Monster School

by Green Dc

  Greta fake spewed.

  I straightened. ‘Here’s my story ending: my secret’s blown. Worse, I’ve learned just enough to know I can’t save my people on my own. So your choice is simple: kill me, or help me. Um, please choose option two.’

  Bruce jabbed my chest. ‘You speak bad-ass – when your mega-weaponed bodyguard’s pacing outside.’ He turned to the others. ‘I vote we do the vote thing and start chowing!’

  ‘I vote we assist PT,’ said Scarab.

  ‘What?’ Bruce mopped his drool. ‘I vote – NO WAY! We should kill him, then run away real quick.’

  ‘Help him,’ said Stoker.

  ‘Huh?’ Bruce jabbed Stoker’s chest. Metal scraped. ‘But you’re a vamp! You suck humes for brunch!’

  ‘I do not approve of this prince. Yet I have my reasons for supporting his cause. Zorg?’

  ‘If Zcarab iz voting yez, Zorg iz voting yez.’ The zombie’s voice fell to a mutter. ‘But Zorg iz not liking PT. Not any more. Zorg iz waiting to rip out PT’z hooman brainz.’

  ‘Forest goblin?’ asked Stoker.

  ‘I vote we let the moron breathe,’ said Greta. ‘He’ll always be neurotic and fearful we’ll betray him as he betrayed us – a fitting punishment for his crime and symbolic of his whole doomed species.’

  ‘So we ain’t chowing the hume traitor? Not even a take-away torso?’ Bruce wailed. ‘No way! How come you two-legged weirdos always web together?’

  ‘May I ask the obvious question, Mr Prince?’ asked Greta. Before I could reply, she asked anyway. ‘How does playing dress-up as a swamp thing, learning long division and being knifed by a psychopathic macho plains goblin keep humanity from bankruptcy?’

  ‘Um …’

  ‘Evidently,’ Greta bared her tiny fangs, ‘you require professional help.’

  I ignored her barb. ‘Even unprofessional would be nice. Any suggestions?’

  ‘Many.’ Greta paced the pool edge. ‘Learning about other monsters may be feel-good, kingly stuff, but your real problem is money. You must earn more, or spend less. The solution, for the record, is simple.’

  ‘It is?’

  ‘Aye. You must let us – particularly me – analyse your human accounting books. I am positive there would be ample savings to be found, plus a few juicier means to money-making.’

  I gulped. ‘You mean … let you guys into Upper Castle Mount?’

  ‘Forbidden!’ Erica stalked across the playground. ‘The security risk is too great! And your time is up.’

  ‘But Eri–’

  ‘For. Bidden. The account records are locked in Lord Boron’s office. Security is so tight, even I might not be able to break in.’

  ‘I’m positive we could,’ said Greta.

  ‘What syllable of “forbidden” are you not knowing? You are all security risks. Be thankful I have let you survive this playground scenario.’ Erica’s non-crossbow hand reached down to help me out of the pool. ‘This meeting of the debating team ends now.’

  I stepped away from Erica’s hand. ‘Y–’

  ‘Zip the lip.’ Erica scowled. ‘And your swamp costume. Then take my hand.’

  ‘Nah.’ I pushed out my bottom lip. ‘I refuse to go.’

  Erica sighed and removed a gun from her belt. One-handed, she inserted a feather-tipped dart into the cylinder and aimed it at me. ‘Do not make me shoot you, Prince.’

  ‘I know you wouldn’t shoot me, Erica.’

  Erica sighed, and shot me.

  The feathered dart jutted from a vein on my forearm. I sagged to the pool, spider laughter echoing off the tiles.

  Grey waves crashed and pushed me deeper. With all my strength, I surged for the surface–

  And awoke, gasping. In … my bed? My chest, covered with fresh bandages.

  ‘Finally.’ Erica grunted from her guard position by the door. ‘Perhaps I chose the wrong knockout dart. You do weigh 95 kilograms?’

  ‘Sixty-five,’ I replied, groggily.

  ‘Ah,’ said Erica, blinking once (by ogre standards, a sign of great embarrassment). ‘That explains why you slept for three days.’

  ‘You shot me,’ I said.

  ‘Yrrr.’ Erica didn’t blink this time. ‘I am sorry for that.’ She didn’t look sorry. ‘You left me no option. I anticipated I might also have to shoot your school colleagues.’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t.’

  ‘I gassed them instead.’

  ‘You gassed them?’

  ‘I covered our escape. Which reminds me: you are never returning to that school.’

  ‘But I have to–’

  ‘You have to survive.’

  ‘But you–’

  ‘I am your royal bodyguard and an ogre. Do not consider ordering me again. Your cover is blown. You were stabbed five times. With no permission, you surrendered state secrets to monsters with zero security clearance. All in one school week.’ Erica folded her arms. ‘There is not enough money in all of Castle Mount to bribe me into letting you return to that rat-hole.’

  ‘But the–’

  ‘For. Bid. Den. Do not make me shoot you again.’ Erica turned and strode from my ant-room.

  I pushed out my lip as far as I could, for all the good that did.

  PART 3: THE KING

  ‘Perhaps you should put him out of his misery.’

  12: SUSPICIONS

  I’d escaped the prison built by ants, but not yet the one woven of lies.

  I would return to Monstro Central School. One day. Somehow. But first, to lower Erica’s guard, I knew I’d have to apply her own fighting tactics and convince her I’d given up. In the meantime, my stab wounds could heal while I hopefully learned some factoids about Lord Boron’s accounts. That meant removing the battery from my good-looking robot double and stashing him in my rec room cupboard.

  On my first morning back in class-for-one, I tried the direct attempt.

  ‘Lord Boron, may I see the royal accounts?’

  ‘Certainly not, Thomas!’ The regent puffed like a bearded balloon.

  ‘How can I become king if I don’t know any financial factoids?’

  ‘Your father rarely concerned himself with such matters, and nor should you.’

  Attempt number two.

  ‘I wanna see the books!’ I thumped my desk. ‘I demand you show them to me! Now!’

  Lord Boron retreated behind his desk, but recovered quickly. ‘Do you desire triple extra homework? I cannot believe how you have turned overnight from such an excellent student into a tantrum-throwing bra– student. Sometimes I almost believe there are two Thomases!’

  Heh.

  Attempt number three.

  ‘Sorry, Lord Boron.’ I smiled sweetly, my voice plunging sixty decibels. ‘I’m just worried one of our monster enemies could break into your offices and steal our valuable accounts.’

  Lord Boron guffawed. ‘Do not concern yourself, young prince. My offices contain excellent security systems. Of that, I can assure you.’

  ‘Yeah? What makes them so excellent?’

  I thought Lord Boron would see through my transparent ploy, but he seemed happy to boast. ‘For starters, my office door is solid ant-wall, and hence, virtually unbreakable. Only my ogre and I hold keys. My key is never away from my neck and Lars is an alpha level bodyguard. Inside my office is an ancient technological marvel called a motion detector. If the correct code is not entered into the security panel, my banshee alarm will shriek with stunning volume, summoning help from all directions. And, in the process, shattering any burglar eardrums!’

  ‘What was the code again?’ I asked, nonchalantly.

  ‘I will inform you when you turn 18.’

  ‘Couldn’t a burglar just knock out the banshee?’ I grumbled.

  ‘Impossible. The banshee is a small yet powerful monster who never sleeps. Even assuming a burglar could somehow disable her, a greater security monster would be triggered.’

  ‘And that would be …?’

  Lord Boron actually smiled. �
�If I didn’t know better, I would believe you were mining me for information that is both unsuitable and forbidden. Now, turn to page 357.’

  Stuff it. This was hopeless. Except … why did Lord Boron suddenly reveal so many factoids about his security measures? Maybe he wanted me to know there was no way I could lay my hands on his books – so I’d give up. Instead, his words had made me want those mysterious books all the more desperately.

  I flipped open my far duller book of dead kings and froze. Scrawled in blood on a sheet of parchment, three words silently shrieked:

  ‘We are coming.’

  At lunch break, I dashed back to my quarters, Erica glowering behind me. Inside the rec room, my robot double was gathering dust. I met the bionic eye of the Cyborg Warlord’s creation and smiled.

  ‘Time for you to be me again.’

  ‘Yrrr.’ My ogre’s growl rumbled a thousand warnings.

  In the afternoon, while Thomas the robot jotted notes and nodded stupidly through lectures that would drive any normal kid crazy, I sat on my bed and pored over Professor Greengoblin’s Monster Guide (35th Edition). Maybe I couldn’t attend Monstro Central School for a while, but that didn’t mean my education need grind to a halt.

  I loved everything about the Monster Guide: the reassuring bulk; the soft, indented texture of the leather bindings; the aged ink and paper scents; the leafy rustle and sense of anticipation with every turned page; the lurid monster descriptions and illustrations; and most of all, the insights into so many now-mysterious cultures – not to mention, insights into the mind of the surprisingly balanced goblin author:

  Though human studies are ever-more unfashionable these days, I must sneakily admit: the humes fascinate me! (They have such cute big eyes and tiny noses!) Though I have read tens of thousands of their ancient texts and documents, no fewer an amount of times have I wondered: what were these people really like? The Polynesians? The Nigerians? The Sioux? The Arakwal people of Australia? The Mycenaeans, Inuit, Japanese and Great Britishers? Apart, of course, from being extinct, ancient hume cultures – so varied and, aye! vibrant! – shared two remarkable elements.

  One: humes believed that monsters weren’t ‘real’! Aye, they actually believed we goblins, manticores, wokolos et al. were merely creations of the human imagination! The humes were too blinded – too arrogant? too doltish? I don’t know! – to grasp that a severely reduced monster population was simply dwelling underground, hidden or disguised. Just because the humes couldn’t see us didn’t mean we weren’t there!

  Two: although humes falsely believed monsters did not ‘exist’, every hume culture nevertheless felt the need to ‘invent’ us. They did this extensively through myths, fables, poems, novels, plays, films, comics, etc. With the creation of Internet trolls, it seemed no form of communication was monster-free! They ‘needed’ us, apparently: to explain the inexplicable, to frighten naughty children, to help restore the already shifting balance in nature, to act as warnings against hume science and hubris growing out of control, or merely as entertainment.

  Yet questions abound: why is every monster type in Monstro City described by at least one pre-flood hume culture from 700 years ago and more? For that matter, why were certain monsters common to all hume cultures – ghosts, giants, zombies, sorcerers, bizarre combinations of animals and, of course, dragons? More importantly, why and how did we monsters return in such great numbers after almost vanishing for so long?

  And how many times have I wondered: when the humes saw their mind-inventions become aluminium flesh and granite bone, did they gape in amazement or scream in terror?

  Sadly, these days, we can but speculate.

  Wow.

  I only paused to bolt dinner down and pester Erica into a wrestling match (which she refused, due to my shoulder and stab injuries). In bed, I kept turning pages until my eyelids sagged with drows–

  A hand closed over my mouth, cold and metallic.

  I jolted awake. Above me, eyes flashing, Stoker loomed.

  ‘Mmmph!’ I struggled to rise and punch the vampire with my artificial hand, but my arms were gripped.

  ‘Quiet!’ Stoker hissed, garlic and holly leaves jiggling uselessly across his bleak visage, his glinting aluminium flesh. ‘Had I journeyed this far merely to murder you, your corpse would already be en route to the Great Necropolis and this discussion would never have begun.’

  The vampire released me. Behind him stood Zorg, Greta and Bruce. Above me, Scarab pinned my wrists with her unbending granite bones. Yet how …?

  My body tensed with realisation. These monsters were in the heart of sleeping Castle Mount! If they felt so inclined, this quintet could massacre half the human populace before the alarm was raised!

  ‘I’m enjoying the terror in PT’s eyes,’ said Greta. ‘Though perhaps you should put him out of his misery so we may conclude our business.’

  ‘Thus I shall,’ said Stoker. His eyes bored into mine like weevils. ‘When your bodyguard gassed us and fled with you, I followed in bat form – gas, naturally, having zero effect on one who does not breathe.’

  Zorg rumbled, ‘Gaz waz burning Zorg’z eye!’ Stoker ignored the zombie. ‘I memorised the security codes the ogre used to gain access to this realm of mortals. That night, I entered the codes, followed your red scent and mapped the layout of your diminished mortal kingdom. After most of us returned from our weekend trips home, we schemed this mission in our dorm at night. By the way, your milking of Lord Boron for information was almost effective.’

  At my shocked gasp, the vampire nodded. ‘Quite so. I hid in your classroom shadows, virtually invisible, secretly listening! Now here we are, a veritable Dead Gang reunion – apart from Tessa, naturally, as these Upper Castle Mount tunnels are too narrow to accommodate her size.’

  ‘What have you done with Erica?’ My heart thumped.

  ‘Your bodyguard has been drugged. Why squander time fighting such a brute?’

  ‘My turn!’ Bruce salivated on my pillow. ‘After your pet ogre chowed my paralysis poison, I webbed her tighter than a gob’s wallet. In case you ain’t dug, I’m the key monster in this kick-butt plan.’ Noticing my fearful expression, Bruce chortled. ‘Chill. Your ogre’ll wake top-notch, apart from the eight-legged mama of all hangovers!’

  ‘Uh, thanks.’

  Bruce leaned closer and snarled, ‘Now stand the web up, traitor!’

  I scrambled out of bed, garlic cloves clocking my head. ‘So, where do you plan to kill me?’

  ‘Kill you?’ Stoker’s laughter was weirdly musical. ‘Foolish mortal. We are here to help you retrieve Lord Boron’s books!’

  ‘Uh, right.’ I wasn’t sure what was truth and what was sarcasm. Regardless, I decided to play along with this upbeat turn of events.

  ‘BTW, I love your pyjamas,’ mocked Greta as we left my bedroom. ‘And your colourful hat! It perfectly matches your IQ.’

  I grumbled and paused to wedge my anti-wokolo hat onto Erica’s snoring noggin.

  We snuck down the main ant tunnel to Lord Boron’s apartments. Inside the reception area, Lars the ogre also snored, drugged mug in hand.

  ‘Another package to wrap!’ Bruce pounced, spinning the bodyguard into a sticky cocoon.

  ‘There!’ Zorg pointed at Lord Boron’s inner office door. ‘Be zhowing how ztrong you iz, Zcarab!’

  ‘Say what? You want me? You know, to punch that door?’ Scarab raised her bandaged hands. ‘Are you off your chariot?’

  ‘That’s the plan, Mummy Gal!’ Bruce grunted as he hauled Lars to dangle from the roof.

  ‘Punch this?’ Scarab gulped. ‘You know, this gigantic ant door of pain?’

  ‘Zcarab iz the mozt ztrong monzter!’ Zorg’s eye sparkled.

  ‘Scorching Sahara, all right.’ Scarab pulled back her fist and slammed it into the door handle. ‘Aaiiee!’ The mummy clutched her fingers and hopped in circles. ‘My knuckles! They’re shattered! You know, in a zillion spots! May camels infest your zombified underpants!’

&nb
sp; ‘Interesting.’ Stoker inspected the undamaged door handle. ‘By the way, we changed that scheme.’ He dangled a chain with a clinking key. ‘It appeared easier to remove this from the dozing bodyguard.’

  ‘Now you tell me,’ whined Scarab. ‘Roll off and squat … you know, upon a pyramid!’

  Zorg stared at Scarab with easily-read disappointment.

  Stoker faced the door. ‘Ready, arachnid?’

  Bruce aimed four of his legs like pistols. ‘Yo, dead biped.’

  Stoker keyed open the door. ‘Let us put Lord Boron’s famed security to the test!’

  ‘Another traitor! Can we chow this one?’

  13: PENETRATIONS

  Bruce bounced into Lord Boron’s office, his eyes rotating in all directions. Spotting the banshee, he froze.

  Perched on a bookshelf, she looked like a mouth ringed by feathers and claws. The banshee’s intake of breath created a faint whistling effect.

  Bruce aimed at the knee-high monster’s mouth. ‘Chow web, Irish!’

  Thwip!

  Cheeks bulging, the banshee flushed red and toppled over.

  The giant spider cackled and spun invisible guns. ‘Enter, buddies. The day’s been saved, thanks to Bruce the wonder spider!’

  We went in. The banshee, though her mouth and nostrils were clogged with webbing, let out the tiniest squawk. At least she could still brea–

  ‘EEEEEEEE!’

  My teeth rattled. The door slammed shut behind us.

  Uh, oh.

  A wall panel slid back, revealing a black and white monster the size of a bull mammoth! He snarled, and turned his back to us.

  My mind whirled, mentally flicking through Monster Guide pages –