Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face and the Badness of Badgers

by John Dougherty

  “Sorry,” said Malcolm the Cat. “Just playing with you. Force of habit. I won’t do it again. You can knock on the door now. Oh, whoops,” he added as Stinkbomb went once more to knock, “my mistake. You can’t.”

  It could have gone on like this for some time, if Stinkbomb hadn’t remembered that he had a fish in his pocket. Stinkbomb was the kind of boy whose pockets were always full of things that might come in handy later, and it occurred to him that if you are dealing with an uncooperative cat, the best way to win it over is with a nice fat fish.

  So he pulled the fish out of his pocket, and with a mighty

  he knocked Malcolm the Cat off the furry hat with it. Before Malcolm the Cat could pick himself up again, Stinkbomb had knocked on the palace door.

  CHAPTER 5

  IN WHICH

  OUR HEROES

  MEET THE KING

  Immediately they heard from inside the palace the sound of footsteps, quiet at first but getting louder. They waited, both of them feeling the warm sun on their backs and the soft breeze in their hair, and Stinkbomb feeling a gentle tugging at his side, which turned out to be Malcolm the Cat trying to climb into his pocket to get the fish.

  Eventually, the door opened, and there stood King Toothbrush Weasel, wearing a yellow-checked

  bathrobe on which was pinned a little badge that said .

  “Yes?” said King Toothbrush Weasel.

  “Hello, King Toothbrush Weasel,” said Ketchup-Face, grinning her special grin that she kept for important people. She was particularly proud of this grin at the moment, as it showed the gap where she had recently lost a tooth.

  King Toothbrush Weasel gave Ketchup-Face a stern look. “I am not King Toothbrush Weasel,” he said firmly, tapping the little badge that said .

  “I am the butler. Now, what do you want?”

  “We’ve come to see King Toothbrush Weasel,” said Stinkbomb.

  “And who shall I say is calling?” asked King Toothbrush Weasel.

  “Ketchup-Face and Stinkbomb,” said Ketchup-Face, who was tired of always being second.

  “Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face,” corrected Stinkbomb, who liked to insist on his own rights as the older sibling.

  “Ketchup-Face and Stinkbomb and Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face,” repeated King Toothbrush Weasel. “Come in. Oh,” he added, “and do get out of the boy’s pocket, Malcolm the Cat. You’re supposed to be on guard duty.”

  They entered the palace and found themselves in a small and cluttered entrance hall. King Toothbrush Weasel past a bicycle that was leaning against the radiator, said, “Please follow me,” and began walking in place, at first thumping his feet on the floor as loudly as he could, but getting gradually quieter.

  Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face looked at each other, puzzled. King Toothbrush Weasel glanced over his shoulder at them and halted.

  “Do come along,” he said.

  “But you’re not going anywhere,” Ketchup-Face pointed out. “You’re just walking in place and making your footsteps quieter.”

  King Toothbrush Weasel turned indignantly. “I am not walking in place,” he said. “I am walking down a very long corridor in a large and impressive palace! And my footsteps are getting quieter because I am getting farther away. Now come along!”

  Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face shrugged and began to walk in place. Satisfied, King Toothbrush Weasel turned again and led the way without actually going anywhere.

  Before very long, they reached a door that they’d been standing beside the whole time.

  “Please wait here,” King Toothbrush Weasel said, “and I shall ask if His Majesty will see you.”

  He stepped through the door, and Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face heard him say: “Ketchup-Face and Stinkbomb and Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face to see you, Your Majesty.”

  And then they heard him say, “Oh, dear. It’s so very, very busy being a king, you know. I was just about to do some busy kingly things, and look at some royal bits of paper, and stuff like that. But I suppose the needs of my subjects must come first. Do show them in.”

  And then they heard him say, “Very good, Your Majesty.”

  He popped his head out and said, “King Toothbrush Weasel will see you now.”

  Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face went in and waited politely while King Toothbrush Weasel took off the badge that said , put on a small crown and a badge that said, and sat down on a comfy armchair that was trimmed with tinsel and had a label on it saying .

  “Welcome, loyal subjects,” he said. Then he added worriedly, “You are loyal subjects, I suppose? I wouldn’t like to think you were the disloyal sort. Are you loyal subjects?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Stinkbomb.

  “What’s ‘loyal subjects’?” asked Ketchup-Face. “Ow,” she added as Stinkbomb elbowed her in the ribs. “What’d you do that for? I only asked because he said, and anyway, ow,” she went on as Stinkbomb elbowed her again. “Oh, all right, yes we are, whatever it is, as long as it doesn’t involve spinach.”

  King Toothbrush Weasel looked relieved. “Oh, good,” he said. “Now,” he continued, smiling at Ketchup-Face, “you must be Ketchup-Face and Stinkbomb, and you”—he turned to Stinkbomb—“must be Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face. You’re very young to be coming to the palace all by yourselves. Haven’t you brought your parents with you?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” said Stinkbomb.

  “They like to keep out of the way when we’re in a story,” explained Ketchup-Face. “’Cause parents spoil stories if they’re in them. They just hang around stopping you from having adventures and making sure you wash your hands before you touch anything.”

  “Very wise,” said King Toothbrush Weasel. Then he sat up straight and looked at her. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Do you mean you’re in a story now? This minute?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Ketchup-Face. “You can tell because of all the chapters and page numbers and stuff.”

  “But . . . but . . . am I in the story too?” asked King Toothbrush Weasel worriedly.

  “Yup!” said Ketchup-Face happily.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Stinkbomb agreed. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “But I’m in my bathrobe!” said King Toothbrush Weasel. “I can’t be in a story in my bathrobe! Just wait here a minute!”

  CHAPTER 6

  IN WHICH

  KING TOOTHBRUSH WEASEL

  GOES UPSTAIRS TO GET DRESSED

  AND COMES BACK DOWN AGAIN

  Upstairs, King Toothbrush Weasel put on some nice purple underwear with golden crowns all over. Then he chose some purple pants and a white shirt and a velvet robe trimmed with pretend fur, and got dressed. He went to the dressing table, brushed his long golden beard, and put it on. Finally he combed his hair, straightened his crown, and went downstairs again.

  “Right,” he said as he entered. “What did you two want to see me about?”

  “Well, Your Majesty,” Stinkbomb said, “we wanted to ask for your help because the badgers have stolen a twenty-dollar bill out of my piggy bank.”

  “Badgers?” said King Toothbrush Weasel. “Impossible! There are no badgers in the kingdom of Great Kerfuffle! I banned them all by royal decree!”

  “Do you think the badgers know that?” asked Ketchup-Face.

  “Of course they do,” said King Toothbrush Weasel. “Anyway, I’d have noticed if Great Kerfuffle was full of badgers, all galumphing about, being too heavy, and spiking things with those big horns on the ends of their noses.”

  “Um, actually I think that sounds more like rhinoceroses,” said Stinkbomb.

  “No, no, no,” said King Toothbrush Weasel. “Rhinoceroses are those little creatures that go ‘squeak’ and eat cheese and are frightened of the army!”

  “I thought those were mouses,” said Ketchup-Face.

  “Nonsense!” said King Toothbrush W
easel. “I’ll prove it to you!” He went to the bookshelf, took down a book called How to Identify a Rhinoceros, and leafed through it.

  “Ah,” he said after a minute. “It does appear that I might have banned rhinoceroses instead of badgers. Oh, well, never mind. I’ll just have to send someone on a mission to drive all badgers from the kingdom. You’ll do. Off you go.”

  CHAPTER 7

  IN WHICH

  OUR HEROES SET OFF

  ON THEIR QUEST

  A minute later, Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face found themselves leaving the palace with no clear idea of where to go or how to get there and a firm instruction from King Toothbrush Weasel to rid the kingdom of every badger within its borders by lunchtime.

  Stinkbomb was a little annoyed by this turn of events, but Ketchup-Face was untroubled.

  “Don’t worry, Stinkbomb,” she said cheerfully. “We’ve been sent on a quest by the king, so probably something will happen to help us.”

  “Like what?” Stinkbomb grumbled. It was nearly mid-morning, and he’d only had one breakfast and no snacks, so he was a bit grumpy.

  “Oh, you know,” said Ketchup-Face. “We’ll probably meet some animals that’re in trouble and need help, and we’ll help them ’cause we’re kind and nice, and then they’ll give us a magical thing that’ll help us when we need help, and then everyone’ll have been helped and it’ll all be nice.”

  Stinkbomb rolled his eyes. “Don’t be silly,” he said. “That sort of thing only happens in stories.”

  “But we are in a story,” Ketchup-Face pointed out.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Stinkbomb. “I forgot.”

  And just at that moment, they heard a rather bored voice saying, “Help. Oh, help. Oh, dear me, help.”

  “Told you,” said Ketchup-Face.

  They followed the sound of the voice until it led them to a small gray cat in a red soldier’s jacket.

  “Oh, help,” said the cat, without much enthusiasm. “Help, help, help, oh help, help. Help.”

  “Hello, poor dear sweet little cat,” said Ketchup-Face. “Whatever can be the matter?”

  “Oh, help,” said the cat flatly. “Help, help, help, for my tail is tangled up with this bit of grass and I cannot get free.”

  “Really?” said Stinkbomb. “Your tail is tangled up with a bit of grass?”

  The cat just shrugged.

  Quickly, Ketchup-Face got down on one knee and freed the cat—a task that, it has to be said, required no effort at all.

  “There!” she said. “And now you are free, little cat!”

  “Oh, hooray,” said the cat, with no more emotion than before, and twitching its tail only a little. “I am free. Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah. Hurrah. Oh, how can I ever thank you.”

  “Well,” said Ketchup-Face, “since you asked, you could give us a magical item to help us on our quest.”

  The cat stared at her, without blinking, in what can only be described as a sarcastic manner. “Oh, what a good idea,” it said. “Why didn’t I think of that.” And then it stared some more.

  “So . . .” said Stinkbomb after a long and awkward pause. “Is that what you’re going to do?”

  “I suppose so,” said the cat reluctantly. “Here. Because you have saved me from this terrible and dangerous bit of grass, I shall give you . . . this shoe.”

  It produced a rather familiar-looking item of footwear and offered it to Ketchup-Face.

  “Why, thank you, little cat,” said Ketchup-Face, reaching out to take it.

  Just as she was about to take it, the cat snatched it away. “Oh, sorry,” it said. “Maybe that wasn’t the thing I was supposed to give you after all. Let me think. Oh, yes, it was. Here you are.”

  It held out the shoe once again. Ketchup-Face reached for it. The cat snatched it away.

  As it held out the shoe a third time, it noticed Stinkbomb’s hand moving toward his pocket. Hurriedly it dropped the shoe on the grass.

  “Thank you, sweet little cat,” said Ketchup-Face, picking it up. “And how will this magic shoe help me?”

  “Well,” said the cat, “if ever you are in danger . . .”

  “Yes?” said Ketchup-Face.

  “. . . you can put it on and run away. It’s quicker than hopping,” said the cat, and it turned and disappeared into the long grass with no apparent fear at all of getting its tail entangled again.

  “Told you!” said Ketchup-Face happily, tying the shoe around her neck so it wouldn’t get lost and then hopping on ahead once more, singing to herself. Stinkbomb followed on behind, stopping occasionally to pick up an interesting thing and put it in his pocket.

  After a while, Stinkbomb said, “We don’t know if we’re going the right way, you know.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Ketchup-Face. “I expect the next animal we meet will be able to tell us.”

  And just at that moment, they heard another little voice saying,

  but this one sounded as if it really meant it.

  CHAPTER 8

  IN WHICH

  OUR HEROES OFFER HELP

  AND ARE HELPED IN RETURN

  Help!” shouted the little voice again, and as they got closer, they could hear frantic

  noises as well.

  “This way!” said Stinkbomb, and he ran ahead, with Ketchup-Face hopping along behind him. Soon they came to a grassy bank that sloped down to a stream, and there they saw a heartbreaking sight. Struggling for dear life, upside down in the water and clearly unable to swim, was a little shopping cart, which waved its wheels helplessly in the air.

  shouted Ketchup-Face as she and Stinkbomb plunged down the bank and into the raging torrent, which came all the way up to their ankles.

  Together, they pulled the cart out and set it upright, placing it carefully on its wheels on the bank. “Oh, thank you! Thank you!” gasped the shopping cart. “You have saved me! How can I ever repay you?”

  “Well,” said Ketchup-Face, “we’re on a quest to find the badgers. I don’t suppose you know where they live, do you?”

  “Why, yes, I do!” said the little shopping cart happily. “They live in the next valley, by a magical stream in the middle of an enchanted wood, just next to a small apartment building. Jump into my basket and I will take you there.”

  Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face scrambled into the basket, and at once the little shopping cart began to race up the grassy bank.

  It was terribly exciting. Imagine going on a magical horse ride, on the most beautiful horse you have ever seen.

  Now imagine that the horse has a squeaky wheel and a saddle made out of hard wire that makes a crisscross pattern on your bottom.

  Now imagine that the horse can’t go in a straight line, and keeps veering off to one side. And now imagine that the horse isn’t a horse at all, but is in fact a little shopping cart.

  That’s what it was like.

  Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face thought it was great. Stinkbomb invented a game called BUGCATCHER, which involved holding his mouth open and seeing how many bugs he could catch. He gave himself one point for a fly, two points for a beetle, four points for a wasp, and a million points for an elephant. Ketchup-Face, meanwhile, sat at the front of the basket, making horsey noises and shouting things like, “Giddyup!”

  “I shall call you Starlight,” she said to the shopping cart.

  “Actually,” said the shopping cart, “my name’s Eric.”

  Ketchup-Face was the sort of child who never let facts get in the way of a good game. “Giddyup, Starlight!” she said, and added to Stinkbomb, “Well, we’ve met a cat who gave us a shoe, and a horsey who gave us a ride . . .”

  “I’m not a horsey,” the shopping cart pointed out.

  “. . . so I wonder who we’ll meet next?”

  “A million!” answered Stinkbomb happily, pulling something out of his mo
uth and examining it. “I’ve caught an elephant!”

  “Don’t worry, elephant,” said Ketchup-Face. “Stinkbomb has bravely saved you from his own mouth. Now you can give us something magical to help us on our quest.”

  Then she looked closer. “Wait a minute,” she said. “That’s not an elephant. It’s a beetle with a big nose.”

  The elephant, if that’s what it was, made a little buzzing noise and flew away.

  Sometime later, the little shopping cart drew to a halt.

  “I can take you no farther,” it said sadly, “for we have reached the enchanted wood where the badgers dwell.”

  Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face looked, but they could see no wood before them.

  “Gosh!” said Stinkbomb. “It really is enchanted, isn’t it? It’s invisible!”

  “Er, no,” said the little shopping cart. “You’re just facing the wrong way.”

  “Oh,” said Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face together. They turned around, and there, dark and forbidding, stood the enchanted wood.

  “You must carry on alone,” the shopping cart continued, “for the bracken and brambles are too thick for my little wheels to get through. Besides, I promised my mom I’d clean my room this afternoon. But if you ever need help, call me and I will answer. Unless I’m busy or too far away to hear or watching a good show on TV or something. Farewell, Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face!”

  “Farewell, Starlight, my noble steed!” said Ketchup-Face, trying to fling her arms around the little shopping cart’s neck, but then realizing it didn’t have one and settling for patting it on the handle instead.

  “Yeah, bye, shopping cart,” said Stinkbomb. “Thanks for the ride.”