Monster School

by Green Dc

  ‘We must depart,’ said Stoker. ‘The arachnid’s anaesthetic will be wearing off the ogres. Furthermore, the sun shall soon rise – and I am not the sunbathing type.’

  I tapped the sliding wall. ‘Aniwye?’

  The skunk’s booming voice replied, ‘Prince Thomas?’

  ‘We are going on a quest. In the meantime, an ogre will look after you.’

  ‘Lars?’ asked the aniwye. ‘You know Lars?’ I asked. ‘Well, clearly you must. Please don’t spray him. Or nibble his ogre bits.’

  ‘So be it. However, I am hungry. And for future reference, my spray is also fatal to non-breathing monsters.’

  Stoker straightened his sleeves.

  I patted the wall. The banshee stretched from her bookcase, snapping at my fingers.

  ‘Did some dude mention a quest?’ Bruce rubbed his abdomen. ‘A food quest?’

  Describing my bodyguard as unimpressed would be the understatement of the year.

  Erica ripped webbing off her chain mail and glared at the Dead Gang. ‘I should eliminate every one of you punk children!’

  ‘Erica, listen–’

  ‘By the Ogre Pope, this is the worst security breach–’

  ‘ERICA! LISTEN!’ That worked. ‘Or better still, follow me.’

  Erica frowned. ‘Where is your destination?’

  ‘Where else? Seeing an even surlier ogre.’

  Bruce leg-batted Lars like a giant piñata. ‘When I string up an ogre, he stays strung up!’

  ‘Cut him down, Bruce,’ I said.

  ‘But the big psycho bodyguard might be mad.’ Bruce pouted. ‘His eyes totally look mad.’

  With one stroke of her sword, Erica hacked down her fellow ogre’s cocoon. Lars landed heavily with a crunch of armour plating. Erica hacked twice more. Lars waved her away and tore himself free from the webbed remnants of his prison. His eyes seared the reception area.

  ‘Don’t go mental, Lars.’ I opened my palms. ‘These monsters are with me.’

  ‘Yo.’ Bruce puffed. ‘You don’t wanna mess with the vibrating spider!’

  Lars’ ham-sized fists lashed out.

  Ka-thunk!

  Bruce and Jaak flew backwards, their eyes glazed. Lars whirled to face Stoker and Greta. Before he could lash out a second time, Erica pressed her spectre-powered bazooka into her fellow ogre’s trunk-thick neck.

  ‘Sister,’ Lars rumbled. ‘Are you mesmerised?’

  ‘I am an ogre.’

  Lars frowned. ‘You know these monsters are not permitted–’

  ‘Old news, Lars.’ I climbed onto a chair. ‘Here’s the new news. Are you aware Lord Boron has been ripping off royal funds?’

  Lars’ mouth opened wide enough to catch a family of tarantulas.

  I turned to Stoker.

  ‘The ogre is genuinely surprised,’ said the vampire.

  ‘I’m glad,’ I said.

  ‘Lord Boron remains my employer,’ said Lars, ominously.

  ‘Not for much longer,’ I countered.

  ‘There is still the matter of my pay.’ Lars still looked ready to kill. ‘As Regent, Lord Boron remains in charge of–’

  ‘Was in charge,’ I interrupted. ‘I now have full access to Lord Boron’s accounts.’

  Lars’ eyebrow twitched.

  Almost imperceptibly, Erica nodded.

  Lars lowered his fists.

  Erica lowered her bazooka.

  ‘Lars,’ I said, ‘Lord Boron no longer needs a bodyguard. You’ll still be employed by the royal household. Your first duty is to protect my mother. After that, feed the aniwye and banshee. I’d say you know what to do.’

  For a moment, I feared Lars would separate us all from our limbs and noggins. He caught Erica’s eye.

  She nodded curtly.

  ‘Prince Thomas.’ Lars bowed awkwardly. ‘I shall attend to the queen now, then arrange delivery of three live hippocows from the kitchens for the aniwye.’ He stomped from the room.

  From the furthest wall, Jaak groaned awake.

  Beside the shape-shifter, Bruce shook his cephalothorax. ‘Ooorgh. My skull feels like a troll mosh pit.’

  I smiled grimly and took a deep breath. ‘Now comes the hard part.’

  ‘Constitution gone!’

  15: DECLARATIONS

  Lord Boron’s sleeping quarters smelt of sleep, snuff, mothballs and old man. The regent was unimpressed at being shaken awake from his anaesthetised stupor. He focused blearily on the monsters who surrounded his ornate bed and slurred, ‘Lars? A-arrest these intruders!’

  ‘Lars has left the castle,’ I said.

  Noticing me, Lord Boron struggled to sit, his nightshirt straining over his bulbous stomach. ‘Thomas? What is the meaning of this? I have been … drugged? And my sleeping quarters invaded? Away with you all!’

  ‘Lord Boron.’ I spoke with my every iota of calm. ‘I hereby place you under arrest for fraud and treason against humanity.’

  Even Erica’s eyes widened.

  ‘This is absurd!’ Lord Boron spluttered. ‘I am your teacher!’

  ‘Yeah.’ I wished I was dressed in anything other than my pyjamas. ‘You personally supervised my teaching for the last ten years. Why? To deliberately keep me in the dark about real world factoids. And keep me ignorant of your stealing from the royal coffers!’

  ‘Embezzling,’ corrected Greta.

  ‘These claims are absurd!’ Lord Boron struggled from his bed and wrapped himself in his robe of office. ‘You have no proof, certainly. For none exists.’

  ‘I have proof,’ I said. ‘We broke into your magical library box and learned everything. Or, close enough.’

  ‘The aniwye–’

  ‘Answers to me now.’

  Lord Boron’s jaw dangled as if dislocated. He leaned against a bedpost and said in a softer tone, ‘Thomas, I did what I believed best for our people. Of that, I can assure you. And you must believe: you have always been as a son to me–’

  ‘And you’ve been like a grumpy, over-protective, history-obsessed uncle to me …’ My voice trailed off. I felt like I was standing on a cliff, watching my childhood tumble away, a landslide obliterating everything in its path. I wanted desperately to trust Lord Boron. To forgive him. It would be so easy to just say the words. Yet becoming a worthy ruler meant being fair and just to everyone. I stiffened. ‘That makes arresting you all the harder.’

  The regent’s eyes darkened. ‘Even were your claims correct, you cannot arrest me. I rule in the absent king’s name. I am the regent!’

  ‘Not any more. As the son of King Albert and heir apparent, I hereby appoint myself, um, King of Monstro City!’

  ‘So you just named yourself the boss hume dude?’ Bruce whistled and elbowed Jaak, who rubbed his head. ‘I used to squat next to that boss at school!’

  ‘You cannot do that!’ Lord Boron pointed shakily at a framed document on his wall. ‘According to the Royal Constitution of 2089, you may become king only when you reach eighteen!’

  ‘Fair enough.’ I mentally skimmed the royal legalities Lord Boron had drummed into my brain over the years. ‘Then I hereby declare a royal emergency status! That means I can temporarily throw out the rules of the constitution … thingy.’

  ‘You cannot do that either!’ Lord Boron’s voice strained to hold its authority. ‘Only the king can suspend the constitution.’

  ‘How about this then?’ I grabbed the constitution from the wall and slammed it on Lord Boron’s bedside dresser. The frame and glass shattered in a cloud of snuff, tearing the parchment.

  Lord Boron’s mouth flew wide open.

  ‘Constitution gone! I am king now. By right of birth and because … there’s no one else to do the job. And if you interrupt again, Bruce will fill your fillings.’

  ‘You cannot– Mmmph!’ Lord Boron staggered and gagged as 30 metres of webbing fired into his mouth.

  I shot Bruce a thumbs-up and continued. ‘My second act is to take away – to revoke – your regency. And your lordness.’


  ‘His lordship,’ said Greta.

  ‘Whatever,’ I said. ‘Erica, please escort Lor– Mister Boron to the royal cells.’

  One-handed, Erica seized the slumped old man by the shoulders.

  ‘Oh, and Erica?’

  ‘Yrrr?’

  ‘Yrrr, what?’

  Erica’s lip curled. ‘Y– Your Majesty?’

  I nodded. ‘Please do everything you can to recover the money that Lor– the prisoner – stole. I’d say, with your encouragement, he’ll cooperate.’ I glared at Boron until the last flicker of defiance leached from his body. ‘Being an expert on all things royal, I’d also say my ex-teacher remembers the death penalty can apply in cases of treason.’

  ‘Killer!’ Bruce whooped. ‘This’s been the finest school excursion ever!’

  I took a breath and addressed Erica with a voice I hoped radiated calm and authority. At least a bit. Maybe. ‘When you return from the cells, we’ll be gone. Please dust off my robot to stand in for me again. Program him with a king chip this time.’

  Erica twitched. ‘I cannot allow you to vanish on an insane solo quest – Your Majesty. After all, you are the king now!’

  ‘That’s right. That means you have to do exactly what I say. And you aren’t allowed to shoot me.’ I felt a plunge of emotion, like the final chunk of my past had just slid out from beneath my feet. Before I knew what I was doing, my arms wrapped around Erica’s waist.

  She pushed me away, but with minimal force, and only after a full second had tellingly elapsed.

  ‘Return, King Thomas,’ was all the ogre said.

  I entered the hospital room.

  A goblin nurse counted tablets beside Mother’s bed.

  ‘Stop,’ I ordered.

  The nurse’s head cocked. ‘Prince Thomas? It is not Sunday.’

  ‘That’s King Thomas,’ I said. ‘And from now on, every day’s Sunday.’

  The nurse’s veined eyes bulged.

  ‘What are those tablets?’ I asked.

  ‘Sedatives, King Thomas. To help your mother sleep.’

  ‘That’s all my mother does. Sleep.’ I held out my hand. The goblin nurse considered my expression and poured the colourful tablets into my palm. I folded my bionic fingers into a fist, crushing the medicine to dust. ‘No more tablets. It’s time for my mother to wake. Please shut the door on your way out.’

  The nurse bowed and left.

  Alone, at last.

  Suddenly, I was a kid again, flinging myself across Mother’s rigid body. Yet no tears came, only cartwheeling questions. Was I crazy to attempt waking Mother? Would she emerge from her catatonic state still screaming with grief after all these years?

  A darker question swirled. Could Boron have been deliberately keeping Mother comatose?

  My back straightened. My plan to attend Monstro Central School had seemed crazy to Erica. To everyone. Yet sometimes, the crazy route was the only escape from a crazy maze. Awake, Mother would stand a chance at staring down her demons. If she failed, if I failed, at least we would’ve tried.

  But we wouldn’t fail. We couldn’t afford to fail.

  ‘I have great news, Mother,’ I said at last, when I was sure of my voice. ‘I don’t know where to start. I’ve made some new friends. Oh, and I’m now the king – at least, I’m keeping the throne warm until Father returns. Um, please don’t worry if I’m not here when you wake. I’ll be back soon – right after I’ve confronted a certain dragon about her back taxes!’

  I announced my plan to the Dead Gang in my old classroom-for-one.

  Jaak burst into hysterical laughter.

  ‘You what?’ Bruce tapped Jaak’s noggin. ‘You wanna doorknock the gnarliest monster in the universe? This king gig’s rotted your feeble hume butt-brain!’

  I sighed. The view was so different from ex-Lord Boron’s desk; not to mention, through the eyes of a ruler. ‘I’d prefer constructive ideas, Bruce, not personal insults. If there are obstacles, tell me about them, so we can work on solutions.’

  ‘Obstacles?’ Bruce waved his legs. ‘First up: to score Fire Mountain, we gotta cross the Mythic Lands. I’m fine with that – becoz I’m a citizen. But you bipeds’d stick out like a crocheted stinger!’

  ‘Agreed,’ I said. ‘Still, I’m sure no one would question the mayor’s dragon delivery team crossing the Mythic Quarter.’

  ‘Yo, I s’pose. Not even my old lady’d mess with gobs on Big K’s business. But how’s that help us?’

  I gulped. ‘I thought maybe we could, um, disguise ourselves as the delivery goblins?’

  ‘You crack me up!’ Bruce whooped. ‘Us? Look like gobs? In case you ain’t peeped lately, no mini-green dumb-asses own eight legs or a shapely butt like mine!’

  Seated at my old desk, Stoker said, ‘And when did you intend to launch this scheme?’

  I coughed. ‘The next tribute delivery leaves at nine o’clock.’

  ‘Nine in the morning?’ Bruce’s legs waved like a deranged conductor. ‘As in, this morning? But we’ve been up all night! When do we prepare? When do we snooze? When do we leg to school? Forget that last leg. When do we chow something putrid?’

  ‘We prepare now,’ I said. ‘We sleep later. We go back to school when the mission’s done.’

  Bruce folded multiple sets of legs. ‘Which six members of our gang carked and made you head honcho?’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Greta. ‘You may be the human king, though what is that to us?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘But I reckon this plan can work. You guys broke in here and took down Boron and two ogres. How hard can a few goblin delivery guys be? And if you’re worried about meeting the dragon – and, um, I must admit I’m somewhat terrified at that prospect myself – just help me to the mountain. I’ll drop in on the high-and-mighty Kalthazari on my own.’

  ‘You’re either mildly brave or particularly moronic,’ said Greta. ‘My money’s on the latter.’

  ‘You’re likely right. So, who’s in?’

  ‘Zorg iz helping with dumb quezt,’ said Zorg. ‘Az long az we iz rezcuing real Zcarab firzt.’

  ‘Your mummy chum?’ said Jaak. ‘I left her in New Luxor. You know, dozing in the Dead Quarter? That’s a two-day detour. You know, minimum.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Stoker. ‘The only safe route from the Dead Zone to the Mythic Quarter is back through Castle Mount.’

  ‘We don’t have two spare days.’ I turned to Zorg. ‘How about we make Operation: Wake Scarab our second mission?’

  Zorg muttered murderously, ‘If third mizzion iz munching PT’z brainz.’

  ‘Or … I could buy you a rat brain pizza?’

  Zorg grumbled, ‘Iz deal.’

  ‘I’ll join too,’ said Greta. ‘For 40 crowns a day.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You pay your tax collectors and bodyguards, don’t you?’ she asked.

  ‘I guess so,’ I grumbled. ‘Okay, deal. Who else wants wages?’

  Jaak’s hand and Bruce’s leg fired up simultaneously. ‘The king?’ the shape-shifter beamed. ‘He makes sense. You know, finally!’

  ‘Uh, thanks.’ I nodded, frowning. ‘Now let’s load up and kick some goblin bottom!’

  Bruce groaned, Greta growled and Stoker frowned.

  I didn’t care. I could work on my speech-making skills on a less hectic day.

  ‘Gotta love transport that runs on rage!’

  16: LOCOMOTIONS

  According to Bruce, the dragon delivery team was housed at the Viethe Embassy in Border Town, just outside Castle Mount. The fastest (and sneakiest) way there was via my once-secret ladder into Monstro Central School followed by a spectre-train ride from Lower Castle Mount. I wore my newly-patched swamp monster suit, my monster head tucked under one arm. My backpack bulged with food supplies, my Monster Guide, candles, belled necklace and anti-wokolo hat.

  Erica would surely grunt with pride at my preparations and paranoia.

  We clanged the manhole cover into place and paced to
the spectre station. The early hour at least meant the school tunnels were empty.

  ‘You must be jazzed,’ said Jaak to Bruce. ‘You know, about rolling to your home quarter?’

  I still found it weird hearing a coarse male voice emerge from a bandaged female mouth.

  ‘I can’t describe my killer zeal,’ Bruce replied, in a most unzealous tone.

  ‘Probably we’ll meet? You know, your family?’

  ‘No way!’ said Bruce. ‘They’re far from Border Town. In the far, far north, near the gob border. Ain’t no way we’ll be passing there.’ His mouth pouted, contradicting the sparkle in his eyes. ‘Bummer.’

  I turned to the shape-shifter. ‘Jaak, can you shape-shift to look like a high-ranking goblin?’

  ‘How about Mayor Viethe?’

  ‘You can look like him?’

  ‘You bet! I’ve scoped the mayor. You know, from a distance. His speech? No worries. Although sometimes it’s tricky. You know, impersonating someone bulky. I only have a fixed number. You know, of molecules.’ Jaak rubbed his bandaged chin. ‘Although if I formed the mayor’s face? You know, first? And his bulky hands? I could probably shape my body. Tricky! Into a scaffolding! You know, beneath my clothes.’

  ‘Clothes!’ I kicked the tunnel wall. ‘Ow! I forgot you’ll need a bad suit. Stuff it!’

  ‘No worries. Clothes? I can shape-shift them. You bet!’ Jaak patted his chest. ‘These bandages? They’re me! You dig?’

  ‘Like a dwarf.’ I grinned. ‘Greta, can you pretend to be a goblin bodyguard?’

  ‘The world’s teeniest gob bodyguard,’ chortled Bruce. ‘What ’bout the rest of us?’

  ‘Well, you’re from the Mythic Quarter. A local. As a swamp monster, I’m technically a mythic too. Zorg can maybe … wear a hood?’ Each idea passed a baton to the next. ‘And Stoker can … turn into a bat. Yeah! While we distract the delivery team guards, he can pop out of the shadows and dent their noggins. Or maybe slip a cup of Bruce’s anaesthetic into their coffee.’

  ‘Such delightful schemes.’ Stoker raised a pale finger. ‘Except for one flaw.’