"I tell you," gurgled the humanoid-sized slug with arms named Dr. Lubricious Slugg, pausing at length to mop his brow between his eyestalks with a light blue handkerchief he had pulled out of his suit jacket, "These are bad Handies. They mean to push us off the skyle, I bet.” Slugg and his two new friends were traveling through a sparse forest of skinny, finger-shaped fleshtrees. Each friend carried a fishing rod and reel. “They mean to push us over the edge, and that's why they sent us fishing."

  The big-eyed Krapaterian orphan named Tiny Tirdly was starving. Plus, he had always wanted to go fishing, so he tried not to think about being pushed off the skyland.

  "I'm hungry as a voracious rhino," giggled the rotund nekroklown named Poo-gofferson.

  "Well, you're not as hungry as this slug," rumbled Dr. Slugg. "Let's risk getting shoved to our deaths. You two do the fishing and I'll keep watch, and if any of those finger-heads try to push us--" Dr. Slugg shook his fist threateningly in the direction the handquarters of Andee Handyman.

  In about an hour they had come to an edge of the skyle. Poo-go and Tiny Tirdly shuddered as they looked over the ridge, and even the brave Dr. Slugg had a queer feeling in the pit of his stomach as grey clouds went rolling and tumbling past them.

  "Do you think we'll catch any birds, Poo-go?" asked Tiny Tirdly, venturing so near the edge that Poo-Go gave a giggle of terror. Cutting the line from one of the rods he doubled it many times and fastened Tiny Tirdly securely to a bony fleshtree. With what was left, he made a safety belt for himself. Then they sat upon the edge of the skyle and cast their lines far into the air below.

  "Now, Tiny Tirdly my lad, don't expect a bite too soon," giggled the squat nekroklown, "for fishing is a mighty slow business, but a fine one for thinking, and all of us need to think of a way to get off this island."

  Dr. Slugg, with his back to the two fishermen, kept a sharp lookout for Handies, and all three tried to think. But thinking when you're hungry is hard work and they hadn’t eaten in days.

  Then, all at once, Tiny Tirdly's line gave a jerk and had he not been bound to the fleshtree he would certainly have been pulled off.

  "Oh! Oh!" screamed the little orphan in delight, "I've caught something!"

  Poo-Go ran to help Tiny Tirdly, and hand over hand they pulled up the line. What do you suppose was on it? A wyrmbyrd, which is a pale yellowy-pinkish yokai with the head of a giant acanthocephala worm and the body of a Plotzian goose. This one was covered in thick black veins and was smoking gently as they drew it over the edge.

  "Why, it's cooked!" marveled Tirdly, as Poo-go was unfastening the line which had caught the avian-class yokai. And so it was- dead as a doorknob and cooked thoroughly through, from it’s front orifice to its back orifice and down to its crispy long legs and webbed feet.

  "Aha, so our wyrmbyrd is cooked, is it?" observed Dr. Slugg, sniffing the air hungrily. "Must have flown too close to the sun."

  "Well," giggled Poo-gofferson, "that I don't pretend to know. Fishing for birds is strange enough, but catching a cooked wyrmbyrd is almost too good to be true."

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  "But it is true," exulted Tiny Tirdly, clapping his hands, "and I caught it!" Poo-go ran off in search of liquid. In a few minutes he came running back with a bucket full which he had drawn from a small well. The bucket, one of the canvas collapsible kind used in circuses, the nekroklown had fortunately stowed inside his slug costume. Poo-Go had been feeling very weighed down by said costume and removed it after he returned to Dr. Slugg and Tiny Tirdly, revealing his dingy, crusty yellow clown suit that was white when he got it.

  As neither meat nor drink was now lacking, they sat down under a small fleshtree and dined quite merrily. After they had polished off the wyrmbyrd Dr. Slugg belched and asked:

  "Have either of you thought of any way to get off the skyle yet?" Tiny Tirdly looked sad and shook his head.

  "I’ve not a thought," giggled Poo-Go. He turned a dozen cartwheels, walked a few paces on his hands, and ended up with a somersault over Tiny Tirdly.

  "You're a spry one," said Dr. Slugg admiringly, as the nekroklown sat down with his back against a fleshtree, "as spry a one as I've ever met."

  "Thank you," giggled Poo-go. "If thinking came as easily as cartwheeling we'd be out of Handieland in no time. But now that we're fed and comfortable, suppose we think again."

  "I'd rather fish," said Tiny Tirdly promptly. "Can't we fish a little longer, Poo-go?"

  "Well, there's no harm in it," replied the nekroklown, "and as we'll probably have to spend the night here we may as well catch something for breakfast."

  Tiny Tirdly smiled and, moving his rod gently to and fro, thought about the adventures he was having. Poo-go was fishing too, and everything was very quiet. All around them the light was fading and soon the stars began to tinkle above and below the little skyland. Tiny Tirdly had never seen stars so large nor so bright, but then the orphan had never been so close to them before.

  Eventually Tiny Tirdly drooped gently against Poo-go, and the nekroklown fell back against the fleshtree he was tethered to. In another second their rods were forgotten and both were fast asleep.

  It happened so quickly that Dr. Slugg was completely taken by surprise. "Well, it's a good thing I didn't doze off, for somebody must stay awake and keep guard." The big gastropod yawned and stretched, then set himself to keep the watch while his comrades slept.

  He was terribly sleepy himself and his eyestalks began to droop, but Dr. Slugg knew that the lives of these traveling companions depended upon his keeping awake, so he oozed up and down, and down and up the edge of the skyle, and presently he heard a sound that made him quake with terror. Footsteps in the woods! Hundreds of them- coming nearer every minute!

  "The Handies," choked Dr. Slugg, and hesitated between waking Poo-go and Tiny Tirdly, or advancing to meet the enemy. Before he could make up his mind, a whole party, their sharp fingernails gleaming and spiked thimbles glittering strangely in the brown moonlight, burst out of the fleshtrees.

  "Get 'em off! Get 'em off!" screamed Mandee Handyman’s hand Andee Handyman at the head of the crowd. Slugg quickly sipped from his flask of Psoriasian gunge.

  With a phlegmy roar that sounded more terrible than anything you could imagine, because it was mostly made up of sheer fear, Dr. Slugg sprang straight at them. Down went Mandee and Andee Handyman and a dozen Handie warriors. But they were far from giving up and after a brief parley came on again. Once more Dr. Slugg struck out, punching left and right. This time two dozen more went down, but Dr. Slugg was forced toward the slumbering Poo-go and Tiny Tirdly, and the treacherous edge of Handieland.

  Screaming horribly, the Handies came a third time. Dr. Slugg, foaming at the mouth, beat off the mass of Handies. The poor gastropod was shaking with exhaustion and fright, but never thought of giving up.

  Unfortunately, despite his heroic efforts, our valiant friend was soon smothered by the attacking Handies, who proceeded to beat him repeatedly with their balled-up hand-heads, either punching him or head-butting him, depending on your point of view. With every blow a loud wet fart burst out of the doomed gastropod’s bottom hole.