glass-fronted shelves, a few chairs, a table, and a long, dark cabinet claiming most of one wall. No one was there.
Luigi stepped into the room cautiously. Even if it wasn’t Mario, he was sure he had heard something. But nothing moved, and the silence was perfect. There was another door pressed against the back wall, this one slightly ajar; maybe the sound had come from further in. If that was the case, it must have been much louder than Luigi had originally thought. He hoped Mario hadn’t knocked over a bookcase or something.
He sighed and began to pick his way to the new door, careful not to disturb any of the furniture himself, but froze as a scuffling broke out near the cabinet. He rounded on it sharply, bathing the spot in musty yellow. There was nothing there.
Luigi didn’t take his eyes off the spot. There was definitely something in here; he had heard it. He traced the floor, the shelves, the cabinet, looking for any sign of the thing, but the furniture was flush with the floor, not so much as a crack for something to hide under, and except for a few odd candles, the top of the cabinet was bare.
His eyes lingered over the candles more than anything else, a slow feeling of unease unfolding in his chest. Mario’s fire was always red, it burned red (or at least orange) even after it left his control. All the candles he had seen up until now were passably that color, these were not. There were six of them arranged across the cabinet, framing the painting of a rather unpleasant looking man, bathing the edges of the frame in a pale, brusey purple. Luigi had the feeling he should know something about candles like that. He backed away slowly, eyes flicking between the two doors, unsure whether to go back or press forward.
And then he froze. He knew where he had seen flames like that before. Quickly, quietly, Luigi made for the Foyer. He didn’t get far.
A low, tremulous whine filled the room. Luigi rounded to face it, still backing away, hand beating at the air as he felt for the door. The sound rose and fell excitedly, then jumped to a shriek at his elbow. Luigi yelled right back, juggling his flashlight and jumping sideways into a shelf. There was a deafening crash and a high giggle; the room was suddenly filled with orange as the creature morphed into the visible plane. It laughed again and lunged.
Luigi dropped low, dodged under the thing and scrambled away, only for two more of the creatures to materialize almost on top of him. He shied away from these as well, or at least he tried. Something tangled under his feet and he fell, yelping as his head smacked hard against the table. He lay crumpled for a moment, the world spinning around him. He could hear the creatures cackling above him somewhere and he flailed only to find himself tangled in the legs of the table. The creatures squealed with delight at his predicament, coming at him from three different ways. All Luigi could see of them were fuzzed orange shapes as they closed in. He tried to stand, throwing an arm up to protect his face, panic coursing through his system.
A light blasted from the doorway behind him. The ghosts recoiled, squealing in fury. Two of them dropped out of sight, vanishing as quickly as they had come, but the third stayed frozen, hanging in the air in a stupor.
Luigi used the distraction to disentangle himself from the table, grab his fallen hat, and jump again to his feet, one hand clamped over his bashed head.
There was a click followed by an incessant whir. The ghost began to draw towards the light. It was obviously not fond of the idea; as soon as it began to move it started to squall again, bucking and thrashing violently in the air. With one last tremendous heave it seemed to break its attackers stance, flying away in the other direction. The light dipped into the floor and something, or someone, skidded across the room, apparently being dragged. There was a pop as whatever connection was happening broke. The thing on the floor yelped and came to a rolling stop; the ghost gave one last ferocious hiss and vanish into the dark of the room.
Luigi picked up his flashlight in the same hand as his hat and walked quickly towards the lump on the floor, pinning it with the beam. He was reasonably surprised to find a tiny, mostly bald old man tangled in a hose.
“Whoa, easy there lad!” he said, squinting through an immensely oversized pair of glasses.
“Sorry,” said Luigi, lowering the light. “Are you - are you all right?”
He went to offer his hand but hesitated when he saw the specks of red on the glove.
“I’m alright young fela, don’t worry yourself over me,”--The man adjusted his glasses and took Luigi’s hand--“Truth be told, I’m more worried about you. That was quite the spill you had there.”
Oh. He had seen that.
“It was nothing- I’ll be fine,” said Luigi.
The man first looked at his glove, then at him.
“If you say so, but mark me, you’ll have a lump the size of an egg before too long.”
Luigi didn’t doubt that one bit.
The man pulled himself the rest of the way up, brushed off the front of his coat, and started to deal with the hose, unkinking it with a well practiced hand. Now that he was standing, Luigi could see he had a contraption strapped to his back: some sort of sleek, red case.
“You’re lucky I came along when I did, this place is bursting at the seams with ghosts these days,” the man gabbed. “My name’s E. Gadd by the way. Professor E. Gadd.”
Luigi gave a shaky nod, a little preoccupied with the first half of the statement, and hacked out a thanks.
“Not to be mentioned,” The professor said, snapping the last bits onto his machine. “Now follow me sharpish; it’s no good to be standing around in here.”
As if in response, there was a snarl from the other side of the room. Luigi whipped around to see four more ghosts wobbling towards them. He jammed his hat on his head and stepped back, teeth grit.
“Well that doesn’t look good,” said the professor in a tone Luigi found far too casual. He made a bolt for the foyer with speed that was rather surprising given his age.
“Don’t just stand there, look alive!” he called back. Luigi didn’t have to be called twice.
• • •
Mario ran down the corridors, a pack of ghosts on his heels.
Well, ‘run’ was a strong word, more like aggressively hobbled. The boo venom had worn off some, not enough to be helpful but just enough for the numbing effect to disappear. He hurt like nobody's business.
For all intents and purposes he probably shouldn’t be walking at all, but that wasn’t an option given the circumstances.
Mario’s concerns about the creatures outside his cell had been totally justified. They were hunting him in packs now, bleeding from the woodworks, cropping up in every corner and dark shadow. For every group he lost there was another to take its place. He hadn’t expected much else, frankly, but it was still a confounded nuisance.
Mario ducked around another passage and planted himself against the wall, catching a bit of breath. This whole situation was less than ideal. He wanted to sit down and rest properly, but judging by the yowls and shrieks from every direction that was a bad idea. He had to find some way to lose these things.
There was an excited squeal, and something purple flashed inches in front of his nose. Mario dodged a punch, gave the thing a face full of fire, and started to run again.
That was one mercy at least. Those cuffs had definitely been countering his firebrand; the ability had started working again within minutes of having them off. Granted, he was still far from full strength, but at least it wasn't like trying to start a blaze with wet wood. It was good to have it back, especially considering his flashlight was long gone. If the only thing he had had to see by were the dinky candles on the walls he would have been in more trouble than he already was.
It was also useful for keeping the ghosts at bay, which was more than any physical attack could boast. These things were like boos: you could pound on them all day without doing any real damage. No matter what you hit them with they’d just bounce away like so much floating jelly, and the dark only made them that much more resilient.
Fire, on the other hand, definitely made them think twice.
Mario darted around another corner, up a flight of stairs, and narrowly dodged a snatch from a ghost hanging from the ceiling. Slowly but surely the aesthetic of the building was changing. Clammy, wet stone gave out to dry, livable halls; before long he was maneuvering a tattered wallpaper landscape, with wood floors and a moth eaten carpet.
Mario kept his eyes peeled for the slightest bit of color or movement. He didn’t understand how the boos hadn’t found him yet with all the racket the other ghosts were making. Maybe they already had and he just didn't know it yet. The thought wasn’t a comfortable one. If the boos caught up with him now what would ensue could hardly be classified as a fight; not in his current state.
He did have one advantage to his name, however: the keys.
As it turned out, the Key Keeper's parting gift held more than just the keys to the dungeon. That was Mario’s lucky ticket, something none of the boos would suspect. If this place was anything like Peach's castle he should be able to get around just fine by navigating the chambers. Why would the boos search rooms they thought he couldn’t access? It should allow him to dodge their initial sweep at least.
The plan was far from foolproof: one stray boo and the whole thing would go up in smoke, but it should buy him a bit more time, and he was willing to take anything at this point. The only problem was he had no idea which keys belonged to which doors, and there wasn’t a lot of time for trial and error with his ‘fan club’ at his heels.
But the calls of the mansion ghosts did seem to be falling farther behind. He didn’t know how or why, but he was willing to bet the situation wouldn’t last long. He needed to make some decisions, and make them quickly.
He slowed, glancing either direction down the hall. It stretched away empty; he had a few seconds at least. It was now or never.
Mario picked a door at random and jacked on the handle. It was locked. He dowsed his fire and dropped to one knee, fishing the key ring out of his pocket.
The thing was fatter than he remembered it being. It probably held close to a hundred keys of all shapes, sizes, and ages. There was no way he was going to be able to try every single one on every single door he came across. There did seem to be some sort of order to them, though, keys with like embellishment lumped together. The trim of the doors in this corridor all had the same etching, an etching that was passably engraved on one of the sets. That broke the number of first choices down to about fifteen. It gave him somewhere to start at least.
Mario thumbed to the front of the set and took the first key. His aim faltered twice, scratching the face of the keyhole before he finally got the it in, but the lock refused to turn.
He continued like that for a while, key after key. A whole pack of ghosts was going to appear at his back any second; he just knew it. He could hear them through the floors, mixing with the harsh clatter of the lock at every failed attempt. He didn’t have time for this.
Just when he was about to start moving again something gave. The eleventh key slid into place perfectly, and the mechanism turned with a crack. Mario breathed a sigh of relief, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him.
The room beyond was a dining room of sorts, or maybe a tea room. Large, ornate windows covered the back wall. Rain ran down the panes, distorting the bit of blue light filtering in from outside. The dappled pattern on the wallpaper complemented the effect: the whole room looked like it was dripping.
Mario’s eyes adjusted quickly, absorbing whatever light the windows had to offer. He didn’t let his guard down, still expecting the mansion ghosts to crop up at any moment, but there was nothing. Except for the trickling of rain from outside, all was quiet.
All was very quiet.
He stood stock still, eyebrows knit, listening. Not half a minute ago he could hear ghosts chattering below the floors. Now they were gone. It didn’t make any sense.
Mario brushed it aside. He had no idea what had happened to the ghosts, and frankly, he didn’t care for their sudden disappearance, but at this very moment he had a lull, a lull he fully intended to take advantage of.
The first order of business was to deal with his injuries.
He swept the space, looking for anything that would be of use. There were several tables in the room, some scattered with dishes, others draped over with cloth. He made his way to one of the latter and inspected the fabric. It was white and felt like cotton; there was dust on the upward facing side, but that was to be expected. Like everything about this situation it wasn’t ideal, Dr. Toadly would probably kill him if he ever found out about this, but it was what he had, and it would have to do.
Mario pounded on the edge of the cloth, sending a shower of dust into the air, then gripped the corner and tore, pulling away a long, jagged strip. He didn’t need a bandage so much as a brace; he took a deep breath and began wrapping the strip tightly around his leg, right over his overalls. It was about as uncomfortable as he was expecting it to be. Before he had even finished the bind a dark spot had seeped through the white. Mario swore he would never leave home without some kind of mushroom again then started on his shoulder.
When he was finished he stepped forward, trying his handiwork. It still hurt, but it was workable. At least it could hold pressure without collapsing now. That taken care of, Mario moved to the next problem: how to move forward.
One thing and one thing only mattered right now: finding Luigi, preferably before he entered this place at all. Once they met up he could proceed with his promise--find the professor and kick the purple stuffing out of the boos--but not before.
They could take this place between the two of them, Mario was sure of it, and with a bit of luck Luigi may have brought a few items with him too, he almost always did. But for any of that to work, Mario needed to get back to the entrance, and he hadn’t the slightest idea where that was.
He made his way to the windows hoping they would give him some sort of clue.
He was higher up than he realized. A thirty-foot drop onto a swamped courtyard met his view, the expanse of the building stretching around it on three sides. The fourth side was even more impressive: it fell away to nothing, a white crested sea stretching away beyond. This must be the back of the place then.
Despite the height, Mario considered nipping out the window. It was a long way down to be sure, but he could probably find a safe way to pull it off. Walking around the outside of this place would almost definitely be faster than wheedling through a maze of halls and passages. His heart sank a little as he considered being out in the rain again, but on the bright side there were probably fewer ghosts.
He pressed himself against the glass, looking for a ledge below the window. There was one but it was small, and probably slippery. The awnings to either side looked just as treacherous: slanted, with water running over them in rivets.
Mario sighed. Wouldn’t that be the most ironic way to end this mess. The great hero of the Mushroom Kingdom escapes the boos only to fall off a roof and break his neck. The window was a bad idea.
Something large moved below, coming around one of the far walls. Instinctively Mario dropped. He let a few seconds pass, just to be safe, then slowly inched upward again, peering over the sill.
A massive creature stood in the middle of the courtyard sticking its nose into the rain. It was the size of Bowser or bigger, light scales defining it against the dark, wet grass. A set of crests protruded from its head, sweeping back in a short, bowed curve, and a ridge of spines ran down either side of its thick neck and along its shoulders. It stood there for a moment, testing the breeze, then spread its wings and jumped into the air, buffeting the building until the windows rattled as it rose out of sight.
When he was sure it was gone, Mario got to his feet again.
He had all but forgotten the creatures he had seen signs of out front. Well, there one of them went, patrolling the outside of the mansion. Mario couldn’t believe he had slipped by them; they could have been circling overhead like vultures the whole time and he never would have realized. Or maybe they hadn’t missed him. Maybe they were only there to keep him from getting away. He winced at the thought, mind spinning on how he was going to deal with the situation. Any way you sliced it, it was bad. Very bad.
There was a rustle on the other side of the room. Mario glanced around sharply, realizing how much time he had spent here. He needed to get moving again. Now. With one final glance out of the window he turned, making for the left hand door.
It wasn’t locked.
Mario felt an upwelling of all sorts of unpleasant emotions. He jerked away, going for the right-hand door instead. That one was unlocked too. They had found him. For one second he was crushed, cursing himself for stopping in the first place, then a thought struck him: maybe none of the chamber doors were locked. After all, why should they be? He closed his eyes for a moment, breathed out through his nose, and pushed forward into the next room.
It was long, one wall entirely dedicated to windows and a broken glass door leading onto a balcony. Mario couldn’t tell if there was another door on the other end of the room or not, the far wall was swallowed in inky blue. There were a few toppled chairs and a covered mirror leaning against one wall, but other than that, the room was bare.
Mario hung back, worry still clinging to him, then sprinted as best he was able, pelting for the far end of the chamber. He made it about halfway there before something yattered. His stomach lurched, then settled as three orange ghosts and a big fat green one jumped into view. They weren’t boos, that was all he cared about.
He didn’t stop, kindling fire in his hands as he ran, but it was unnecessary. The ghosts hung frozen where they were, then darted away with a collective high-pitched hiss.
He hadn’t gotten anywhere near them.
Mario skidded to a halt, confused. None of the ghosts had reacted like that before. It had almost seemed like they were looking behind him... He gave a quick glance over his shoulder, it was better to be safe than sorry, but of course there was nothing.
It turned out there was a door on the other end of the hall. It opened easily.
• • •
Luigi stood uncomfortably in a small room, a rough, musty towel draped over his shoulder and a melty bag of ice pressed to his head.
“So your name’s Luigi?” said the professor from another room.
Luigi started to nod then realized how useless it would be. A response didn’t seem necessary, though, as the professor went right on talking.
“I thought it may be something starting with L; it’d be the only explanation for your hat. Unless you were a sports fan of course.”
There was a clatter and the sound of a cabinet being hurriedly closed, then the professor appeared again, holding a small bottle of something.
“Though I have to say, I feel like I’ve heard that name before someplace...”
Luigi didn’t respond to that. The professor had probably heard his name from the papers, and he didn’t exactly feel up to explaining all of that right now.
Though he had to admit, something seemed odd about the professor to him as well, the strangest sense of deja vu.
E. Gadd gave the vial a shake.
“Now, let’s take a look at that bump of yours.”
Luigi hesitated for a moment then knelt down on the floor, gingerly removing his ice pack. The professor plucked at his hair, and he winced.
“Well you sure got a nice wallop,” The professor said. Luigi heard the vial unscrew, and a few burning drips trickled over the welt. Slowly, the pain began to subside.
“There we are. You’ll be right as rain in a minute.”
The professor clipped around his side and put the bottle on a cluttered workbench. Luigi glanced at the label in what he hoped was a discreet way. ‘Mushroom Drops’ was scrawled across the front of it in hand printed letters.
“Thank you,” he said, standing up again.
“No need to thank me, lad. I’m just glad I was there,” the professor said, nodding enthusiastically. “A few more minutes and those ghosts would have been chewing on you.”
Luigi shuddered.
“You do have me a might curious though, what were you doing there in the first place?”
“I was supposed to be meeting my brother,” said Luigi.
The professor scratched his head.
“Well, I suppose that makes sense, but why that old place?”
Luigi didn’t bother trying to explain, just produced the competition flyer. E. Gadd took the paper and inspected it.
He gave a low whistle.
“Well, that certainly is a strange bit of work; that’d snag me at your age to be sure. I can tell you for pretty certain, though, this isn’t on the up and up. I sure didn’t make it.”
The little man’s forehead scrunched as he continued to look over the paper.
“And you say your brother was supposed to meet you here?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s hardly good news…”
“Have you seen him?” asked Luigi “He left before me, he should have been here already.”
The professor didn’t answer the question, and Luigi wondered if he had heard; he just continued to turn over the paper as if it held some secret he needed to unlock. Eventually, he glanced up at Luigi again.
“Best sit down a bit, lad, you’re still not looking all that good. I’ll make a bit of tea.”
Luigi sighed as the old man disappeared into the next room again. Not knowing what else to do, he moved himself to the aged sofa wedge in the corner. Luigi felt every individual spring compress as he sat.
“Why were you there? Is that your mansion?” he asked the empty room.
“Well I suppose in a manner of speaking, though I couldn’t turn over the deed,” Came the answer from around the corner. “I’ve lived here for about twenty years on and off. That has to count for something.”
“Why?” was all Luigi could muster.
“Studying ghosts of course; that place is the perfect spot for them. Though things have been a bit rowdy in there lately, I don’t mind saying.”
Luigi was quiet at this. A fresh wave of deja vu smacked into him. An old man who studied ghosts…
A wet, sputtery whistling escaped the next room, and a few moments later the professor returned, carrying a pair of mismatched mugs. Luigi hardly noticed when the cup was pushed into his hand, he was too busy staring holes in the dirt floor. The professor gave him a rather concerned look then took a seat on a little three legged stool.
Then it hit him.
“You’re the professor who works up on thwomp mountain!” Luigi blurted.
E. Gadd started, his tea sloshing dangerously.
“Well,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “I’m flattered. I didn’t think many people knew I was up there. That’s more of a secondary situation, though. My best work by far is here.”
There was a moment of silence. Luigi caught a whiff of something odd and wondered if the professor had left something on in the kitchen. He was on the verge of saying something when he realized it was the tea. He discreetly cupped the top of his mug with his hands.
“When were you supposed to meet him?” Asked the professor.
So he had heard.
“Whenever I could. He left an hour or so before I did, I think.”
“...Does he wear red?”
Luigi nodded, stomach tightening.
The professor gave a long sigh.
“I saw a fellow in red walking up to the mansion a while ago. I was hoping it was you, and I was mistaken about the color. I went after him right quick to try and head him off, that’s why I was in the mansion, but I never found him.”
Luigi grit his teeth, sliding his cup onto a workbench.
“Thank you for your help,” he said, standing up.
“Whoa, hold on there, lad; where do you think you’re going?” Said the professor, jumping up as well.
“I’m going after him.”
“But you can’t just go traipsing in there, not on your own!”
Of course the professor was right, and frankly, it was the last thing on earth Luigi wanted to do.
“I’ll manage,” was all he said.
The professor didn’t take that. With another one of his quick movements, he placed himself in Luigi’s path. Granted, Luigi could have probably stepped over him if he wanted to, but it was the gesture that counted.
“Please lad, you’ve got to listen to me; you can’t just go bursting in there like that. You won’t do yourself any good, or your brother either.”
Luigi didn’t answer, but he didn’t move. The pause seemed to be all the encouragement E.Gadd needed. He made for the exit ladder and began digging through a pile at the base of it, eventually dragging the whole thing across the floor in Luigi’s direction.
It was the pack he had been wearing in the mansion.
Notes:
Have you ever been planning ahead with a story and realized certain characters weren’t there? You play the scenes out in your head only to find that parts of the cast have vanished into smoke, and no matter where you look you can’t seem to find them? Well, that’s been happening with Murzim.
For whatever reason, no matter what point I look at, Murzim is nowhere to be found. Sasura’s there, she’s going to get herself into all sorts of trouble, but never Murzim. He does turn up again at the very end (and I mean the very end, when people are sleeping this whole mess off) but that’s it.
So the question is, where did he go?
The more I write, the more I find your subconscious knows more about storytelling than you ever will. When stuff like that starts turning up, instead of overriding it, I try to figure out why and how it happens.
I’ve been doing that for the past few weeks and have uncovered some fascinating results. It promises to be very interesting writing.
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