The bed creaked softly once, and then the Black Pudding took its true form in a flash of blue-white light off-camera.
“What’s up, doc?” I asked, employing some quick and dirty sensation-reducing techniques involving mental images.
I kept my eyes shut tight as I thought of a strainer, then some aluminum foil. Wrapping the strainer in a thick layer of the foil, I then placed it on my head, and imagined a giant microwave. Then I opened the microwave door, and stepped inside. Because Signs. Duh.
A soft, nibbly voice said near my ear, “Not Up, Star Born. Our destination lies Ahead and Downward. You don’t need a lantern, I trust?”
“Okay, okay,” I panted at it, wishing I had the strength to groan. “But I’m not wearing the blue and white dress for a fistful of Zorkmids.”