by Rob Harrell
We were sitting in the water, letting the creek slowly wash the honey off of us, when Roquefort turned to look at Kevin.
I cut him off. “Enough. We’re all exhausted, so give it a rest.”
Roquefort just chuckled to himself until I spoke up again.
“So, what’s the deal with the frog cage with the chair in it?”
The tiny king/prince was licking honey off of the back of his wrist. “Not that it’s any of your business, Troll, but that is the King Mobile. The king must travel in both safety and comfort. So it is written, and so it shall be.”
I turned to the two ogres. They were both glaring at the king—clearly not happy about the earlier “disposable” comment. “We carry him in it.” Buddy looked away.
“And you’ll carry me in it again, Ogre!!” Roquefort snarled.
With that, Buddy stood up out of the water and walked over to the honey-covered cage. He held it up so we could all get a good look at it. Then, without a word, he turned and—really putting his back into it—launched it into the air. And I don’t mean a few feet. That cage and chair sailed into the air like a home run hit.
It came crashing down in the top branches of the flumpfruit tree. Then Buddy quietly walked back to the creek and rejoined the group.
The king was losing his mind. “You’ll pay for this, you overgrown swamp sponge!!” You could see the panic in his eyes. “How am I, the king, to travel unprotected?? Bad things could befall me!! This is . . . I don’t . . .”
The rest of us sat back in the water with our eyes closed and tried our best to tune out the tantrum. I peeked out of the corner of my eye and saw a thin smile slide across Buddy’s face. Maybe there was more to the big lug than I had imagined.
· 28 ·
A LITTLE BIT OF AWKWARD
Unbelievably, despite our having just pulled his stupid little butt out of the honey, all Roquefort could think about was the injustice of having to hang out with a troll. “A king forced to interact with the lowest . . . the vilest of creatures! A common criminal! An ESCAPEE, no less, and one of the filthy, furry persuasion!”
He’d been going on like this for the last hour. It was getting old, fast, and in my head I was talking to my troll blood, trying to keep it calm.
We were all hungry, cranky, sticky and, if I’m being honest, stinky.
“When my father hears about this whole fiasco, he may bring back beheading, I’m just warning you.” Roquefort was far from running out of wind.
Seriously?? I mean, we had literally JUST SAVED HIM! I was losing my inner battle.
The little jerk went on. “Or public flogging. Or some kind of new, horrible thing he could do. Maybe something troll-specif—”
I was working my ear like crazy, but if I rubbed any harder, I was going to wear the fur off.
“We saved your stupid, ungrateful little butt, so why don’t you PIPE DOWN and let the GROWN-UPS do what we CAME HERE for!” I was all up in the prince’s face. I couldn’t contain my meltdown. “And your dad LIKES trolls, in case you haven’t been paying attention!” I was on fire now. It was like letting a monster out of its cage. “So why don’t you just curl up in a ball and WHINE yourself to death. Because I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE.”
The king’s face turned a royal shade of purple as he turned away and crossed his arms in a huff, quiet at last.
I still had so much anger pouring out of me—it had to go somewhere. I started yelling and jumping up and down and thrashing around while the rest of the group watched, openmouthed. I reached down and started grabbing rocks—big ones—and chucking them as far and hard as my muscles would let me.
This wasn’t a coping plan that Gramps had given me, but I hoped it would burn off some energy. Wind up, throw. Wind up, throw. Like an overheated furry pitching machine.
And that was all going well, until . . . my hand slipped.
You may think that with all the fur on a paw, it would be tough for it to get all sweaty and slippery. You would be wrong.
So I went to throw this good-sized rock—probably the size of a healthy Flack Rabbit—when it slipped and that rock went flying out of my paw.
Right. At. Kevin.
Have you ever had one of those moments where you see something happening in slow motion? And there’s nothing you can do? This was one of those moments.
I turned just in time to see the rock shoot out sideways and smash Kevin square in the snout. There was a crunch like sitting on a bag of Fritos, and I knew it was going to be bad.
The second I saw blood, I was filled with horrifying shame. He was out cold. His snout was bleeding pretty badly, and I thought his lip was cut, though it was hard to tell. Chester was there with me, patting Kevin’s cheek.
“Kev? I’m so sorry, buddy! Wake up for us, okay?” I was crying again—I felt beyond terrible. Once again I’d let the anger take control—and now my best friend had paid the price.
I was vaguely aware of the prince, laughing it up behind me. He was going on about it to his guards. “Did you see that? That was AWESOME! Hahahaha!”
“I mean seriously. I want that on the royal YouTube page!”
I tuned him out as Kevin’s eyelids started fluttering. He let out a groan that made my heart hurt. Then he sat up a bit and spit something out into one of his hooves—a front tooth.
When he saw that and the blood, he passed out again. Just for a moment this time. He sat up and looked at his tooth again.
I was relieved that his panic seemed to be overriding the pain.
“That wathn’t a baby one! Thath a grown-up one!!”
“I’m so sorry, Kev!” I was blubbering like a Bawling Tree. “I am so, so sorry! I’ll get it fixed, I swear. Are you okay??”
It went on like this for a while—me freaking out about hitting him in the face and him freaking out about his tooth. After the anger ran out of me, I felt like an empty husk.
”Zarf, man.” Kev kept dabbing at his snout and lip with a handkerchief. “You buthted my tooth. I mean . . . you’ve gotta get that anger thtuff under control.” He gave me a meaningful look.
That sound, the sound of Kev trying to say the word “seriously,” got us laughing, even though I felt like doing anything but. I put my head in my paws. “I’m so sorry, guys. You didn’t ask for a friend with a nuclear temper.”
Chester patted me on the back. “Well. The good news is you’re finally starting to throw better than my baby sister.”
This got a loud bark of a laugh out of Kevin—and then we were all sitting there giggling like a bunch of idiots.
Kevin was showing me the hole where his tooth had been when our phones started blowing up. First it was Kevin’s, then Chester’s, and then mine.
Clearly Kevin’s and Chester’s parents had figured out that they weren’t camping at each other’s houses. My parents had tried my phone a few times earlier that day, but I’d let it ring.
One by one, we heard the “Bloop” sound indicating that we had voicemails. Everyone was trying to act tough.
Kevin broke first. “I, uh . . . you know. I thould probably check that . . . In cathe it’s about a weather pattern or thomething. Not that I want to . . .” He was putting on quite a show.
Now it was Chester’s turn. “Yeah. I should . . . I should check mine too. In case my dad has, like, a joke-related emergency or something.”
Finally, we agreed to play our messages out loud so we could all hear them. I think we were all needing a little taste of home.
Roquefort let out a mean little laugh.
We ignored him, and one by one we played our messages from our parents. Kevin’s parents were grunting and snorting like they’d lost their minds. Chester’s dad was ready to beat someone with his juggling balls. But they all ended their messages saying how much they lo
ved and missed them.
Then I played my parents’ messages.
The first was from my mom; the second was my dad; both begging me to stay safe and come straight home. Then there was a message from my gramps. He spoke in a low, sad voice that put a lump in my throat.
“Zarf . . . It’s yer gramps . . . . Listen, I feel like this is my fault. Me and all my stupid talk abou’ the Belford Way and all tha’ crap. So, please, don’ pay any attention ta wha’ I said, okay? I was jus’ a foolish old man flappin’ his gums. You jus’ come home. . . . This too shall pass, y’know?”
I’d never heard him like this.
“So tha’s what I called ta tell ya . . . I love you, boy. Come home safe.” There was some fumbling with the phone and then the message ended.
You could have heard a pin drop—until a loud snotty sniffle came from my left. I looked over to find Roquefort in full distress.
The king was suddenly crying up a storm and wiping a big snot strand away with the back of his hand.
“What if my dad got eaten by a stupid giant weasel??” He hitched in a couple of breaths before he began bawling again at full tilt. I froze, unsure of what to do.
Then I slowly reached over, like I was about to pet a snake, and gave the king’s back a soft test pat.
When he didn’t react, I patted him a few more times before resting my paw on his shoulder.
Suddenly he turned and grabbed on to me, pulling me into some kind of weird, desperate hug. “I MISS HIM SO MU-UH-UH-UCH!”
Kevin, Chester, and the two ogres were all looking at me with shocked expressions. I clearly saw what Chester mouthed to me.
I eventually brought my arms down and started patting the little jerk on the back again. It seemed to help. I actually felt a little bad for suspecting him of having a part in his dad’s disappearance.
“Thanks,” I heard him say, in a voice just barely audible.
It’s funny how when you see somebody crying that hard, it doesn’t matter if they’re a total jackdragon. At that point they’re just a person who feels like crud.
· 29 ·
ENOUGH IS A SNUFF
After Roquefort got it all out of his system, it was like he suddenly realized where he was. He sat up, put a sneer back on his face, and demanded that we slackers get moving again. Always a charmer, that one.
We had only gone another fifteen minutes when we saw our first glimpses of the Sea of Tomorrow through the trees—something I never thought I’d see. Few had, at least from our village. We all grew quiet, as we knew this meant we were close to the Snuffweasels’ lair. Over the salty sea air, my troll sense of smell suddenly picked up a strong smell I can only describe as “snuffy.”
“If you knew half as much about comedy as you do about poop, I wouldn’t be so concerned about you eventually being my Court Jester.” Roquefort enjoyed holding that future boss-employee situation over Chester’s head.
“Yeah, well, you’re . . .” Chester’s face tensed up as he tried to come up with a funny response. “I mean . . . You know. Poop you.” He sagged a bit, disappointed in himself.
We gathered in a stand of bushes and quietly waited for night to fall. The young king had a bad case of ants in his pants, and proceeded to fuss and fidget to the point of making us all mental.
When it was good and dark, I broke out John’s night-vision goggles.
There was one final hill before the water. I scanned the area, looking for an entrance or any activity. Finally, in the green-lit view of the night vision, I saw two Snuffweasels skitter out from behind a large boulder. They startled a squirrel, which took off like a shot. But in two easy bounds, one of the Snuffweasels was on it—and snarfed it down in two gulps like it was a Mutton Taco Supreme.
A chill shot up my spine, making my fur stand on end. I thought I’d keep the squirrel-massacre to myself—mostly to keep Kevin from wigging out.
“Okay. I just saw two of them come out of the hill. The entrance must be behind that boulder,” I said as Roquefort rudely snatched the goggles out of my hands. “We need a plan.”
We started spit-balling ideas that ranged from the impossible to the ridiculous. King Roquefort kept insisting that we needed to make Snuffweasel costumes and infiltrate the lair. He even took out some paper and a quill and drew up a schematic.
Kevin wasn’t impressed. “It looks like a big, furry hot dog.”
Roquefort rolled his eyes so hard, he almost fell over. “Am I surprised that the pig doesn’t appreciate art? I am not.”
“Well, it’s just a brilliant idea, Your Highness.” I handed him back his drawing. “All we need now is a fabric store, a seamstress, a couple of Snuffweasel pelts, and some chicken wire—which of course are all readily available out here in Nowheresville.”
The king’s face turned red. “Well, I don’t hear any brilliant ideas from you losers!” He turned to his ogres. “Anything?? Or are you just going to sit there like a couple of lumps?”
“Okay,” I started. “We have these guys for some muscle. Maybe we load them up with some of our weapons and send them . . .” I stopped when I heard a twig snap behind me.
Suddenly Snuffweasels were everywhere, bursting through the bushes. Fur and leaves were flying.
I could make out Roquefort’s high-pitched squawking, but the rest of our yelling was all blended together.
I saw one of the weasels throw a burlap sack over Kevin and scoop him up, just before another bag came down over me. Everything went dark. I was tossed roughly over a big hairy shoulder, hitting my head on my knee. I could hear my friends’ muffled shouts from all around me as I lost consciousness.
* * *
When I came to I was bunched up in the bottom of the sack, bouncing against my captor’s backside.
The smell of the weasels was almost unbearable at this point. You ever smell something so strong, you taste it? It was like that. I was tasting weasel. I started breathing through my mouth and listened for my friends.
Then the sound changed. I assumed we had entered the weasels’ lair. There was a growing murmur that scared the wits out of me. It was the sound of a large group of Snuffweasels. My heart plunged i
nto my stomach.
Then, abruptly, all of the snarling, grunting, and snuffling stopped. So did my Snuffweasel. Everything became still, except my heart, which was pounding so hard, it was making my teeth shimmy.
There was complete silence, and then quietly, from somewhere off to my right, I heard Kevin muttering to himself. “Ohhh no. Oh no. Got the panic thweatth. I’m hyperventilating . . . Need a paper bag to breathe into. Wait . . . I’m IN a bag. How can I be hyperventilating inthide a bag? Oh dear oh dear oh dear . . .”
He was cut off by what sounded like a loud bark that echoed off the walls of the lair. Then I was upended and dumped onto the cold, wet floor—right on my head.
I sat up and saw the others being dumped from their sacks as well. We were in the middle of an enormous cavern. There were those rock things hanging from the ceiling—I can never remember if they’re stalactites or stalagmites. But most alarmingly, we were surrounded by maybe twenty-five hideous, drooling Snuffweasels.
I saw one weasel scurry over to the wall. There was a small hole there with a crude arrow painted above it. The weasel barked some kind of command into the wall, and it came out amplified by about five hundred percent.
It was so loud, it shook the rock walls. And then more weasels were pouring into the room, as if called to duty.
Faster than I could have imagined, they had us all bound securely in rope and scooped us up again. The other weasels cleared a path as we were carried forward.
My nose picked up something that smelled like one of the marinades my mom uses when she cooks. I was thinking that was kind of odd when the Snuffweasels
stepped back to reveal a huge vat full of oily brown liquid. And there, tied up right in the middle of it, the liquid right up to his chest, was our king. The real king. King Cheznott. The king’s eyes went wide with surprise when he saw us. “Oh, dear.”
· 30 ·
IN THE THICK OF IT
The brown goop in the vat was colder than I’d expected. One taste told me that it was, indeed, a marinade. Maybe a light balsamic vinaigrette. Floating around us in the liquid were several whole onions and peppers, as well as nine or ten large, whole fish. Clearly they were looking to spice us up before dinnertime. Great. Just great.
Roquefort, Chester, Kevin, and the ogres were tossed into the sauce as well. The prince (’cause he was a prince again, right? I mean, we found the king) came up sputtering and gasping for air. He began slopping his way through the sauce toward his dad. “Father! I’ve . . . I’ve come to save you . . . from these horrid beasts!”
It was tough going, hopping through the liquid, and he was getting winded.
“Thank you, my son. Thank you.” They couldn’t really hug, so the king and prince just sort of leaned against each other awkwardly for a couple of seconds.