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3
The Palministry wended down across the rolled six solid slabs of slightly
moistening wolds to a crater with a pug-nosed stud in the centre of its dimple.
"Middle Finger, we have arrived at the second key, and it is your duty to nip on down there and delve around
its hollow until you have activated another sensation," Thumb commanded.
Middle Finger reluctantly dipped his tip into the crater and began twisting and turning gently, searching the depths
for some kind of switch. No obvious lever or plug was to be found, it was all the twisting and turning that brought
to the surface excitable feelings, a deep seated prickling. A kind of erratic comforting stabbing that sparkled
somewhere beyond the horizon of the grumbling ground ahead. A thin trail of volute vegetation shot out from the
rim of the crater and disappeared into darkness.
"This is the last leg of our hard slog. They call it the Trace de Escargot," said Thumb.
The Palministry once again snaked its way through the dense growth, until it reached a mountainous slumped turban
surrounded by a crassitude of shiny bristles. A saggy mound dangled from the underside.
"We must all work together with this one for it is the last of the keys," said Thumb. "We must knead
these two horny pips greasing the inside of their drooping scraggly jackets." So, with all their bony strength,
the Fingers mashed the baggy sacks and saw, in awe, the titanic totem rise to full effect, fully erect.
A delightful deity, it swayed and swung, and each Finger trembled at the Fingerness of this fine swinging symbol
of Fing.
"Quickly!" shouted Thumb. "Grab it and help me wrench it from its roots so that we can deliver it
to the Palministry proper."
The Fingers gripped the towering totem and Thumb clamped himself around its curvature.
"Faster, Fingers! Faster!" shouted Thumb, beneath the din of some panting monstrosity coming from the
heavens above. The whole universe seemed to be rocking as the Palministry shuffled the ever stiffening pod, the
outer surface seemed to easily slide along its core, but the Palministry couldn't budge it from its socket. "C'mon,
you've got to really pull in tight and yank with all your might," bellowed Thumb, over the imbrued slap of
perspiration. The Fingers tensed and tightened, straining even harder and faster in the hope of loosening the giant
totem.
Then it seemed as if the whole world was going to boil over and vaporise in an explosion of sweet, salty steam.
The inflamed totem went completely stiff, froze for an instant as if it had forgotten something, then its little
mouth grinned from reddened jowl to reddened jowl. Each Finger snapped back from its grip and Thumb recoiled. It
was the first time they had experienced snow, especially such warm, viscous flakes as were pouring down upon them
now, and they felt dizzily beautiful. The entire planet was enticed into tranquillity and the Fingers treasured
its every sigh with a stupefied pleasure.
And this was how Thumb was retained as an invaluable member of the Palministry. Indeed, it wasn't long until he
was promoted, and so the saying, "Thumbs up," became a remark to state approval, because that is what
each Finger would shout each morning the giant totem needed sheening.
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