The Trouble with Weasels Read online

  It started to make a hissing noise like those steamer things at Starbucks. I closed my eyes and hoped it would be over quickly.

  Then I heard a blast of trumpets. My first thought was, “Okay. This must be what happens when you die.” A nice little musical send-off as you head off to the great hereafter.

  But Knock-Knock heard it too. Its mouth snapped shut and that enormous, awful head snapped around to find the source of the sound.

  We both looked up to the top of the rock wall surrounding us in time to see a horse’s head poke up into view.

  The rest of the horse followed, and there was something humped over the horse’s back. It took me a moment to make out what it was.

  · 32 ·

  911

  The lump on the horse did its best to sit up, and I realized it was John . . . the Knoble Knight himself. I have never been so happy to see someone in all of my life.

  John, still weak and barely able to hold himself up, raised one hand. He held it there and shouted, “APPROACH!”

  At that point, maybe fifty members of the king’s army stepped up and into view. Every one of them was armed with bow and arrow—pointed at my good buddy Knock-Knock.

  John dropped his arm and shouted, “FIRE!” There was a collective twang, and the sky filled with arrows, sounding like a swarm of bees. The dragon tried to scramble backward, shouting “NO NO NO NO NOOO!” but most of the arrows found their mark.

  I would imagine that to a beast of that size the arrows felt like a bunch of bee stings. But having been stung by a single bee one summer at Damptowel Beach, I can’t blame the dragon for what followed.

  First, I tell you . . . this is the truth. The dragon yelled what sounded like, “YEEOOWWCHHAA!”

  That sounds ridiculous, but I swear that’s what it said. Then it scrambled backward, swatting at its side with its enormous wings and roaring.

  “OH, THAT SMARTS! OH, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS SCALY, THAT HURTS LIKE THE DICKENS!!”

  The beach shook, and sand flew up from the wind it was creating. Then the giant beast got all tangled up in its wounded tail and flopped over backward into the surf. There was a squeal coming from it that reminded me of the time Kevin stepped on a pudding snake behind the school.

  “SALT WATER IN THE WOUND!!” it roared on. “NOT COOL! NOT COOL AT ALL!!”

  I heard John yelling at his men to reload. And then Kevin and Chester were staggering up beside me. Kevin was stumbling around picking up rocks and chucking them at Knock-Knock—not very effectively, but I appreciated the effort. Chester had grabbed my sword from wherever it had fallen, and was swinging it above his head. Then, with precision timing, he brought the sword down and lopped off a dragon toe the size of a golden retriever. The toe flipped and flopped around a bit on its own, which made Kevin scream and me feel all squirmy inside.

  The dragon screamed bloody murder and grabbed at its foot. “MY PINKIEEEE!” It flopped around a few more times and started flapping its wings. In a few swooshing beats, it lifted awkwardly off of the ground. It hovered long enough to shoot the three of us a look of pure hatred that curdled my blood. “STUPID, LOUSY, NO GOOD, MEDDLING . . . STINK DRAGONS!!”

  The dragon whipped out its injured foot, clocking me across the forehead so hard, I saw stars and collapsed back on the sand. Then it flew off in a hurry, another volley of arrows from the men flying after it.

  I looked up to the top of the rock wall and my eyes met John’s. He winked and gave me a thumbs-up. Another horse stepped up beside him and as my vision dimmed, I saw my favorite lunch lady riding high on its back.

  When I woke up, I had a headache like someone was sticking snagglethorns into my eyes. Goldie was leaning over me and wiping my face with a damp cloth.

  Kevin was jumping around, acting out our fight with the Snuffweasels to the amusement of several of the king’s men.

  Chester was sitting in the sand beside me, his head bandaged. He had a goofy sideways grin on his face. “Hey, Zarf. I just thought of the perfect knock-knock joke. Wanna hear it?”

  The look I gave him must have said a lot, because his smile faded a bit and he looked away, patting my leg. “Never mind, buddy. I mean, have you seen the power of my knock-knock jokes? But . . . never you mind.”

  I looked across the sand to where John was still lying on the back of his horse. When he saw me looking his way, a big cheesy grin spread across his face. He gave me another thumbs-up and mouthed the words: “You did good, kid.”

  Then it was lights out again.

  · 33 ·

  BACK-TO-SCHOOL SPECIAL

  On our first day back to school, Kevin came by my house at the usual time, and my mom sent us off with enough mutton to feed the Royal Army. We were both sporting some nasty cuts and bruises, but Kev’s tooth had been glued back in the day before. I had a pretty good shiner, and Kevin was sporting a couple of fashionable Sponge Bob Band-Aids.

  We met Chester by the football field. He didn’t look any better than we did.

  As we walked in the front door of good old Cotswin, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Pats on the back? Applause?

  It was a completely new feeling for me, but I was pretty sure my star was about to rise. I was feeling pretty stinkin’ good about how this day would go.

  We stepped in the front door, and I was assaulted by a horrible smell, like the sewer had backed up and they’d stopped collection of the after-lunch garbage. This place had seriously gone downhill in my absence! But I was quickly distracted when Sten Vinders, one of the more popular goats in the class above us, approached me.

  “I heard about your big adventure! You have a minute to talk?”

  I gave him a big grin. “Sure!” (Anything for my adoring fans, you know.) Kevin and Chester said they’d see me later and headed off to their classes.

  “So, tell me all about it!” Sten seemed really eager to talk to me. This was crazy! I was a flippin’ rock star!

  So I started in on the tale, as Sten and several others followed me down the hall to my locker.

  “Well, I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a Snuffweasel up close, but they’re quite a bit larger than you might think.”

  Sten seemed really fascinated. “Yeah?? Tell me more!”

  So, I went on. There was a group of people walking with me now, and they were all really into it. I noticed that smell again as we moved down the hall. It was impossible to miss! Had the whole school gotten used to it? Gross! But I kept going with my tal

  e.

  As I stepped up to my locker, the smell threatened to overwhelm me. I was starting to think somebody had let off a stink bomb in the boys’ bathroom— or Mr. Hirsch had been in there again. But as I worked my combination lock, still yammering on, I realized that the smell was coming from my locker. I popped it open.

  The wave of blinding stink hit me first, making me close my eyes and pull back like I’d been Tasered. Then the laughter started.

  There, on the top shelf of my locker, was a small Stink Dragon, calmly licking its nether parts. A real Stink Dragon. An awful, smelly, gooey, nasty green little Stink Dragon.

  Its horrible-smelling dragon goop was oozing all over my books, and hanging in long snot-like strands from the shelf.

  It seemed like half the school had gathered around me laughing—no one laughing harder than good old Sten. Stupid goat-lookin’ son of a no good . . .

  Somebody behind me yelled out, “Looks like you got yerself a little mascot!”

  The only reason I didn’t have a troll explosion is that I was more embarrassed than angry. Just then the tiny Stink Dragon decided to bolt for freedom, leaping out of the locker and directly into my face.

  I flailed around to get it off of me and lost my balance. I went down o
n my back with a thud—much to Sten’s delight.

  The dragon skittered off down the hall as I lay there on my back, gagging and trying to wipe the foul stink-goop out of my eyes.

  That’s when Sten stepped up and squatted down in front of me, chuckling.

  The rest of the day didn’t go much better. Sure, I really did get a couple of pats on the back—including one from Principal Haggard, who pulled me aside and told me how glad he was to have me back. But mostly, it was business as usual.

  I wasn’t sure if people didn’t know yet what we had done, or if they did, and just couldn’t bring themselves to feel good for a troll. I suspected it was the troll thing.

  That afternoon after school, there was a ceremony scheduled in the school gym. Official notices had gone up all around the kingdom inviting anyone who could come and they came in droves. Practically the entire village was there, crammed into the creaky old bleachers. Tree gnomes lined the rafters.

  Trumpets blasted at three o’clock and the whole room fell silent except for one elf in the back who yelled out “Baba Booey!” and was shushed.

  We were sitting on a riser in the middle of the gym facing the crowd.

  There was more fanfare as the king—the real king—stepped out from behind a heavy velvet curtain and hopped up onto the riser. He smiled over at all of us lined up in folding chairs, and then walked straight up to the Knoble Knight. John leaned forward so the king could speak into his ear.

  The king took John’s hands in his own and smiled as they shared a brief exchange. I was close, but I couldn’t make out what was said. Their brief conversation ended with genuine laughter from both, and the king wiping away a tear.

  Then King Cheznott crossed the riser and stepped up on a step stool behind the podium.

  “I have come here today to bestow thanks.”

  Then he prattled on for a while about this and that. About his responsibilities as the king, and about the bravery of the men who were still lost. That part was sad, but man, could this king talk.

  I was idly looking over the faces in the crowd, when I spotted Sierra. (Yes, the super-cute one. Let it go!) She was looking away, but suddenly she looked over and our eyes met. She smiled and gave me a quick double thumbs-up. It was exactly as cute as you’d expect, and though it made me feel warm all over, let’s move on. I’m not writing a romance novel here.

  The king went on and on long enough that Chester drew a cartoon of it.

  So when he finally got to the thanking us part, we all perked up.

  “These boys here . . . with some help from this lovely lunch woman and brave knight . . . saved my life. And I thank them. Deeply. There will of course be a reward to split between you.”

  I saw my family in the front row. My mom was pride-crying her way through a box of tissues, but my dad and Gramps just kept giving me thumbs-ups and winking at me.

  “But there was one young man who showed exceptional bravery, astounding courage . . . and a never-give-up attitude we could all learn from. That young man . . . ”

  Kevin reached over and patted me on the leg as the king paused for dramatic effect.

  “That young man is my son, Prince Roquefort P. Cheznott. Roquefort? Could you come say a few words?”

  The crowd cheered as Roquefort emerged from behind the curtain and crossed the stage triumphantly.

  Kevin let out an indignant little grunt and Chester said a quiet “What the . . . ?”

  “My people!” the prince began. “Thank you for the much-deserved applause, but please . . . take your seats.”

  He let the crowd settle down a bit before going on. Just that fast, I was starting to feel queasy.

  “Am I a hero?” the little runt began.

  Chester groaned.

  “But I mean, am I the greatest hero Notswin has ever seen? Maybe I am . . . Maybe I am . . .”

  As His Wonderfulness went on, I leaned over to Kevin and whispered in his ear.

  Kevin leaned out and looked at Chester. “Our friend here could use some air.”

  Chester looked blankly at us both for a moment before speaking in a low voice. “Now that you mention it, a little fresh air sounds like just the ticket.”

  And with that, the three of us stood up and walked off of the makeshift stage. There was an audible gasp from the crowd. The prince noticed.

  “Am I the single greatest . . . greatest . . .”

  But we just headed for the gymnasium doors as the crowd murmured and scooched out of our way.

  “

  Get back here NOW, you peasants! Your prince is speaking!!” I didn’t look, but I could tell from his voice that the royal blood was really pumping now. We kept going.

  Standing at attention in front of the exit door was none other than Buddy the ogre. I stepped up and he stared at me, blocking our way.

  We stood there looking at each other for a moment before a hint of a smile crossed his face and he stepped aside. He pushed the lever, swung the door open, and held up a fist—which I bumped.

  Roquefort went on. “STINK DRAGONS! That’s all you are and all you’ll ever be!!”

  I’ll admit, right then when he called us that most awful of insults, I felt a surge of troll blood. My face flushed for just a second before I took a deep breath and silently told my anger to chill out.

  The prince was going nuts as we walked out the door. He was really ramping up as the door slowly closed behind us. “If I stepped on you all, I wouldn’t bother to reach down and scrape you off the bottom of my royal . . .”

  And then we couldn’t hear him anymore, and it was wonderful.

  I stretched and took a deep breath, smelling the sweet odor of grundlethrush on the breeze.

  Kevin smiled. “Absolutely. But do you care if we swing by the butcher shop first? I need to see a girl about some meat.”

  We laughed, and set off for a day just absolutely packed full of whatever felt right.

  THE END

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Rob Harrell created and drew the internationally syndicated comic strip Big Top, as well as the acclaimed graphic novel Monster on the Hill. He also writes and draws the long-running daily comic strip Adam@Home. He survived middle school and now lives with his wife in Austin, Texas. Visit his website at www.robharrell.com.