In the depths of the purse, Traycup said, “It's dark in here,” because it was dark in there. Even a broken clock is right a few times a day—the hard part's knowing when.

“We will want for a slightly bright light,” said Roby, “or expedient evolution en route to echolocation!”

“Evolution demands a sacrifice,” said Traycup, “and I've no knife.”

“I have,” said Roby, but then added, “—not got one, or two, of course. Why is needed a sacrifice, and whom for it shall suffice?”

“Well, that's just what's said in the old books. But! I am unjust. An attempt at gaining light also has merit, but where will we find an anglerfish at this hour?”

“Where indeed,” said an anglerfish. “Now, it's answer time. Who are you, barging into my own zone, keeping your names secret, and spinning fibs about knives?”

“Ho there!” said Traycup. “We've a piece of luck here. Goodfish, shine your light 'pon us, if you will!”

“We can find our own selves,” said Roby, “yet we want for light for the environs hereabouts! It is the relative positioning of the two that is of concern!”

“Light? You get none! Strangers, and demanding ones at that! Well, we'll set you to rights in short time. Gentlemen, ready the can opener!”

Unseen gentlemen readied the can opener. Unmentioned gentlemen, surprised to find themselves mentioned, did not ready any can openers—that was already accounted for.

“There is an idea of me—let us cease to be strangers!” said Roby. “I am Roby Lopkit, and this friend of me is Traycup.”

“Oh ho! So it's a time of names after all?” said the anglerfish. “Then I've one as well. Let me see—yes! I am Ben Garment. That is what I shall be called. So, we are strangers no more. In this I am satisfied. You shall have your light.”

Ben Garment shone his dangler and a bright light filled the purse, and it could be seen that myriad passages and caves sprawled away in every direction, and Traycup and Roby were as lost as in an anthill of devout intricacy. Ben Garment was no liar, and indeed was an anglerfish as promised, with a handsome wooden coat and a fine set of wheels. The unseen gentlemen remained unseen, as it seemed the can opener would not see use after all, and they had three better things to do than this. The unmentioned gentlemen, mentioned again, strongly considered ceasing their participation.

“You've done a thankful thing,” said Traycup, “now, willn't you do one more?”

“A real favor-asking man!” said Ben Garment. “Say the favor and know if it's pleasing to one or all.”

“We're pursebound in search of the Blood Onyx of Zykluur. If this is a thing known to you, make us the same in wisdom, and true friends we'll be ever onward!”

At this, Ben Garment could only laugh, because he suffered an unfortunate genetic complexion which drove him to laughter at the mention of Zykluur. So he laughed a bellowous laugh, and two old nurses came up to Traycup and fined him.

“We pursue butter,” Roby explained, for she was keen in seeing a job well-done, “and so a need of us is the Onyx of Blood that seems to be of Zykluur! That is the reason.”

Now Ben Garment laughed again, and this time two young nurses came up to Roby and fined her, and then, finally recovering, Ben Garment said, “I know it, as there can be no other reason. Alas, said stone—better left unsaid, may I say—is at times well-known, and for no good reason. It carries a curse with it, and what's more, is quite indeed lost!”

“We fearn't a curse, Roby and I—that's so, isn't it?” Traycup said.

“Unless it is a fearful curse,” said Roby.

“Put it to paper and judge,” said Ben Garment. “The thing's curse is as follows: those who find it are bound to lose it once more. Those who pick it up as quickly lob it. Those who see it blind their eyes and embrace dismemory.”

“Clever devil!” said Traycup. “The thing defies knowing its place. We've a task or two to know the unknown, then.”

Roby didn't say anything, but instead ignored the script and had a few peanut butter crackers. Sadly, peanut was not the variety of butter they sought at the moment. Equally sadly, they just got stuck all up in her teeth somethin' fierce.

“Let's begin a test for the beast,” said Traycup. “We'll set it nice things—strawberry shortcake, ten teddy bears, a brand new walkie-talkie, and materials akin. Seeing which gifts stay untouched we'll gain the knowledge of where it isn't. None could resist these alluring prizes!”

This seemed to be a good plan, perhaps a little too good, so Roby said, “I will call the plumber.”

“Do that hastily and quietly,” said Ben Garment, “if you're to do it at all! Plumbers around here can be ferocious if backed into a corner. Elsewhere, they can be disingenuous if backed into a corner. Of course, it depends on the corner.”

Roby hastened to the telegraph office before Ben Garment could expound overlong.

“What do you want?” said the telegraph operator.

“I would like to contact a plumber.”

“You want to—you want to call a plumber? Over the telegraph?”

“This is correct,” said Roby, “and please tell him to bring a new shirt.”

“Lady, this is a historical reenactment for the school. The telegraph doesn't really work. It's not hooked up to anything. Besides, I mean, is a plumber gonna have his own telegraph? No! So how's he gonna get the memo?” The telegraph operator leaned over Roby and glared at her, narrowing all of its eyes. “You look abnormal. Don't you have a phone—or know what one can look like?”

The dressing-down was not on Roby's to-do list, and she glanced about in a state of nerves, and happened to notice Traycup and Ben Garment getting on a blimp. Not—not like, they weren't getting into the gondola, where you're supposed to ride it. They were getting on a blimp—right on the very top. Ben Garment had a long ladder, and Traycup had enough snails to hold it in place while they climbed, so it had seemed a natural fit.

The telegraph operator followed her gaze.

“There's no such thing as plumbers,” it said, and broke in half, and fell into the sewer. There was lots of stuff in the sewer, and now there was more.

Roby fled the telegraph office—which now began to burn down since its parking meter was past due—for she had already guessed at the accident that lay ahead of the blimpgoers. She called out to Traycup and Ben Garment, “The errand of you and you is due to undo all the work lurking! A secret reserving, perhaps not preserving, the hidden stone—a little-known riddled zone, unbeknownst to little folk, the place thus far unbespoke, must remain quite remote!”

Traycup heeded none of this dire warning. “Come along, Roby!” he said. “With flight, we will've a great luxury! Like the kings of old, we can travel in, if not style, then with adequate luggage!”

“Fear not the elder zeppelin,” said Ben Garment. “Its machinations are as like to bear fruit as disease or worse! There are adequate snails, so climb quickly and become aboard!”

“The curse is a thing of consideration,” said Roby, who considered much, “and the airship has height that will grant too much sight! The Onyx of Blood that is of Zykluur—”

At the mention of Zykluur, Ben Garment began laughing again, an uproarious and jovial laugh that was unakin to his character, and this time one young and one old nurse came to fine Roby, but they tripped over the snails, dislodged the ladder, and what's more, accidentally radioed to the air traffic control tower to signal the blimp to launch. And so it unmoored, and went aloft, and floated away and far from Roby. Traycup waved bon voyagely, and Ben Garment, once recovered, shrugged it off as some typical Roby antics.

“A foolish deed indeed,” said Roby to no one but herself. “If the thing demands a hiding spot, it shall become a danger if it cannot! When all the hiding spots are laid bare, the place of safety will be nowhere.”

And indeed, as Traycup and Ben Garment rose in the mighty blimp, the whole countryside of the inside of the commissar's purse was there before them, lit by Ben Garment's mighty dangler, and every nook and cranny was exposed to them, and in the space of a breath they saw the Blood Onyx of Zykluur, prancing in a lovely field as a tangy orchestra played sadly.

“I've it in my sights!” said Traycup. “A task accomplished without suspicious ease, as corralling the snails was a true task!”

“Now,” said Ben Garment, “ready the harpoons! We'll pin it down and net it, and drag it aboard kicking and screaming!”

The unseen gentlemen, hiding their faces behind folding fans, manned the torpedoes, before rereading Ben Garment's line, and manned the harpoons instead. “For king or country!” they said, and they all fired in different directions, all at the same target. Meanwhile, the unmentioned gentlemen gave up entirely and quit on the spot and went home.

Now, some people are very concerned about their appearance, and make it their entire identity—but then, there are some people who will proudly say that they don't care what others think about them at all, and that's a fine attitude to have, except it's impossible, and they've already lied. Most people fall somewhere between the extremes. Roby was the definition of one end of the spectrum—she didn't even know what color her eyes were, so alien was a mirror to her. The only thought she gave to clothing was acquiring more coats, because pockets.

I only mention this because the Blood Onyx of Zykluur went to the one place where no one would ever find it—and it wasn't in the hands of the unseen gentlemen, who now posed dramatically in the spotlight, roses clenched between their teeth, jazz hands all.

At the same time, the Blood Onyx of Zykluur certainly appeared to be everywhere—in fact, everyone who looked for it even slightly would find it. They would find it, and so stop looking for the real it. Each of the unseen gentlemen had lobbed their harpoon toward one, a perfect shot, and would surely pierce their hearts if they weren't some illusory trick.

Meanwhile, in the commissar's hand—the one holding the purse—was the purse, when suddenly a lot of harpoons came flying out of the purse, somehow not having been stopped by striking their targets. Because no one had bothered to check how long their ropes were, and since their length was undefined, there was really no reason for the harpoons to do anything but keep going. But harpoons could only mean one thing—the blimp was out of torpedoes.

“I'll have to refill it,” said the commissar, upending his purse and dumping everything into a frying pan. But of course, blimps fly, not fry, and so Traycup and Ben Garment simply flew out of the phone booth and away from the commissar's reach.

“Adieu, sire!” hailed Traycup as they flew away. “Our quest persists! Keep that butter warm for us, if you'd not mind!”

Roby, however, wasn't enblimped, and made no similar escape. She landed in the frying pan amongst the remnants of the telegraph office, the unmentioned gentlemen's business cards, and a yak named Kyle. A number of Christmas ornaments fell down all around her—three—and some were shaped like reindeer, some made of spaghetti.

“Ye're back!” shouted the commissar. “So, ye must have the Blood Onyx of Zykluur. Hand it over!”

“You speak much of hands,” said Roby. “But, behold! The Onyx of Blood that is of Zykluur bears a curse, of course, and wishes not to be found, so it is not around. Look to your left, and then to your right, and you will see it in mirage—so look instead inside yourself, into a place quite unseeable, and there beside your heart and breath the Onyx may be meetable!”

“Ah, a metaphor,” said the commissar. “It's a very valuable rock and I need it at once. The real it. Not a metaphor. Yer words do me no good.”

“I do not know what a metaphor is for, so I speak of the real Blood Onyx of Zykluur. We have come to meet it and face its curse, and now to beat it, this is our course!”

“Hey,” said the operator, still juggling lungs. “I can crack you open and take a look.”

“Aye, it's needed,” said the commissar. “Ye'll do it quickly, with those hands of ye, or else I'll see ye tossed with the rubbish on Saturday morn!”

So the operator took his scalpel and cut the commissar straight in half, and looked inside, and saw the Blood Onyx of Zykluur—which of course meant that was not the Blood Onyx of Zykluur, which could only be found if it was never found. The operator grabbed it anyway and put it aside.

“Now, I'm gonna need a lot of glue. Hey, you know where to find a nurse?” said the operator to Roby, who wasn't there.