by Green Dc
My double’s head rolled by, sparking and fizzling.
Smoke clouds billowed along the tunnels of Castle Mount. Ogre guards formed a semi-circle around the shattered balcony. Their shouts and curses rose above the ringing in my head.
‘By the Ogre Pope!’
‘Protect the regent!’
‘A cyborg assassin fired his arm like a missile!’
‘Mummy cops have arrested him!’
Erica dragged me deeper into the mountain.
I tugged at her armoured elbow. ‘What happened to my mother’s robot? Let me look!’
‘Certainly not!’ Lord Boron stumbled from the smoke, coughing through his grey whiskers. Lars loomed by his side, eyeballs scanning. ‘You should not be here, Thomas!’ Lord Boron glared at Erica until she released me. ‘We must go away from this place immediately.’
I pushed out my bottom lip as far as it would jut.
Lord Boron bustled me along the curved black tunnel. Lars led the way, his weapons cocked. Erica guarded our rear. We passed the royal library, the weapons storage area, Lord Boron’s personal quarters and numerous other guarded doors I was never permitted to enter.
Finally, wheezing, Lord Boron paused outside the most familiar door of all. Lars turned the knob and entered, crossbow first.
‘Not more jail.’ I kicked the tunnel floor. ‘Not today.’
Lars’ grim head nodded, confirming the room I hated more than any other was clear of monster assassins.
I grumbled in and slumped at my desk.
The ogres assumed their guard positions at the door.
Click. I was sealed inside, a prisoner again.
From the single, spherical wall, my ancestors’ painted faces gazed yet could not see. I breathed chalk-dust and sighed.
Lord Boron attempted a casual smile and tapped his beloved blackboard. ‘I believe we were studying the reign of King Julius III?’
‘Why must I learn this blah?’ I groaned. ‘Don’t you have a city to run?’
Lord Boron exhaled loudly. ‘Certainly I am Regent of Monstro City, a temporary ruler while your mother is indisposed and your father and brother are … absent. However, it is also my task to teach the possible heir–’
‘What if my family never comes back?’
‘Certainly they will return.’
‘What if they don’t?’
Lord Boron swallowed. ‘In that quite absurd scenario, as is my duty, I will hand the reins of power to you on your eighteenth birthday – which is all the more reason for you to learn about our city’s previous kings and queens!’
I threw up my hands. ‘Dead rulers are so dull! I want to learn about the Zombie Wars. About magic! About all the monsters out there!! About why that balcony exploded!!! About cool factoids!’
‘Must we engage in this conversation every other week?’ Lord Boron reached for the engraved snuff box on his desk. ‘You should by now believe that such topics are unsuitable.’
‘Monsters not suitable? Hello? We live in Monstro City! The city of monsters!’
The snuff box twitched in Lord Boron’s hands. ‘All you need believe of monsters is this, Thomas: they want to eat humans! And you, the last human prince, would be the greatest delicacy of all!’
After all these years, had I finally struck a nerve cluster? I thumped my desk. Beneath my right fist, cracks jagged the ancient wood. ‘When I become king, I’ll chop off all the monsters’ noggins!’
Lord Boron’s sigh caused a snuff cloud to waft across the room. He fumbled the box in his rush to pack it away. ‘Alas, kings must first rule their own emotions. There is much you must learn.’
‘Then why don’t you teach me?’
‘Excuse me, I am trying to teach you.’
‘Excuse me, but you’re not!’ My tone vaulted. ‘Stuff teaching me about manners, extinct crest animals and historical blah! Teach me how to chop off noggins! Especially vampire ones!’
‘Oh, if only being king were so simple.’ The regent sagged into the padded chair behind his desk. ‘These days, alas, monsters are far more likely to remove our heads.’
Monsters like Erica? I wondered.
‘Lord Boron?’ My voice fell to a whisper. ‘May I visit my mother?’
‘Thomas, it is not Sunday. Alas, you–’
‘Must be patient!’ I snapped. ‘Old news! Can’t some other kids at least study with me sometimes?’
‘Certainly not!’ Words tumbled from Lord Boron’s mouth. ‘Protecting you is my greatest task! What if these “other kids” were controlled by demons or evil spirits? What if they were disguised chonchon, wokolos, bhuts, Frankens, assassin cyborgs or evil shape-shifters such as ghuls, changelings or halulus?’ His hand shot to his mouth.
My heart pounded. ‘Halulus? What’re they?’
Lord Boron shook his head, realising he’d been manoeuvred into explaining something he’d rather not. ‘A halulu is a man-eating bird that can assume human form. Now–’
I beamed. ‘That’s the type of factoid you should be teaching me! It’s useful. And actually interesting!’
‘And quite unsuitable.’ Lord Boron waddled to the blackboard. ‘Now, before his untimely death, King Julian III fathered five children. In birth order, what were their names?’
Click. The door opened.
‘Lord?’ a deep voice vibrated, saving my backside. I turned to see Lars, his ogre forehead frowning through the door-crack. ‘The mayor is here.’
‘Blast that pushy Viethe.’ Lord Boron pouted. ‘Has he not heard of appointments?’
The mayor’s moss-coloured head poked past Lars. ‘Lord B.’ He mock-saluted. ‘Always wondered if yer name was short for Borin’ Moron!’
Lord Boron’s reply bristled with annoyance. ‘We are in the middle of class.’
Mayor Viethe smirked. ‘I’m bankin’ this here brawny example o’ royal hume youth won’t mind if ya stop borin’ him brainless for a coupla minutes.’ He winked my way.
I masked my smile behind my hand.
‘If I must. Though not in front of– outside, in the hall.’ Lord Boron attempted a dignified stroll to the door. ‘Take a break,’ he said curtly to Erica and Lars. ‘Three minutes.’
The ogres nodded, scowling, and marched away.
Lord Boron and Mayor Viethe stepped into the corridor. The door clicked shut.
Rushing to the door, I crouched and pressed my ear against the keyhole.
‘Why do ya still grasp this joke?’ Honesty’s guttural voice boomed clearly.
‘Joke?’ Lord Boron spluttered.
‘Lemme spell it out for ya in easy-ta-grasp sentences. Yer livin’ way beyond yer means, Lordy Borin’. Ya just lost another balcony and two more royal robots. Have ya eyeballed yer accountin’ books lately? The coffers o’ yer once brawny empire are bleedin’ dry. By my estimates, yer precious hume royal kingdom’s just six months off bankruptcy! Can ya grasp the chaos when yer ogre bodyguards mutiny ’cause ya can’t pay ’em? Or, when ya can’t afford ta pay yer tributes and the dragon rips the roof off Castle Mount and char-grills the last coupla humes? Yer precious real estate won’t be worth five rissoles then!’
My knees sagged to the floor. Total bankruptcy? No money left!
‘Absurd!’ Lord Boron spluttered. ‘How could you possibly know the state of our finances? That information is excellently guarded!’
‘I’m a goblin. Grasp? Business is my middle name. My estimators–’
‘Are incorrect! There are taxes due that will cover our debts–’
‘The taxes may be due, though no monster’s payin’ ’em!’ Viethe’s cackle was followed by what sounded like a sharp knee-slap. ‘No hume tax collector’s got the guts ta vamoose the safety o’ Castle Mount. They wouldn’t last five secs! Mummy cops won’t enforce yer tax laws and neither’ll the centaur courts. Yer only hope’s ta grasp my generous offer. Hand over the last coupla hume royal powers, and most o’ yer royal real estate, and I’ll edyacate ya how a kingdom should run. Ya’ll be fre
e o’ worries, safe on Holly Hill. Ya can even still grasp yer fancy royal titles.’
‘I would never do that! I refuse to plunge down in history as the regent who auctioned humanity! Away with you, Viethe!’
‘Don’t turn all twitchy. I’ll get back ta ya in a coupla months with another offer – though it won’t be half the bargain as this one!’ The mayor’s voice thickened. ‘And don’t even try graspin’ a counter-offer off my sleazy excuse for a deputy mayor.’
‘Of that, I can assure you!’
‘Easy on the chalk dust, Borin’!’
It sounded like the ‘meeting’ was over, so I scuttled back to my desk.
Lord Boron tottered into the classroom as if Mayor Viethe had just punched him in the guts.
I knew how he felt.
Six months! Now my promise to Mother had a deadline.
PART 2: SWAMP BOY
‘Welcome to my Biology class!’
3: FRICTIONS
‘Um … Is this Class 10A?’ I squeaked at the trio of sunglassed bodyguards.
The ogres ignored me.
I gawked at the entranceway. A chest-high door was embedded inside an oversized door which was in turn embedded inside a door that towered several times above my height. Beneath the shadow of the giant door knob, I gulped and pushed open the ‘normal’ option.
A blast of voices slapped me. So many monsters, talking and shouting at the same time! Bizarre smells muscled down my sinus passages. My eyes watered. I itched to turn and flee!
‘Ah, the new student.’ The stumpy Franken teacher waved his tentacles in my direction. ‘Don’t stand there like a dump of troll dung. Ha, ha. Come in, come in.’
The classroom was a flattened sphere built by giant ants – 50 times larger than any space I’d ever seen. The combination of overhead fluorescent bulbs and randomly floating jack-o’-lanterns cast thousands of creepy, shifting shadows.
I shuffled in, trailing slime and peering with growing dread around the semi-circular amphitheatre of monsters squatting behind various-sized desks. Olive-skinned goblins clustered on either side of the room, with rarer species clumped in the middle.
The Franken teacher flicked through his notes. ‘Well done finding this classroom. The layout of Lower Castle Mount can be most confusing. For your first decade! Ha, ha.’ Before I could answer, the teacher continued. ‘Let’s see – you obviously aren’t Greta the forest goblin. Ha, ha.’ He wrinkled his noses. ‘Judging by your fishy breath, which could well be smelt on Fire Mountain – ha, ha – I’d say you must be the swamp creature, Prg … yll Tl … xz … pkl … yp … nrg. Did I pronounce your name correctly?’
‘Close enough,’ I muttered through my reedy lips. ‘You can call me PT, if that’s easier.’
‘Infinitely easier. And you can call me Doctor Combo. That’s my name. Ha, ha. Welcome to Biology! Take a seat.’
I nodded, jiggling my seaweed dreadlocks, and slouched towards the nearest empty desk. A goblin male student (they were all males!) kicked a seat into my scaly legs. I stumbled. Other students sniggered.
Up the back smirked the largest goblin, a flex-muscled orc. ‘Don’t even try sittin’ on this side o’ the classroom, Stink Lad,’ he sneered. ‘Not unless ya wanna end up Swamp Sushi.’ More sniggering. ‘These seats’re reserved for members o’ the Viethe clan. Grasp? And in case yer as thick as ya look, which is giant-bum thick, I’m Friendly Viethe – the mayor’s nephew. And I rule this school!’
From the far side of the classroom, an answering snort echoed. I glanced up as a goblin stood, his metallic teeth flashing. ‘Ya can’t even rule a straight line, Viethe!’
‘Says who?’ Friendly Viethe fired back.
‘Says me.’ The steel-fanged goblin’s eyeballs rotated my way. ‘C’mere, Swamp-ball.’
I gulped, peered around and obediently shuffled forward in what felt like a death march.
‘Name’s Gort Klusk,’ the second goblin continued. ‘I’m the Deputy Mayor’s son.’ With a leap I’d have reckoned was impossible, over several rows of chairs, Gort landed at my feet. The exposed parts of his body glistened with bionic enhancements. In a blur of movement, Gort pressed the razor sharp bone protruding from the back of his hand against my throat. His breath burnt with hatred and putrid parmesan cheese. ‘If ya ever come near the Klusk side o’ this class again, I’ll saw off yer head and mail it ta a kraken BBQ! Grasp it?’
‘It’s … grasped,’ I squeaked, too terrified of puncturing my windpipe to nod.
Gort elbowed me to the floor and stalked back to his seat. I glanced pleadingly at Doctor Combo, but the teacher’s back remained turned. He seemed more concerned with scrawling across his whiteboard than preventing my near-murder.
‘Yo, Swampy Grom!’ a shrill voice echoed from the middle of the classroom. ‘Plant your planty butt with us!’
I stared despairingly at the giant spider beckoning me, his triple-sectioned legs tucked awkwardly around, under and over his desk. Beside him sat a girl wrapped in bandages, a ragged corpse and a Mohawked vampire!
My heart froze.
‘Aye, join the other minority freaks!’ Gort Klusk sneered. ‘Where ya belong!’
I gulped and forced my legs to work, wondering if I was about to break the death threat world record. Shuffle. Shuffle. Shuffle.
‘Come on, come on,’ Doctor Combo called. ‘I’d like to do some actual teaching today. Ha, ha. I – oh, not again.’ He sighed as a pretty, grass-green girl entered the classroom via the smallest door, mercifully removing the spotlight from my seaweed-covered backside. ‘Come in, come in. You must be …’ Combo flicked through his notes. ‘Greta Farbranch?’
‘Indeed,’ the diminutive goblin answered icily.
‘Ooh, a bush goblin,’ mocked a Viethe.
‘Worse, she’s a floozy!’ roared Gort Klusk. ‘No self-respectin’ Klusk floozy would ever vamoose the kitchen ta grasp an edyacation!’
Friendly Viethe countered, ‘Neither’d any Viethe chicky worthy o’ the name!’
‘Sexist thugs,’ the bandaged girl droned.
I entered the shadow zone of a seat so massive that it surely had to be a joke, and slid into a chair five along from the giant spider.
Uncoiling a leg, he jabbed a hairy pincer into my ribs. ‘Yo, Swampy. I’m your friendly neighbourhood eight-legged killing machine! But you can call me Bruce.’
‘PT,’ I croaked, shaking the spider’s pincer. It reeked of acid and something like rat poison. I dug my notepad and inkwell from my backpack.
A jack-o’-lantern loomed up beside my desk, its demonic pumpkin face leering light upon my blank page.
‘Whoa!’ My hands flew to my face.
‘Awww, cute,’ cooed Bruce. ‘The dead floating veggie must sense a kindred spirit with your vegetative ass.’
Was the giant spider serious or joking? His face was a terrifying wall of eyeballs. Were they glinting with amusement or homicidal hunger? He was kind of smiling, but his saliva-dribbling fangs conveyed a scarier message. ‘I guess,’ I squeaked at last, wrenching my eyes away.
Meanwhile, the forest goblin had settled into a seat at the middle of the front section. Empty desks encircled her. A cyborg Klusk lobbed a book at her head. She swayed clear and shot back a glare that could have snap-frozen mercury.
‘Should we perhaps invite the new lass?’ The vampire’s hollow voice prickled my skin.
‘No way, two-legs,’ scoffed Bruce. ‘You dig our gang rules. Zilch humes and zilch gobs!’
Words ground from the dead teen’s lipless mouth. ‘Zorg iz hating gobbinz.’ His breath smelt of decay and blackened blood.
Doctor Combo coughed. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt the day’s entertainment, but this is technically a classroom and we do have work to do. Ha, ha. Today, we’ll be continuing our comparative monster studies.’ Ignoring the groans, Combo slapped his whiteboard. ‘In the dark human era, strength was measured in horsepower or HP. Today, HP refers to a different type of obsolete creature: the human. Ha, ha.�
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A few students sniggered.
Doctor Combo continued. ‘Given that one HP equals the feeble wrestling strength of a grown human male, which monster has the highest HP in Monstro City?’
Gort Klusk’s fist fired up. ‘Ogres! My dad’s got a weapons-enhanced ogre bodyguard so brawny he can kick ta the gutter any monster in Monstro City.’
‘Good, Gort,’ said the teacher. ‘Yes, the average ogre has an HP of six. With enhancements, this figure can reach up to thirty! Though is that the strongest rating?’
One of Bruce’s legs jabbed up, trailing a web. ‘My old lady’s gnarly strong. Every dude in our neighbourhood’s wussed by her. And our mummy gal pal here,’ he indicated the bandaged girl with another leg, ‘owns a killer handshake.’
Goblins grumbled. Was the mummy blushing through her bandages?
‘Hold your webs. There’s more!’ Bruce fired a sticky rope substance to the edge of the massive seat above our heads. He swung up and stood tall on the seat with six of his legs raised triumphantly. ‘Ain’t zilch dudes out-webbing the most mega monster in class: our top-notch buddy – who’s away again, but will totally be back – Tessa the bad-ass troll! Yo!’
Saliva shrivelled in my mouth. The giant seat belonged to a troll!
‘Very good, Bruce. Please climb down now.’ Doctor Combo nodded. ‘Yes, the mightiest recorded troll has an HP of 150. With enhancements, that figure may reach as high as 600.’
A metallic goblin fist fired up. ‘Trolls’re big, aye, but they own no guts. Whattabout Cerberus, the brawny hell-dog on Holly Hill? I grasp he’s got a raw HP o’ 200!’
A huge goblin on the opposite side yelled, ‘My dad argues the heaviest monster’s Godzilla. He weighed 450 tonnes, least before he lost a leg.’
The teacher’s mouths smiled. ‘Yes, Cerberus has an impressive HP, not to mention three heads. And Godzilla remains the heaviest known land monster. Though are they the strongest?’
‘Blessed Nile, no,’ said the mummy. ‘The strongest monster must surely be the dragon.’