Clickita.
Carlos smiled. “I hear you, Smudge.”
“Oh, poopers,” a nearby voice replied. “You heard my toes on the floor, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Carlos said.
“Poopers.” A moment later, Smudge galumphed out from behind a corner.
“Hai, CC!” Smudge said brightly.
Smudge was a dragon. In some ways, Smudge was very much like the ferocious dragons that lurked in the forests of Faraway Kingdom. He had colorful scales, rubbery wings, a long neck and tail, and sharp teeth and claws. But unlike ferocious dragons, Smudge wasn’t ferocious. He was the size of a moose, with the personality of a pug searching for belly rubs.
Smudge also liked to knit. Most ferocious dragons didn’t do that, either.
Carlos noticed Smudge was wearing pink wool booties.
“Are you cold?” Carlos asked.
“No. I knitted these booties for sneaking,” Smudge said. “But they’re not very good. I need to make them thicker. My clickity toenails poke through.”
Carlos scratched Smudge under his chin. The dragon’s tail whipped back and forth in delight.
“It was a good try,” Carlos said. “You’ll sneak up on me next time.” He continued his walk down the corridor. “I’ll see you later, Smudge, okay? I gotta go.”
Smudge followed. “Wait! Where are you going, CC?”
“I have a jousting lesson.”
Smudge’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no! No, CC. You shouldn’t joust. You won’t like it! You’ll have to stab things. You hate stabbing!”
“I know,” Carlos said.
“Or you could get stabbed!” Smudge went on. “And you’d hate getting stabbed. It’s very unpleasant.”
“I know,” Carlos said.
“And you’ll have to wear armor! You hate armor!”
“I know,” Carlos said.
“And you’ll have to ride a horse! And the royal horse hates you!”
“I know,” Carlos said.
“That horse wants to beat the poopies out of you!”
Carlos stopped walking. He was growing more defeated by the second. “I know!” He leaned his back against the corridor wall and slid to the floor in despair. He put his head in his hands. “I know,” he sighed.
“Then why are you jousting?” Smudge asked.
“Dad’s making me.”
“Poopers,” Smudge replied.
There was a long, unhappy silence. Then Smudge said something else: “Nuh-uh.”
Carlos looked at his dragon friend. “Nuh-uh?”
“Nuh-uh,” Smudge repeated.
“What do you mean by nuh-uh?” Carlos asked.
“I mean NUH-UH!” Smudge said. “You’re my bestest friend! And I’m your bestest friend! And bestest friends don’t let bestest friends get stabbed! And bestest friends don’t let the horses of their bestest friends beat poopies out of bestest friends!” After a moment, Smudge added, “That’s just common sense.”
“So what are you saying?” Carlos asked.
Smudge stood up straight. “I’m saying that I am going to be your horse!”
Carlos sprang to his feet. “No, Smudge. That’s too dangerous.”
“But danger is my middle name!” the dragon boomed. “Actually, I don’t have a middle name, so I can make my middle name whatever I like! So my middle name is Danger! Smudge Danger…” Smudge trailed off. He rubbed his chin. “Hmm. I don’t have a last name, either.”
“Are you sure you’re strong enough?” Carlos asked. “Remember, I’ll be on your back. In armor. And it wasn’t too long ago when … um … you know.”
Smudge completed Carlos’s thought. “When I was stuffed with fudge-ickles?”
“Right.” Carlos nodded. “And your energy level was a little low.”
“But I don’t eat fudge-ickles anymore!” Smudge said proudly. “Now I am strong as … Well, I’m strong as a dragon!”
Carlos gave Smudge a little hug. “I don’t know, Smudge. Jousting isn’t really safe. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Smudge gave Carlos a much bigger hug. “And I don’t want anything to happen to yoooou! So we’re gonna watch out for each other. We’ll make sure nothing happens to us!”
Carlos smiled. “Okay. If anyone can make jousting fun, it’s you.”
“Oh, I believe in being fun-ly,” Smudge replied. “Hop on my back! I’ll carry you to the jousting practice field!”
Carlos did as he was told. He regretted it almost immediately. “Ow! My butt! You have spikes on your back.”
But Smudge couldn’t hear Carlos over all of the clickita-clickitas.
So Carlos braved the discomfort and hung on for dear life as Smudge happily galloped down the corridor.
CHAPTER 4
“Don’t forget to keep your lance pointed up,” Gilbert the Gallant called brightly. “You are fighting men, not salamanders.”
Gilbert chuckled at his little joke. Carlos didn’t.
Gilbert always tells a version of that awful joke, Carlos thought. And I hate that joke.
Carlos hated a lot of things about Gilbert the Gallant. He hated that Gilbert was so tall. He hated that Gilbert was so muscular. That Gilbert’s back was so straight. That his jaw was so strong. That his eyes were so confident. That his teeth were so white. That his dark, perfect skin was so flawless.
Carlos also hated that Gilbert was so brave. And smart. And strong. And popular. And patient. And supportive. And nice.
Oh, Carlos really hated the niceness. If Gilbert were a jerk, Carlos could justify all of his hate.
But Gilbert was nice, so Carlos also hated Gilbert for not being jerky.
Gilbert the Gallant was the prince of the neighboring kingdom, Ever-After Land. He was also known throughout the continent as a skilled jouster. He had even appeared on the cover of Joust Beautiful magazine.
Normally Prince Gilbert would be attending Princeton University, but he was on spring break. Instead of spending his princely vacation at Port-au-Prince or Prince Edward Island, Gilbert had happily agreed to coach Carlos on the fundamentals of jousting.
“As you can see,” Gilbert said, “I set up a bale of hay on this fencepost.” He patted the hay as if he knew it personally. “Your job is to race your … um … animal down the track and spear the hay with your lance.”
Smudge raised his paw. “Ooh! Ooh! Hey, Gert! I gotta question! Pick me, Gert!”
“My name is Gilbert,” Gilbert said patiently.
“Gert is better,” Smudge said. “I got rid of all the bad sounds in your name. I got rid of the ilb. Nobody wants a name with ilb in it. So Gert is better than Gilbert. Isn’t Gert better than Gilbert?”
“Do you have a question, Smudge?” Gilbert asked patiently.
“Yes! If CC misses the hay with his pointy stick, can I help him out by setting the hay on fire?”
“No, you may not,” Gilbert said patiently.
“It’s no trouble,” Smudge continued. “I have hot bref!”
“I know that,” Gilbert said patiently. “But it’s not—”
“’Cause I wanna help out,” Smudge said.
“I understand that,” Gilbert said patiently. “But—”
“And it’s easy for me to help!”
“I understand,” Gilbert said patiently.
“Really easy! Watch!”
Before Gilbert could respond, a BAWOOSH of fire shot from Smudge’s mouth.
“That was very nice,” Gilbert said a little less patiently.
“Want me to do it again?” Smudge asked.
“No, thank you,” Gilbert said less patiently than before.
“I’m gonna do it again!”
“Smudge!” Gilbert was now out of patience. “There will be no fires. Setting jousters on fire is against the rules.”
“But that’s not a jouster,” Smudge said. “That’s a bale of hay!”
“But it’s supposed to represent—” Gilbert cut himself off with a grunt of impati
ence. “Look. No fires. Got it?”
Smudge nodded. “Got it, Gert!”
Gilbert gritted his perfectly white teeth. He turned to Carlos. “Do you have any questions?”
“Yes,” Carlos said. “Can we pretend I did this already?”
Gilbert’s normally confident eyes were looking a little less confident and a little more angry.… Okay, a lot more angry. “Get. On. Your. Horse.”
“I’m a dragon, silly!” Smudge explained. “Horses don’t have hot bref.”
“NOW!”
Without further comment, Carlos and Smudge did as they were told.
Smudge trotted to the end of the jousting track and waited for Gilbert’s signal.
“Remember,” Gilbert called. “Keep the tip of your lance up!”
That was easier said than done. Carlos found the lance hard to hold. It was long and very heavy. It took nearly all his strength to keep it from dipping into the weeds.
“Get ready!” Gilbert announced.
“I’m ready,” Smudge said.
“I’m not,” Carlos said.
“Get set!” Gilbert announced.
“I’m set!” Smudge said.
“I’m not!” Carlos said.
“GO!” Gilbert shouted.
“GOING!” Smudge shouted.
“NOOOOO!” Carlos shouted.
If Carlos thought he had trouble with the lance before Smudge started running, it was nearly impossible to handle it now. He clutched it with all his might as he bounced up and down on Smudge’s back.
“Carlos! Keep your lance up!” Gilbert called.
But Carlos couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his own screams.
“NOOOOO!” Carlos screamed.
The lance skimmed the surface of the jousting track.
“Carlos! Lift up the lance!” Gilbert shouted. “Don’t let the lance dig into the ground!”
At that moment, three things happened:
1. With a solid CHUNK, the lance dug into the ground.
2. Carlos pole-vaulted into the air.
3.Carlos flew in a long, graceful arc over the bale of hay and into a muddy ditch.
In a flash, Gilbert was at his side, pulling Carlos to his muddy, wobbly feet. “Carlos! Are you all right?”
Carlos blinked the mud out of his eyes.
“What happened?” he asked. The world looked like it was at an angle.
“You were jousting,” Gilbert said.
“Oh. Did I … Did I get the hay with the … um … pointy stick?”
“No,” Gilbert replied, “but it was a good try.”
“Don’t worry, CC!” Smudge called. “I’ll get it for you!”
And with a BAWOOSH, the hay bale was crackling with flames.
Gilbert rubbed his eyes as if they hurt. “Maybe we should all take a little break.”
Gilbert led Carlos to the practice field’s rusty bleachers and sat him down. “Keep an eye on him, okay?” Gilbert said to a blurry someone sitting nearby.
“Okeydoke,” came the someone’s reply. It was a girl’s voice.
Gilbert hurried off to put out the flaming hay bale.
“Is that you, Pinky?” Carlos asked the blurry someone.
“Yup,” Pinky replied. “Are you okay? You seem a little confused.”
“I am confused. And muddy. And dizzy. And achy.” Carlos squinted at her. His eyes finally came into focus.
Princess Pinky was Gilbert’s younger sister. It was easy to see the family resemblance. She had the same confident eyes, white teeth, and flawless, ebony skin. But, in other ways, Pinky couldn’t be more different from her brother. For one thing, she didn’t like living in a castle or being a princess. If it were up to her, Pinky would spend all day every day with a sketchpad and a pencil, drawing whatever popped into her mind.
“What are you drawing?” Carlos asked.
“I’m not drawing. I’m erasing,” she replied.
“What are you erasing, then?” he asked.
“I’m erasing you,” Pinky said.
Carlos’s eyebrows went up. “Me?”
She nodded. “I thought it would be fun to sketch you while you jousted. But it’s not working.”
“Because I can’t joust?” Carlos asked.
“No,” Pinky said. “It’s not working because I can’t capture the inner you. Your inner Carlos-ness. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
Carlos had no idea what she was talking about, but he nodded anyway.
“It’s not just about making the drawing look like you,” Pinky explained. “The drawing needs to show your soul.”
“And you can’t show my soul?”
“No. But I will,” she said. “You’re an artistic challenge. But I like challenges.”
Gilbert called to Carlos from the jousting field. “Okay! The fire is out! Are you ready to give it another go?”
Carlos sighed and rose to his feet. “It’s not like I have a choice,” he muttered.
“You always have a choice,” Pinky said, blowing away the eraser crumbs. “Even not choosing is a choice.”
Then she looked Carlos in the eye. “Choose to be safe,” she said.
CHAPTER 5
Before taking another crack at the hay bale, Carlos returned to Fancy Castle and allowed himself to be squeezed into a shiny suit of armor. Everything from his neck down to his toes was covered in iron plate.
The armor was just as unpleasant as Carlos remembered. Actually, it was worse than he remembered. In addition to the armor being heavy and noisy and hot, Carlos had an itch on his left shoulder that he was unable to scratch. His fingers couldn’t get underneath the armor.
The more Carlos tried to scratch it, the more he itched.
The more he tried to forget about the itching, the more he itched.
The more he groaned in itchy agony, the itchier his agony became.
“Ah. There you are.” Gilbert smiled. “You look good!”
“Please stab me,” Carlos replied.
“What?”
Carlos did his best to point to the itchy spot, but the stubborn armor wasn’t making it easy. “I just need you to … My shoulder … It’s…”
“Itching?” Gilbert nodded. “Happens to me all the time.” He unsheathed his sword and slid the polished blade between Carlos’s armor plate and chain mail, reaching Carlos’s itch perfectly. He scratched until Carlos collapsed to the ground in relief.
“Armor is both a blessing and a curse,” Gilbert said. “Feel better now?”
Carlos nodded.
“Okay then. Let’s give the hay bale another go.” Gilbert turned his attention to the bleachers. “Smudge! It’s time for more practice.”
“Okay, Gert! I was just finishing up.” Smudge stuffed a few balls of yarn into his knitting bag. “Look, CC!” Smudge held up his creation. It was big, woolly, and pink. “I just knitted you a saddle!”
* * *
As much as Carlos hated his new armor, it made all the difference when it came to jousting. For one thing, Carlos was heavier with it on. When Smudge galloped, Carlos didn’t bounce around nearly as much.
“CC?” The dragon gasped as he raced down the track. “You got (pant) reeeeally heavy (wheeze). Are you eating too many (puff, puff) fudge-ickles?”
Carlos was also starting to get the hang of the lance. He was now able to keep the tip out of the weeds.
His aim still needed work, though. On the first two runs, he missed his target completely.
But Gilbert was untroubled by what he saw. He just nodded and said, “It won’t be long now.”
And he was right. On Carlos’s next attempt, the lance skimmed across the top of the hay bale.
“YES! Did you see that?” Carlos shouted. “I knocked some little pieces of hay off!”
“Well done!” Gilbert cheered.
“You did great, CC!” Smudge’s tail whipped back and forth with delight. Then the dragon rubbed his scaly chin. “But pieces of hay?” Smudge wondered. “Pie
ces. Hm. Is that what individual hay things are called?”
“I don’t know what individual hay things are called,” Carlos admitted. “Stalks of hay, maybe?”
“A haylette?” Smudge said. “Could it be a haylette? A haylette of hay?”
“Blades of hay?” Carlos suggested. “Like blades of grass?”
“A hair of hay!” Smudge exclaimed. “Hay hair!”
“I don’t think that’s right,” Carlos said.
“A hay string!” Smudge was on a roll. “That’s it. A string-a-ling-a! A string-a-ling-a-ding-dong of hay-ish-ness!”
At that moment, Smudge noticed Gilbert’s expression. “Hey, Gert!” Smudge called. “Why are you rubbing your eyes like they hurt? Do your eyes hurt, Gert?” Smudge pondered this phrase for a moment. “Hurt Gert. That’s it! It’s a hurt-gert. A hurt-gert of hay!”
“That is not it,” Carlos said.
“Well, it should be it,” Smudge huffed.
Gilbert’s voice sounded pained. “Carlos? Could you…?”
Carlos understood. “C’mon, Smudge, we have a bale of hay to stab. The whole bale. Not just a stalk or whatever.”
“A hurt-gert,” Smudge corrected.
* * *
THWUMP!
The sound of the lance plunging into the hay bale was oh-so satisfying. As soon as Carlos stabbed it, he wanted to turn around, get a running start, and stab it again.
So he did.
THWUMP!
When the bale of hay got too easy, Gilbert offered up a new challenge: a pumpkin.
It took only three tries before the pumpkin was a pulpy mess. Then Carlos did the same thing to a cantaloupe. Then an apple.
Wow, I’m really good at this, he thought. I have the gift of stabbiness!
Then a new, exciting thought popped into Carlos’s mind. And I’ll be able to get stabby before a crowd of ten thousand people!
Carlos was about to ask Gilbert for an even smaller target—a grape, perhaps—when Smudge flopped onto the ground.
“I’m too sleepy to run anymore, CC.”
Carlos was disappointed, but he was careful not to show it. “Okay, my friend,” he said, patting Smudge’s head. “You did great. You did better than great!”
“Thanks, CC.”
The Dork Knight Page 2