ACT I ACT II ACT III ACT III+

ACT III:

ESCAPE FROM MONKEY ISLAND™

Slowly, the throbbing in his head receded.

He was lying on sand. The sun burned down on his bare legs, and he heard waves crashing not far behind him.

Guybrush groaned, rubbed the back of his head, and slowly stood up. So, he was on a beach. Apart from some birds wheeling overhead, and the rustle of banana leaves in the wind, nothing moved. Where had Ozzie and LeChuck marooned him? He didn't know, although there was something awfully familiar about the scenery. A small ridge of mountains reared up not far away, and the jungle in front of him looked awfully thick. Screeches and birdcalls echoed from the dark interior.

Suddenly, the smell hit him. A stench of clotted seaweed and rotting bananas, just like on any Caribbean island--but there was something more to it. An exotic hint of danger...

Only one island smelt like-

"Oh, no!" blurted out Guybrush. "Those two maladjusted greed-monsters left me marooned on Monkey Island™!"

Abruptly, it all seemed like too much. Guybrush's head slumped. "Well, that's it," he said. "I give up. I'll never overcome these incessant obstacles..."  Why must his entire life be just an endless succession of...of puzzles?

As he trailed off, Guybrush became aware of a pattering sound on the sand in front of him. He looked up. Standing only a few meters in front of him was a small grey and black monkey. It gestured and chittered at him.

Guybrush stared glumly at it. Then he realized who this was: Timmy the monkey! "Oh, hey Timmy," he said. "Don't try to cheer me up: just give up. I know I am."

But as he said these words, he suddenly realized he didn't mean them. Seeing Timmy here had given him hope.

"Oh, all right," said Guybrush. He stood up, Timmy clapping his approval. Steely resolve tightened his muscles. Facing the empty beach, Guybrush said, "First order of business: get off this stinking island! Second order of business: stop Ozzie and LeChuck from using the Ultimate Insult on Elaine and assorted others! Third order of business: buy some new shoes!"

Walking carefully to avoid sharp rocks, Guybrush slowly made his way into the dark interior of Monkey Island™.

Not much had changed since he was last here. The cannibal village was still here, though the cannibals were long gone--now it was occupied by a group of smelly monkeys. Guybrush ran across Herman, the old stranded pirate, and after a short conversation determined he was just as crazy as ever. And of course the Giant Monkey Head was still there: Guybrush was hoping he'd be able to find a way off this island without having to go inside that hideous thing, but he wasn't optimistic.

There were some new features though. The first was a horizontal mine shaft that Guybrush stumbled across by accident. The floor had thin metal rails on wooden sleepers, and the roof was a thatchwork of dry roots. A mine car rested on its side in the dust.

Obviously this mine had produced ore in the past; but who had built it?

Guybrush walked down to the end of the railway. It stopped abruptly at a thick metal door. There was a thin opening, like a doggy door, that Guybrush could lever open, but no other way of budging the door. Looking through the opening he could see a lever-- did it open the door? But it was just out of reach.

He couldn't find anything else down in the mine, and returned to the surface. Soon afterward he found a golden banana picker, which he took. Could be useful later.

And then there was the castle.

It was built of black stone and loomed menacingly from the outer rim of the crater of Monkey Island's recently woken volcano. Guybrush had difficulty crediting his eyes. This certainly hadn't been here a few months ago, when he'd last had the displeasure of being trapped on Monkey Island™. Besides, it looked wholly out of its environment. A castle like this ought to be hidden in dark European forests, perched on craggy mountain outcrops and starkly illuminated against a raining, lightning-blasted sky.

But it certainly looked solid enough. Gothic stained glass windows and leering gargoyles adorned the outer structure. As Guybrush came closer, the figures shown in the stained glass windows started to look awfully familiar.

It was LeChuck.

Guybrush halted, then his curiosity got the better of him. Besides, if LeChuck was still on the island, he might be his only way back.

He climbed a steep set of granite stairs, passed through a dim antechamber, then found himself in the main room. At once Guybrush understood. This wasn't a castle--it was a church.

The pews were high-backed, built of stone, and looked very uncomfortable. There were more stained glass LeChuck images. It was very hot in here, for a reason Guybrush couldn't at first identify. And, walking down the narrow central aisle, Guybrush was disturbed to see a shadowy figure hovering up and down in front of the altar.

Guybrush swallowed. A ghost. And, judging by the collar, a ghost priest. He'd had more than enough ghost dealings in the past--time to leave.

But even as Guybrush stopped moving forward, the priest lifted his head. Shimmering, almost non-existent eyes pierced him. "Um, your holiness?" Guybrush ventured.

"Yes, my child?" said the priest. "Welcome to the First Church of LeChuck, Orthodox. I am Father Allegro Rasputin. How may I help you?"

Church of LeChuck? Guybrush shrugged, and came forward, carefully. The altar was built a little way back from the pews. Now he saw why. Neatly bisecting the church was a trench maybe six feet deep. A thin stone block bridged the gap.

At the bottom ran a hot, bubbling river of lava. Floating on the lava were hollowed out logs of wood, spaced at regular intervals. They ran into the church from under one wall, moved with surprising rapidity along the lava trench, and left via the other side. How they didn't burst into flame Guybrush had no idea.

Layers of hot air welled over Guybrush as he crossed the river and joined Father Rasputin on the other side. He wasn't so fearsome a character, up close. The draping black robes obscured his feet, and thin bony hands were clasped together against his chest. His face was long, and mournful. The solemn image was only spoiled by the fact that he just couldn't keep still--his wispy body rose and fell, swung left and right... sliding about in the air like he was on ice.

Guybrush hadn't forgotten his question. "The First Church of LeChuck? You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all.  This temple is dedicated to worshiping the awe-inspiring perfection that is LeChuck."

"How could you build a religion around LeChuck?" said Guybrush. "He's an unholy demon pirate from Heck!"

Father Rasputin looked sternly at him. "I kindly suggest that you mind your tongue, heretic. Such blasphemies will not be tolerated in the House of LeChuck."

Perhaps this wasn't a good topic to press, Guybrush thought. He changed the subject. "Don't look now, but there's a river of lava flowing through the middle of your church."

"Yes, I know," said Father Rasputin. "We use it for church ceremonies."

"Baptisms?"

"Weddings. Here at the Church of LeChuck, we see marriage as a plunge into the unknown. As a symbol of that plunge, we send our newlyweds on a harrowing ride down a river of molten lava."

"Doesn't that kill them?" said Guybrush.

"Only if the restless Spirit of LeChuck doesn't approve of the union," said Father Rasputin, smiling. "Besides, our honeymoon boats are lined with StanTech Voodoo-Enhanced Asbestos, to keep fatalities to an acceptable minimum."

That didn't sound any more risky than all the other foolish things Guybrush'd done since returning from his honeymoon. And being on Monkey Island had put him in a fatalistic mood. "I'd like to try your lava plunge!" said Guybrush.

Father Rasputin was hesitant. "Welllll, I suppose we could use another test run before LeChuck and Elaine's impending nuptials..."

"What?" blurted Guybrush. "LeChuck and Elaine getting married?"

Father Rasputin nodded. "Ah, yes, the prophesized wedding of noble LeChuck and the chaste Elaine."

Guybrush raised an eyebrow. "'Chaste?'"

"All the signs point towards the prophesy being fulfilled any day now," continued Father Rasputin. The topic seemed to have livened him up a little. "I've been working my ghost fingers to the bone trying to get the church ready for their wedding ceremony."

So that's what the church was doing here! Guybrush shuddered to at all the effort LeChuck must have gone to just to marry his wife. "Elaine can't marry LeChuck; she's already married!" Guybrush said.

Father Rasputin was not impressed. "The First Church of LeChuck (Orthodox) doesn't recognize Elaine's blasphemous marriage to the... Anti-LeChuck."

The name was spoken with venom.

Guybrush was blank. "Who?"

"The evil Anti-LeChuck.  'He-Whose-Name-Must-Not-Be-Spoken.'"

"Guybrush Threepwood?"

Father Rastputin recoiled--or at least wafted backward a little. "Ack, you said the name!  Blasphemer!"

"I'm the Anti-LeChuck?" said Guybrush, pointing to himself.

"Don't be silly," said Father Rastputin. "The Anti-LeChuck is three meters tall, has a prehensile tail, a forked tongue, and the number '1138' stamped on his forehead."

"But his name is 'Guybrush Threepwood,' right?"

"Stop saying that name!"

Father Rasputin didn't seem like such a bad... ghost. And he was certainly the first intelligible person Guybrush'd had a conversation with since being dumped here. He had a sudden impulse to ask him for advice.

"I could use some advice, padre," said Guybrush.

Father Rasputin regarded him soberly. "What's troubling you, my son?"

"I need to find a way to get off of this fershlugginer island," said Guybrush.

"There is no Escape from Monkey Island™," intoned Father Rasputin.

"That's not true," said Guybrush. "I've escaped it on at least two occasions."

"Well then, why don't you just escape it again, Mister Smarty-Pants?"

Guybrush had no answer to that. He asked another question. "I'm looking for an antidote to the Ultimate Insult."

"I've never heard of that.  What is it?"

"It's a voodoo talisman that shatters the souls of pirates," said Guybrush.

"Hmmm," said Father Rasputin. "During my travels with LeChuck, I noticed that the easiest way to defeat a voodoo curse was by employing a bigger voodoo curse. But perhaps I'm oversimplifying your plight."

"That's okay, my plight could use some simplifying," said Guybrush. He thanked Father Rasputin for his advice, decided maybe he wouldn't take the offer of a lava rollercoaster ride (and besides, the log that Father Rasputin offered him was pink), and walked slowly out into the bright sunshine. All his avenues of his escape were dead. Nobody helpful was on the island, and those who were didn't have any transportation off it.

There was only one place he could go now.

Guybrush stood in the baking heat, sweat dripping from his ears, and looked up. No matter how many times he saw it, it never seemed to get any smaller.

The Giant Monkey Head.

He'd first beheld the Head in all its manky majesty when he'd sailed out to Monkey Island™ to rescue Elaine from the clutches of the Ghost Pirate LeChuck. Then later again he'd been here, trapped by LeChuck in the Big Whoop Amusement Park. Now he was here again. The Head kept recurring in his life, like a persistent stomach infection.

Apart from its size, there was nothing remarkable about the Head. Its face was anatomically accurate, but bland and nondescript. It sat on the earth like an ornamental coconut, given a silvery sheen by the high noon sun. Something about the Head looked oddly familiar, this time, but Guybrush couldn't place what it was.

Guybrush wandered around to one side of the Head, where the right ear stuck out like a curving wall. In here was a switch that opened the mouth of the Head, revealing a passage to the molten caverns below the island. A key was needed to accomplish this, and as Guybrush approached he saw to his surprise that it was still here. The key, a four foot long Q-Tip, was jammed in the earhole of the Head, its end broken and wax encrusted. Guybrush tried moving the key around in the squishy muck of the ear, but nothing happened. Obviously, it was broken.

Guybrush came back out the front of the Head and looked up again. From here he could see right up the bulky nostrils of the thing. Not a pretty view. Before he turned his head away, however, he saw a gleam of metal.

He looked back. Yes, there was some kind of latch in the right nostril of the Head. Strange he'd never noticed it before. But the nostril was about sixteen feet in the air, far too high for him to reach. Guybrush stepped back, and picked up the banana picker he'd found earlier. Stretching on tiptoes he could just push it into the right nostril. Nothing happened to the Head, so Guybrush depressed the button on the base of the picker. The picker seized the latch, shifted it, and held tight.

Simultaneously the lower jaw of the Giant Monkey Head thudded into the earth, its tongue rolling out from within.

Guybrush shrugged, paused to take a deep breath, and stepped into the open maw.

After a short crawl through a tunnel, he came out into a room, and stopped, confused.

This was different.

It was some time since Guybrush had last traveled through the earth beneath the Giant Monkey Head, but he could still remember the spinal staircase of the Monkey, the rivers of lava, the hellish faces carved in the rock, the purple mushrooms.

None of that remained.

Instead he was in a flat circular room that resembled nothing so much as the bridge of a starship, banana-shaped ergonomic chairs and all. The walls and banks of instruments were furnished in polished wood and gleaming metal. Guybrush's first thought was that it reminded him of the door in Herman's mine.

The purpose of all these controls completely baffled him. Who knew a Giant Monkey Head could be so complicated? He looked over the instrumentation panel, which had prominent gauges for temperature, pressure, and monkeys. All of these read zero. Guybrush scratched his head over the 'monkeys' gauge, then looked at a nearby slot, set prominently in the control panel. It looked like a keyhole, but whatever was meant to go in it was nowhere in sight.

Turning his head further, he saw a series of small pipes snake out of control panel and run along one wall. Maybe this had something to do with the 'pressure' gauge. Guybrush followed the pipes, which joined with others running from the floor and ceiling, to what looked like the side of a large boiler, embedded in the wall. Guybrush put his ear to the boiler.

Nothing. The whole room was completely quiet. There was the sense of something mighty lying dormant. Guybrush didn't know how he might activate it. Or if that was even a good idea.

Guybrush explored some further, but found nothing else of interest. He shook his head and crawled back outside.

When he was twenty meters away from the Giant Monkey Head, suddenly it struck him what it reminded him of.

He whirled around. Yes, almost an exact likeness.

The Silver Monkey Mug.

One of the pieces he'd found for the Ultimate Insult. And now he thought about it, he'd seen a bronze hat on Monkey Island™, not too long ago...

Suddenly full of purpose, Guybrush shoved his way through the jungle.

Within a few minutes, he was back at the cannibal village. Monkeys were scuttling along the ground, swinging from tree to tree, jumping about in cannibal huts. Guybrush tried to ignore them--they were certainly ignoring him.

At the front of the village, an older monkey sat calmly on a raised wooden platform. On his head nestled a bronze hat.

This surprised Guybrush, as the monkey was exactly where he'd been when he'd last seen him. Guybrush didn't know monkeys could sit still that long. He came forward to take the hat. This might be tricky, but if he made no sudden moves...

"Greetings," said the monkey.

Guybrush stopped. He blinked in confusion.

"Welcome to Monkey Town," continued the monkey. "I am Jojo Jr., Monkey Prince." His voice was quiet, and evenly modulated.

"You can talk?" stammered Guybrush. I haven't been that long out in the sun, have I? he wondered.

"As can you. Imagine that."

Guybrush looked anew at all the monkeys crowding the village. "Do any other monkeys talk?"

"Of course they do," replied Jojo.  Then he laughed.  "Oh.  You mean, do they talk in your language?  No, I am the only one."

"Since when are there so many monkeys on Monkey Island™?" asked Guybrush.

"Since the Great Summoning," said Jojo Jr. "The brotherhood of primates has a unique bond with the world that surrounds us. My monkey brethren have felt a need, a calling, to amass here. There is a feeling that something wonderful will happen soon. Something big."

"Something big?" asked Guybrush.

"That is all we know. And even that is no more than a hunch. But it is the only explanation for this impromptu monkey reunion. They all came of their own accord, though they do not know why."

Guybrush was more concerned with how. He asked.

"Various ways," said Jojo Jr. inscrutably. "Each monkey has found their own path."

"Are any of these paths reversible? I'd sure like to get off this island."

"Your path is yours to find," said Jojo Jr.

"Gee, thanks." Guybrush adjudged they now knew each other well enough for him to ask Jojo Jr. for a favor. "Hey, neat hat!" he said.

Jojo Jr. nodded - it was the first movement he'd seen him make. "Thank you. It is a Hat of Honor."

"Can I have it?" asked Guybrush.

"No."

Despite the flat rejection, Guybrush pushed on. "What do you mean, Hat of Honor?"

"To earn the right to wear this hat, one must become the best at an ancient and noble sport. A contest with a great and long-standing tradition among the monkey-folk. The sport of Monkey Kombat!"

Monkey... Kombat? Guybrush had seen and heard some strange things today, but this topped them all. "What the heck is Monkey Kombat?" he asked, knowing he'd regret it.

"It was once used to train young monkey warriors in the way of combat. In these modern times, it has become a game, albeit a game of supreme honor. Very little has changed over the years. Much of the ceremony has been dropped, but the flinging of insults and witty monkey repartee has remained."

All of this sounded weirdly familiar to Guybrush. He remembered the words of the Voodoo Lady: "...the language used by the Ultimate Insult is so ancient that it's rumored to be the primal language, the language from which all other languages arose-"

Could that language be monkey jabber?

If it were, then Monkey Kombat would be a useful skill to master. And he needed that bronze hat.

"How does it work?"

Jojo Jr. hopped down from the platform and flexed his arms. "Pay attention. I don't want to have to say this again..."

As Guybrush eventually came to understand it, Monkey Kombat was basically similar to Paper-Rock-Scissors.

There were five 'stances', not three. Each stance was activated by shouting out a sequence of monkey noises--literally, insults in monkey language. This took some practice to mimic, but eventually Guybrush grew very proficient at yelling 'Eek! Oop! Chee! Ack!" And when he made the right noises, something incredible happened. A foreign energy entered his body, charging his limbs and jerking them into position. If his stance beat that of his opponent, a bolt of energy would blast from his hands and knock the hapless monkey to the ground. If the reverse was the case, Guybrush would be the one on the receiving end--it was like being struck by a cushion with a lead brick in it. Five knockdowns and you won.

The only skill in the game involved knowing which stances defeated each other. And so Guybrush laid in wait outside the monkey village, challenging any monkey who passed. At first he took a lot of beatings. Then he started to win matches. Eventually he had the rules memorized, and the monkeys were giving him a wide berth.

It was time to challenge Jojo Jr.

Jojo didn't look at all surprised to see Guybrush back. He proved to be a tough competitor, though. Soon he and Guybrush were locked at four knockdowns each, and Jojo's turn to shift stance. Sweat running down his forehead, Guybrush waited for the inevitable.

Then his eyes widened. Jojo must have been feeling the tension too, for instead of shifting to Drunken Monkey--a sure winner over Guybrush's Gimpy Gibbon--he instead invoked the Anxious Ape!

Immediately a green blast of energy burst from Guybrush's hands and laid Jojo Jr. flat on his back.

Guybrush looked at his hands, marveling again at the primeval energy these monkey insults was able to summon. Perhaps the Voodoo Lady really was on to something. Then he remembered Jojo Jr.'s age, and rushed forward to help him up.

Jojo Jr. looked rather stunned. "I cannot believe it," he said as Guybrush helped him to his feet. "I have foreseen losing my crown eventually, but not to such an unlikely opponent. The honor of victory is yours."

Jojo removed the bronze hat and handed it delicately to Guybrush. "Please take good care of it, it is very special."

Guybrush took the hat, bowed to Jojo from the waist up, then ran as fast as he could for the Monkey Head.

But it didn't help.

Even with the bronze hat perched somewhat comically on the balding dome of the Head, the golden banana picker lodged in its nose, and the silver body Guybrush knew it had, the Head itself refused to activate. Not that Guybrush knew what it would do when it did.

He went back and asked Jojo Jr. about the Monkey Head, but he only smiled faintly and said Verrrry interesting...  Which left Guybrush no option.

He'd have to ask Herman for help.

He found the witless hermit not far from the mineshaft, where Herman had made a makeshift hut from logs and a dirty sheet. Guybrush had one just the one card up his sleeve--an accordion he'd found in the monkey village, with the initials H. T. engraved on it. Herman's, obviously. Perhaps it might jog his memory.

Guybrush quickly established that Herman hadn't regained any of his faculties. He didn't remember where the ship he used to own had gone. He didn't recognize the names Ozzie Mandrill or G.P. LeChuck. He didn't even recognize his name. Just conversing with the man was a frustrating exercise--when he wasn't giggling at some stupid joke, he'd forgotten the conversation.

There wasn't much time to waste anymore. Abandoning the story of his sorry plight halfway through, Guybrush brought out the accordion and held in front of Herman's face. Herman didn't say anything, just stared blankly. Then--and Guybrush never knew where this impulse came from--he raised the accordion high in the air and clunked Herman on the head.

"Ouch!" shouted Herman. "What in the name of-"

Suddenly he stopped. A strange expression came over his face. To Guybrush it almost looked like... intelligence.

"Hey!" exclaimed Herman. " I just remembered where I put my pants!"

"Um, that's great... I guess.  What about Ozzie Mandrill?"

"Ozzie Mandrill?  Never heard of him." Herman paused, as if digesting some newly reclaimed memory. "Oh, now I remember... oh no... by Triton's Panty Line, this is horrible!"

Guybrush was baffled by this sudden change in character. What had he unleashed? "Herman?"

"Who?  Oh yeah, that's me, 'Herman.'  Heh.  Listen, kid, you better sit down, 'cause I've got some whale-staggering news to lay on you."

"I didn't know whales could stagger, but go ahead," said Guybrush.

Herman sat down on the nearest log and picked up a stick. "Okay, first of all my real name isn't Herman Toothrot," said Herman. "Let me tell you how I ended up here on Monkey Island™, with nothing but a busted accordion, most of the clothes on my back, and a head full of broken memories..."

Guybrush sat and listened.

"Like so many stories, it began some twenty years ago in a bar on the other side of the world. I had been lured out of my peaceful retirement in the Caribbean by the thrill of a dangerous sailing regatta off the coast of Australia. Anyway, the night before the competition, I was steeling myself for the race with several pitchers of grog when I was joined at the bar by one of the other competitors; an unhappy Australian tycoon with the unlikely name of Ozzie Mandrill."

"No!"

"Yes! And don't interrupt! The poor guy seemed so sad, just because no-one would do business with him anymore. To cheer him up, I regaled him with stories of my adventures on the untamed Caribbean seas."

"So you were the one who told Ozzie about the lucrative developing opportunities of the Caribbean."

"Yes, but that's not all. The next day, as I reached the race's halfway point, I'd already forgotten the grog-induced revelries of the night before. Suddenly, I found myself being rammed by another boat and pushed into a freakish whirlpool. It was none other than Ozzie. And it gets worse!

"I hadn't just told Ozzie about the wonders of the Caribbean; I'd also told him about all its terrible voodoo secrets; secrets that men would kill to possess. I'd told him about the Gate to Heck known as 'Big Whoop.' I'd told him about the Unbelievable Lineage of the Three-Headed Monkey. Worst of all, I'd told him about the Ultimate Insult, the voodoo talisman that could make mice out of men!"

"Remind me never to tell you a secret," said Guybrush.

"Strangely, the whirlpool didn't kill me; instead it dropped me and my shattered ship on the other side of the world. By the time I had righted myself, I had no idea who I was or where I'd came from. I took the name 'Herman Toothrot', after the remaining letters on my accordian... 'H. T.'."

"'H. T.'? Wait a minute, you're not really telling me that you're-"

Herman nodded. "That's right. My real name is Horatio... Torquemada... Marley!"

Grampa Marley? "B-b-b-but you can't be Governor Marley!" Guybrush stammered. "I mean everyone knows that H. T. Marley died over twenty years ago... off the coast of Australia... in a boat race..."

Guybrush slowly trailed off. Horatio was watching him with a set expression on his face.

Guybrush rushed to Horatio and bear-hugged him. "Grampa!!"

"Get your stinking hands off me, you blammed oct-ee-pus!" exclaimed Horatio, arms flailing.

"But sir, we're family, see?" Guybrush showed him the ring on his finger. "I married your granddaughter, Elaine."

For some inexplicable reason this news didn't go down well with Horatio. "Oh, that's just wonderful," he grumbled. "I finally rid myself of amnesia, and the first thing I learn is that my granddaughter has married the sorriest excuse for a pirate in the seven seas. Somebody get me a coconut so I can go back to being blissfully ignorant!"

"Grampa?" asked Guybrush.

"Quit calling me that!"

"That's no way to talk, sir," said Guybrush. "We're going to have to work together to defeat Ozzie and LeChuck."

Horatio's eyes widened. "LeChuck's involved too?!"

"Actually, he's the new Governor of Mêlée Island™."

"Gadzooks! Where's my granddaughter?"

Guybrush paused. "She disappeared after the election."

"Whew, that's a relief," said Horatio.

Not exactly the reaction Guybrush had expected. "Why?" he asked.

"Because of the one secret I didn't reveal to Ozzie before he tried to kill me. The secret of the fourth piece of the Ultimate Insult!"

"The one that had to do with the Governorship of Mêlée Island™?" said Guybrush. "I was wondering about that.  What is it?"

Herman had stood up and was rummaging amongst his belongs. "It's...this!"

Guybrush looked at the small wooden figure in Horatio's hand. "That looks just like the official Gubernatorial Seal of Mêlée Island™," he said.

"It is the official Gubernatorial Seal of Mêlée Island™.  One of them, anyway. A good governor always keeps a spare around, in case the original gets lost. The Seal is the key to unlocking the dread power of the Ultimate Insult; without it, it's just a funky-looking maraca. Now Guybrush, this is very important: where is the other Gubernatorial Seal?"

Guybrush thought hard. "I guess it's with Elaine.  She rarely lets it out of her sight."

"That's good.  As long as Ozzie and LeChuck don't find her, they'll never be able to make the Ultimate Insult work."

Guybrush was still staring at the replica Seal in Horatio's hand. He remembered the Monkey Head, and realized with a rush of excitement that here was the final piece of the puzzle.

Meanwhile, on Mêlée Island™ ...

Tony DiBoulda had once hurled boulders for a living. Now, he dragged them. He grunted and sweated with the strain as he pulled on the chain, the flat stone making a loud scraping noise on the cobbled street. He looked up and saw the newly-erected scaffolding by the Town Hall. Nearly there... He heaved the boulder a few more feet, then gratefully pulled up at the scaffolding, where two pirates were busy trying to lift a stone block into place.

"Ha!" said Tony sourly, rubbing his sore shoulders. This was the fifth such journey he'd had to make this evening, and it wasn't even ten o'clock yet.  "'Good Times, Free Grog!' my pockmarked fanny! You should all be ashamed of yourselves!"

The two pirates glared at him. "Don't be lookin' at me, ye mangy mongrel! I voted for Elaine, I did!" said one.

"Well, I certainly didn't vote for that bilge rat LeChuck," said the other.

"Well, if none of us voted for him," said Tony sarcastically, "then why is he the Governor? And why are we being forced to build this colossal commemorative statue of him in the centre of town?"

"Ah, shaddup!" said the other two pirates.

They were being watched.

In the shadows behind the mer-boy statue, a slim figure lurked and listened.

Elaine. She could barely believe all the changes that had begun just in the few hours since LeChuck had become Governor. Knowing well what LeChuck planned for her, she had gone into hiding, but Elaine just wasn't the sort to fly from danger. She had stayed in Mêlée Township, flitting from shadow to shadow, hoping to learn something of LeChuck's plans.

But what could she do even if she learnt them?

This is horrible, she thought. LeChuck has enslaved my people! It's a good thing my grandfather isn't alive to see this. Why is he making them build that statue? What does this have to do with the Ultimate Insult? What happened to Guybrush?

Her nostrils wrinkled. What's that smell?

The sound of a cocking pistol froze her. Slowly, Elaine turned.

Behind her stood Pegnose Pete, a pistol pointed at her head. "Arr, Ex-Governor Marley," he growled. "You're a hard woman to find, you know that?"

Elaine sighed, and raised her hands. "Obviously not hard enough. You must be Pegnose Pete."

"Aye. The Governor and Mister Mandrill will have a few questions they'd like to ask you."

"Gee. You know I'd like to, but I have to wash my hair for the next seven years."

Pegnose made a sharp gesture with the pistol. "I really must insist."

Pistol prodded in her back, Elaine started toward the Mansion. Hurry up, Guybrush, she thought. I really need you this time...

Guybrush and Horatio had finally made their way back to the Monkey Head.

The journey had gone less smoothly than Guybrush would have liked: not only was Horatio a fairly slow mover (every delay putting Guybrush more and more on edge), but he was also decidedly unimpressed with Guybrush.

"How does it feel to have your memory back?" asked Guybrush as they clambered over a rocky hill.

"How does it feel?" said Horatio. "Let's see. Before you hit me with that accordion, I was a carefree hermit on a tropical island. Now... I've got a dimwit for a grandson-in-law, a granddaughter who's imperiled by not one, but two beings of unspeakable evil, and the knowledge that every pirate in the Tri-Island Area might be wiped out by a mistake I made over twenty years ago! How do you think I feel, Seepgood!?"

"Ummm, cautiously optimistic?" guessed Guybrush.

Horatio grumbled under his breath, and picked up a walking stick.

Now they stood in the plush Monkey Head interior, banana seats and levers and baffling gauges all round. Guybrush had the Gubernatorial Symbol in his hand, hovering just above the keyhole slot in the instrumentation panel. He still didn't know what was supposed to happen. Horatio had talked about the Monkey Head forming an Ultimate Insult yet greater than the Ultimate Insult Ozzie and LeChuck planned to form, and using its power to generate Ultimate Comebacks that would counteract any Ultimate Insults Ozzie and LeChuck tried to concoct. And monkey jabber was involved somewhere, too. It all made Guybrush's head spin, and in any case Horatio had fallen silent.

Guybrush braced himself for the worst, and pushed the Gubernatorial Symbol home.

In the steaming jungles of Monkey Island™, the Giant Monkey Head remained dormant. As it had done for centuries--aeons, even. Only the monkeys remembered the true secret of the Monkey Head, and even that only as a piece of ancient lore. Clearly the thing was dead.

Now, bright rays of green light suddenly stabbed out from the eyes, ears and mouth of the Head. A primal glow that was visible from the heavens. It formed a pulsing sheet of energy that blanketed the island.

The monkeys saw. The time had come. And from the furthest corners of Monkey Island™, they came. They left their huts, abandoned their games, halted Monkey Kombat bouts mid-battle, to come and watch the Monkey Head as green light bathed the air and the ground rumbled.

The lead monkey took a stick, banged it against the ground, then threw it in the air. Behind him the monkeys surged forward, into the Head. They took tiny, little-used passages into the body of the Giant Monkey. Here there were seats, controls, boilers, machinery. The monkeys took their places. Pistons pumped, valves blew, axles cranked.

Everything was ready.

Inside the Monkey Head, the smoke cleared. Guybrush gingerly lowered his hands from his face.

Horatio was grinning. "Relax there, son," he said, hopping into one of the banana seats. "We're going for a little ride." 

Before Guybrush could ask what the hell had just happened, he heard a soft padding noise behind him. He turned, to see Jojo Jr. sitting on another seat. "Pull that lever there, would you?" he asked.

Guybrush was rapidly growing accustomed to strangeness, so he didn't ask what Jojo was doing here. He just shrugged, pulled the lever, then turned back to Horatio.

"Ride? Uh, what do you mean by that?"

"We're taking this Giant Monkey Robot to Mêlée Island™ to rescue my granddaughter!" said Horatio.

This was just too much. Guybrush looked closely at Horatio. "Giant Monkey Robot... Hmm. Are you sure you have all your memory back? Maybe I should hit you again..."

Outside the Monkey Head, the ground had cleared. The green light suddenly vanished, only for the entire head to start glowing a ruddy orange. The ominous rumbling sound grew louder, deeper. The color heightened, flashed a nuclear white, and in that instant the Head rose...

The ground exploded.

Tons and tons of soil gouted into the air and were instantly vaporized. A cloud of blue flame skeletonized every tree within a mile, the shockwave extending out another two. Birds fell dead from the air at the deafening sound.

A minute passed. Slowly, the dust cleared. The Monkey Head was gone. In its place stood a fifty-foot iron monkey robot. It threw back its head, beat its chest, and yelled. The noise shook the island to its foundations. Then it turned, leapt the ring of dead trees at the crater's edge, and bounded away.

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