“I don’t understand, Father,” Fluke said. “You plan to destroy the whole world? With slime? How can that be? Even you and I working together can never make enough.”
“Ah, but that’s the wondrous part, my son,” Sebaceous Ooze said. “Soon we will cut ourselves in half, and grow new worms. And they’ll divide again, and so on and so on. In a few months, there will be millions and millions of us. We can harvest the slobber from all of our offspring, create rivers and seas of worm goop, and with it we shall raise an army large enough to rule the world!”
“That sounds like a lot of work,” Fluke objected.
“Not if we make enough slobber goblins. We’ll build an army of them, or things like them. We can make them in different shapes: snot spiders and creeping oozes, mucus monsters and booger babies.”
Fluke’s father had never really talked openly about his plan. He had hinted about parts of it, but not all.
“Together, my son,” Sebaceous said, “we shall clobber the world with slobber and rule the world with drool!”
“As long as the trains in Italy run on time,” Fluke said. “That is all that I care about.”
“Good,” Sebaceous Ooze said, an evil grin forming on his wormy face. “Now, about those rodents who tried to spy on me last night . . . We must come up with a plan to get rid of them. Something cruel, something they won’t expect . . .”
Sebaceous Ooze bent his evil mind to the task at hand while Fluke Gutcrawler wriggled on the floor, covering it liberally with slime.
When they had enough slime, his father would find some evil gnat, its tiny heart filled with malice, and crush it. Then he would force its cruel spirit into a body made of ash and worm goop, turning it into a slobber goblin.
Fluke laughed cruelly and began to push his ash and slobber into a ball, the first step in making a slobber goblin.
Chapter 8
SOMETIMES A GREAT NOTION
Don’t get discouraged if you’re not smart.
Keep thinking. Remember: often even the simplest creatures
come up with extraordinary ideas.
—THORN
Against his will, the weasel whirled and grabbed his own tail and chomped down on it.
Amber hid inside a hollow oak tree and watched in amazement at the thousands of animals that had gathered at the top of the clearing to answer the summons of the Great Wizardess of the Wood—her. These weren’t just any animals: these were the enemies of mousedom.
She’d summoned them last night after granting Thorn his brains. Amber just hoped that her powers were back at full.
They’d better be, she thought, peering around at the terrifying creatures that had met in the woods.
Her tail no longer felt heavy and lethargic. But she couldn’t be positive that she now had her magic powers back.
The upper branches of the oak and alder trees above the clearing were filled with dozens of hawks, owls, eagles, herons, and crows—every one of them a mouse eater.
The owls looked half asleep.
In the lower branches, bobcats licked their paws innocently, while an old mountain lion squatted on one branch and let his tail dangle and flick, as if hoping that someone might play with it.
Opossums hung upside down in the nearby bushes, playing at being dead, while a dozen masked raccoons and a few river otters watched the proceedings with apparent excitement.
There were other mammals that Amber didn’t recognize—minks and martens and fishers.
The ground was a slithering mass of snakes—garter snakes with their long red or yellow racing stripes, two-headed rubber snakes—common to Oregon—that had tails that looked like an extra head, pine snakes, rattlesnakes, green vine snakes, king snakes, and others.
There were alligator lizards and bullfrogs, skunks and civet cats, house cats, dogs, and foxes—in both the silver and the red varieties. There were some sneaky-looking coyotes and a regal golden eagle. There were little black scorpions and a few tarantulas. In some places the ground was black with fleas and ticks, while in another spot it was white with lice.
And in the air above the gathering hung a cloud of mosquitoes as black as a thunderhead.
Down near the front of the rock slithered an assortment of caterpillars.
Last of all, just above the caterpillars, a huge black bear squatted right at the front, wondering what all of the fuss was about.
“Well, time to make our appearance,” Ben said in a terrified voice, and he went hopping out of the hollow tree and scrabbled up the rock, using lichen for footholds.
Ben reached the top of the tall rock and stood for a moment just peering at the enemies of mousekind. There was a young weasel down near the front that stared at him and drooled, his stomach rumbling from hunger. Some hawks just glared, as if angry to have been disturbed.
But most of the animals watched Ben with amusement, as if they were happy to listen to his little joke, and then would gobble him down in one bite after he had his say.
When all the animals had gathered and the sun was just rising in a bowl of molten pink, Ben gave the signal, a long whistle, and the army of mice and voles that were hidden beside Amber went marching out of the bottom of the hollow oak tree. The mice looked quite impressive. While Amber was gone, they’d gotten into the walnuts back in the Ravenspell garage, and the mice had gnawed them down, shaping them, so that all of the mice wore helmets.
Each mouse and vole in the army, not to mention a few shrews, carried a spear made from a single needle. Now they climbed up on top of the rock, and while many of their enemies still hid in the shadows, the mice and voles strode up into the sunlight, their spears glinting like lightning.
It was an impressive army, Amber decided. For days now, every vole in the meadows had been coming to join her.
“Ladies and gentlemen, carnivores and other bloodthirsty critters,” Ben shouted, “I present to you the Great Wizardess of the Wood: Amber!”
Amber tried to still her shaking legs. Her heart pounded wildly. Drawing a deep breath, she scurried up the rock, taking little mouse leaps to get there.
She was so nervous that she slipped halfway up and fell to the ground.
Oh, I bet I look stupid, she thought.
Then she scrambled back up the rock, grabbing at lichen, pushing with her feet, trying to ignore the crowd.
From the crowd came a good deal of hooting, jeering, grumbling, and growling; the coyotes and raccoons were especially bad tempered. They eyed the mice, and Amber could tell what they were thinking: I’ll bet I can take those mice whether they’ve got spears or not.
Amber reached the top of the rock and raised her front paws for silence. A hush fell over the group.
She wanted to show them some magic spell, something impressive like what Lady Blackpool had done to the fleas, but she couldn’t think of anything. Besides, she wanted to save her powers, in case she needed them.
Ben had wandered around the woods, but Amber didn’t really know how much magic energy he had managed to store. She wouldn’t know, she realized, until she had to use it.
Amber got straight to the point. “Fellow creatures of the fields and forests,” Amber said. “I have invited all of you here for one reason, and one reason only: all of you have been known to eat mice.”
At this, there was an indignant cry from the caterpillars near the front row. “What do you mean? We don’t eat mice.”
In a mild tone, Amber peered down and said, “Yeah, but you’re creepy, especially you hairy ones. How do you get your hair to stand up like that? Some kind of gel? It’s frightening if you ask me.”
Some other caterpillars, the fat green grubs with blue, thorn-shaped growths on their tails, cried out, “But we don’t have any hair!”
“Yes,” Amber said in a patient tone, “but you’re ugly. I don’t mind a little fat, but green fat?”
“I may be a worm today,” one of the green caterpillars shouted, “but I’ll be a butterfly someday! You’ll look up, and you’ll be con
founded by my beauty.”
“Oh, get real, you loser!” Amber said. “You’re nothing but a big, fat, green maggot.”
“Uh—” Ben whispered into Amber’s ear. “Caterpillars do turn into butterflies.”
Amber was so shocked that she nearly fainted. It wasn’t that she was stupid. It was just that she was young. There’s only so much that you can have learned at ten weeks of age. “Really? Why doesn’t anyone tell me these things?”
Amber bowed her head and shook it. “I’m sorry if I offended you,” she apologized. She continued. “In any case, I’ve come to give you all a warning. I’m taking over the world. And from now on, there’s a new law in the forests and meadows. It’s called, ‘Be nice to mice.’ That means no biting!”
The weasel near the front grumbled, and he blinked a few times as if he were about to have a mental breakdown. From among the coyotes, someone howled, “Come on, guys, let’s rush ’em. They can’t get us all!”
“Yeah,” a raccoon shouted. “Let’s rush ’em!” Suddenly, dozens of growling animals lunged at the mice.
Amber raised her paw and clenched her fists. The offending animals shot up into the sky like rockets, all aimed toward each other, and then crashed in a huge jumbled mess about twenty feet up in the air.
They fell back down with a thud, and lay in a tangled heap, dazed and groaning.
“I can too get you all,” Amber said. “And I won’t have any back talk. You’ll all obey the new rule, or else!”
The threat had a chilling effect on the predators. They all peered at Amber with new respect.
“Now, as I was saying,” Amber continued. “There will be no more eating of mice. No jumping on mice. No clawing of mice. No biting on mice—or anything that looks like a mouse.”
“What will we live on?” the fidgety weasel cried in despair.
“Maybe you could go gnaw on your own tail,” Amber said.
The weasel gave her an evil look. “And maybe I’ll gnaw on your tail,” he hissed under his breath.
Amber glared hard at the creature, and against his will, the weasel whirled and grabbed his own tail and chomped down on it, his fangs sinking deeply.
“Help!” the weasel cried, his eyes bugging out. He leapt up and down in pain. “I’m biting my own tail!”
Amber released the spell, and the weasel sat down in a miserable heap, twitching and shaking.
The predators all looked properly pacified.
“Now,” Amber continued, “for the rest of you. You can eat caterpillars, mud pies, and your own ear wax for all that I care—but mice, voles, shrews, and their kin are off limits. Understand?”
The animals all peered at her and nodded.
“Anyone who is even thinking about sneaking a bite out of a mouse,” Amber said, “let your whiskers burn.”
Nearly every animal in the crowd suddenly had its whiskers flare up in a puff of smoke. Dogs yelped in terror and cats hissed. Weasels squeaked and owls hooted. Even one of the hairy caterpillars caught on fire. Amber was astonished to see that the angry caterpillar had been thinking about eating a mouse.
“Someday,” the singed caterpillar whined, “we worms will put an end to the tyranny of you vertebrates!”
Amber raised her voice and amplified it magically so that she roared like thunder. “All right, folks, we’re done here. Now leave us mice alone!”
With that, Amber pointed her finger and a powerful wind roared out of the sky, hurling mosquitoes and fleas away like leaves in a hurricane. The dogs ran yapping in terror, and the cats yowled. Lizards leapt and snakes slithered.
Soon the meadow was clear and quiet; only the black bear sat there, peering at Amber. She noticed that his whiskers hadn’t burned. Obviously, at his size, mice weren’t really on his menu.
“Well?” she said.
“You’ve made a lot of enemies here,” the bear said. “I was just noticing that. Animals that once just ate mice now hate mice. If I were you, I’d watch my back.”
The black bear got up and trundled away.
* * *
“Do you think I scared them enough?” Amber asked when the predators were all gone.
Ben wasn’t sure, but Lady Blackpool said, “It will hold them for a while. But mark my words, they’ll be looking for mouse blood in time.”
“I’ll only have to be gone for a few days to take care of the evil worm, I think,” Amber said. Ben really didn’t know how long she would be gone, days or weeks.
“Don’t go,” Lady Blackpool said. “My heart is full of foreboding. You’ll be facing a powerful wizard, perhaps even one who has been schooled in the dark arts. I don’t think that you’re ready to face him. You should go to a mage school first.”
“A school?” Amber asked. “What’s a school?”
“It is a place of learning,” Lady Blackpool said, “where the old impart knowledge to the young.”
Amber looked at Ben. “Have you heard of such a place?”
“I’ve been to school,” Ben said. “I went to Dallas Elementary.” Ben didn’t say any more. He didn’t tell her about the bullies that pushed him on the playground, or mean old Mr. Lamb who mumbled when he tried to teach math.
“That’s a human school, but there are also schools for the wicked who wish to learn dark magic,” Lady Blackpool said. “The largest of them is called SADIST—the Small Animals’ Darling Institute of Sorcerous Technology. There are several chapters to this school. If the wizard you face has trained at such a school, he will have a great advantage.”
“But,” Amber objected, “you told me that I’m powerful for a wizard. I even beat Nightwing the bat.”
“You are powerful,” Lady Blackpool admitted. “You’re very powerful for a novice, for someone with no training. But beating one crazed bat—that was just luck. Besides, you didn’t beat him alone. You had Ben to help you.”
Lady Blackpool looked at Ben, and he suddenly felt embarrassed. He had helped Amber, he realized. He’d kept the bat distracted just enough so that he flew into a tree.
“It isn’t enough to have power,” Lady Blackpool told Amber. “You must know how to use it wisely and well. You must learn when to fight and when to run.”
“You think that I should run from this sorcerer?”
Lady Blackpool considered for a moment. “The place where you must go is more than a thousand miles away. It takes great power to cast a spell so far. Yet this worm is drawing mice even from here. He has a magic ring, that is true, but the ring only amplifies his power, makes it stronger. It isn’t the source of his power. This sorcerer is very dangerous. My heart warns me that you’re not ready.”
“But he’s calling mice to their doom,” Amber objected. “I have to face him. Every day that I wait, more mice will die.”
Lady Blackpool considered. “There is a school in the swamps near where I lived. An old friend of mine runs it—Rufus Flycatcher, a bullfrog of great learning and wisdom. I think you should go there.”
“Is it a place where you learn dark magic?” Amber asked with worry in her voice. The old shrew was hard to judge. She acted nice, Ben thought, but her long snout and sharp teeth looked evil. And even Ben could see that it wasn’t safe to be on her bad side when she was in a nasty mood.
“It’s not a place of evil,” Lady Blackpool said. “The school is called SWARM—the Small Wizards’ Academy of Restorative Magic. There you can learn spells of healing and protection, powerful spells—spells that may even teach you how to raise the dead!”
Ben couldn’t imagine such power.
“Would I be able to raise my mother and father from the dead?” Amber asked. Ben wasn’t sure how Amber’s parents had died or even if they had died. Amber had been raised in the pet shop to be a feeder mouse, a mouse that was used as food for snakes and lizards. So Ben suspected that Amber’s mother had been fed to a reptile, too. But there was a small chance that her family might still be alive somewhere, kept as pets by some human child.
“I cannot p
romise that you’ll raise the dead,” Lady Blackpool said. “Such spells only work on those who are freshly dead, not on those who have rotted away. There are legends of course . . . but I have never seen even the newly dead brought back to life.”
Amber nodded slowly, as if reaching a decision.
“I can’t go to your school,” she told Lady Blackpool. “Mice are dying, and I’m the only one who can save them. That’s my destiny, or so I’ve been told. If I don’t do it, no one else can.”
Lady Blackpool looked stunned.
Amber looked over at Ben. “I’ve got to go fight this sorcerer worm,” she told him. “But you’ve kept your part of our bargain, and for that I thank you.”
“Are you going to turn me back into a human?” Ben asked.
“Yes,” Amber said. “I’ll let you go.” But she peered into his eyes, and Ben could see such sadness and regret that it broke his heart.
Three days ago, she’d said that she didn’t think she could turn him back into a human, not unless she turned herself into one, too. She couldn’t bear to leave him.
Ben could see that she was still torn, but she had to save her mouse friends too.
Ben didn’t dare say it, but he didn’t want to leave her, either. For the past couple of days, he’d found himself dreaming of what it would be like to have a good friend. He’d been making plans, thinking about how he could keep her in his attic, hidden from his parents. He’d take her to school every day, and they’d be best friends.
Amber lunged forward and hugged him good-bye.
Ben felt such relief flooding him. He wanted to be human again. But he also felt worry—not for himself, but for Amber. She was planning to go face a cruel sorcerer who would take delight in killing her. Without Ben beside her, without training, she’d be dead in no time.
Ben could see in her eyes that she knew it. But she was trapped, stuck between wanting to do two things that were good, stuck between the promise that she’d made to Ben and the promise that she’d made to mousedom.
Ben had his own problems. He thought about his mother, so lost and lonely, calling for him, and he was eager to be home. Yet in trying to comfort her, he would be leaving Amber to face a cruel enemy alone.
Ravenspell Book 2: The Wizard of Ooze Page 5