The Battle of the Werepenguins

by Allan Woodrow

  The penguins inched forward and growled. Stand down! Bolt repeated. But still, nothing.

  “The tooth!” Dr. Walzanarz held her hand out expectantly.

  “I don’t understand why I can’t talk to the penguins,” groaned Bolt. His shoulders slumped and he handed Dr. Walzanarz the tooth, his head bowed.

  “Thank you, dahling.” She slid the silver tooth into her front coat pocket. “By the way, every member of my penguin patrol wears a silver-plated head mirror.”

  Bolt stared at Dr. Walzanarz blankly. “So?”

  “You don’t know?” She looked at Bolt, eyes wide open, surprised. “I was wondering why you kept scrunching up your face and staring at my guards like you were trying to reach into their heads. All werepenguins hate silver.”

  “Because they clash with our beaks. I’ve heard. But I don’t hate silver. I’m not very fashionable.”

  Dr. Walzanarz chuckled. “Fashion isn’t the only reason we hate silver. It’s because our minds can’t penetrate the metal. Silver makes everything fuzzy. Our thoughts just bounce off it.”

  “Always?”

  “Yes, dahling. Yours, mine, even the Stranger’s. A penguin with silver surrounding its head is a penguin that can’t be controlled.”

  Bolt had feared something was wrong with him, that he didn’t possess the penguin powers he thought he did. But that wasn’t the case at all. Still, one thing didn’t quite make sense. “If you can’t talk to them, then why are they growling at me?” Bolt asked, his voice unsteady, uneasy, as the penguin guards stood at command. “How are you controlling them?”

  Dr. Walzanarz held up a small transistor radio and spoke into it. “Attention, my penguins. I command you to growl louder.” The penguins’ hissing and snarling rose ten decibels. “Raise your toothbrushes in a fearsome, intimidating way.” They all raised their toothbrushes and waved them fearsomely. She put the radio back into her jacket pocket. “I’ve attached earphones under their silver head mirrors. As long as I speak into my radio, I come in loud and clear.”

  Bolt was impressed by her ingenuity. Horrified, but impressed. This whole place was a marvel. And it contained the World’s Biggest Fish Fryer!

  “I won’t help you,” said Bolt, ignoring his excitement over the fish fryer, and tapping into whatever small drip of resolve he had left, although it was a very, very small drip. “I told the Baron that. I told the Earl that. I told the Stranger that. Why won’t anyone listen to me?”

  “Maybe because your stomach is making loud hunger gurgles? Perhaps you’ll change your mind after lunch.”

  “Why would I change my mind then?”

  “Humor me.”

  Bolt had no desire to humor the doctor, but he didn’t really want to argue against eating lunch. He was famished.

  20.

  The Dentist’s Story

  “While we eat, we can get to know each other a little better, dahling,” said Dr. Walzanarz. She smiled at Bolt, but it wasn’t a reassuring smile, not when they were surrounded by growling toothbrush-carrying penguin guards.

  Bolt and the doctor sat at a large oak table filled with several large platters of fish sticks, as well as fish rings, fish squares, and a bunch of other shapes, all fried to a golden brown. Bolt’s tongue watered at the sight.

  He still hadn’t seen any signs of Grom. The boy must be long gone, back in the mole hole with his sister. If Bolt was going to survive, he was on his own. Which meant he probably wouldn’t. Survive, that is.

  If only Bolt could hide under the dining room table! He could bolt under it right now and close his eyes and hope everyone would leave him alone.

  Or he could sit in his seat and fill his empty stomach. That sounded like an even better idea.

  “It’s been so long since I had someone to talk to, Bolt,” said the doctor. “The Stranger speaks to me, in my head, but it’s not really the same thing. And while it’s enjoyable to order penguins around all day, they aren’t great conversationalists. But now you’re here! Please eat. I’ve prepared this feast for you, after all. You’ll find our fish shapes are vonderful.”

  “They’re what?” Bolt asked.

  “I mean wonderful,” said the dentist with a sigh.

  Bolt didn’t need to be asked twice. He tried a fish triangle first. Exquisite! Then he ate a fish circle; it was even better. “These are wonderful” Bolt agreed, his fear giving way to delight as his taste buds hummed with happiness.

  “Much of our work at the institute is about making fried fish, you know.”

  “What does whale dentistry have to do with fish frying?”

  “We’ll get to that later. For now, I’d much rather talk about you. The Stranger has asked me to convince you to join our army.”

  “There’s nothing you can do to convince me,” said Bolt, sticking his chin out in defiance. If he acted powerful and courageous, maybe he would feel that way, deep inside. It was what he had been doing for most of his quest. Sometimes it worked, briefly.

  “Think of it, Bolt. A lifetime of ruling!”

  “I don’t care about ruling.”

  “A lifetime as a king!”

  “I don’t care about kingdoms.”

  “A lifetime filled with eating trapezoid-shaped fish fillets!”

  “Really? You have trapezoid-shaped fish fillets?” Bolt asked, his stomach growling. “I mean, I don’t care about trapezoid shapes!” Although he did. Very much.

  He took a bite of a parallelogram fish stick. The thought of ruling horrified him, but he found himself nodding anyway, his brain forcing his head up and down as a hungry smile spread across his lips.

  Yes, Bolt. Join us. Fish octagons can be yours!

  Really, fish octagons, too? thought Bolt. I mean, that sounds horrible!

  The Stranger’s voice echoed in Bolt’s head, again jumping in without warning. Bolt knew he should fight against the voice, drive it out, but instead, he picked up a fish shape with more sides than he could count. So crunchy! He could eat like this forever. Maybe Annika and Blackburn would join him for dinner. He smiled at the thought.

  Wait. Annika! Blackburn! Thinking of his friends jolted Bolt, breaking whatever spell he was falling under. They were out there somewhere, counting on him. He needed to concentrate. He needed to free himself and his mind of hate. And he needed to free the world as well. He put down the fish shape without taking a bite.

  Then, he picked it back up and ate it. Fighting evil would be easier on a full stomach.

  Yes, now he was ready.

  Bolt narrowed his eyes. The Stranger’s voice drained out from his ears.

  “Oh, Bolt, dahling,” said Dr. Walzanarz. “How disappointing. You started to smile, but now you’re glaring at me again.” She leaned back in her chair, licking her long fingers. “I was like you once, you know.”

  “Really?” asked Bolt. “You were a twelve-year-old former orphan boy whose best friends were a pirate and a forest bandit?”

  “Well, no. I meant I didn’t always think about ruling the world. Many years ago, the only thing special about me was an odd penguin birthmark I had on my back tooth. It was very hard to see. All I wanted was to grow up and be a dentist. As a young girl I caught toads and pulled out their teeth to study.”

  “Toads don’t have teeth,” said Bolt.

  “I know that now, dahling. But that’s only because I’m a professional whale dentist. Still, I spent my days dreaming of pulling teeth, the bigger the better. What child doesn’t dream of that?”

  Every other child in the world, thought Bolt, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

  “Then, one night, there was a knock at my door. It was far too late to see patients, and besides, whales seldom knock. Still, I answered the door. Cautiously.

  “ ‘I’m sorry, we’re closed,’ I said to the tall, thin man in the doorway. His eyes glowed red. His
face was covered in scars. He let out a loud, evil laugh. ‘Come on in!’ I said. And we talked.”

  “Why did you let him in if he had glowing red eyes and was laughing evilly?”

  She shrugged. “Something about the man spoke to me.”

  “What about him spoke to you?” Bolt asked.

  “His mouth. He was talking to me. Aren’t you listening? Anyway, he explained that my birthmark meant I was special. He told me that if I let him bite me at midnight he would help me build a whale dentist fortress on a remote island, as long as we also built the biggest fish fryer in the world. I jumped at the opportunity, of course. As will you.”

  “Never!” Bolt crashed his fist on the table and almost knocked over his plate.

  Dr. Walzanarz shook her head, her lips pressed tight. “Oh, Bolt, Bolt, Bolt,” she mumbled, and then abruptly stood up. “Come! Let me show you something. I think once you see our fish fryer in person you’ll feel differently.”

  “I won’t,” said Bolt, although he drooled a little bit. Those fish nuggets were delicious, and he very much wanted to see the fish fryer.

  “Come, dahling.” Dr. Walzanarz held up her transistor radio. “And don’t try any funny stuff.”

  “Why do people keep saying that?” said Bolt. “I’m not funny.”

  21.

  A Fine Kettle of Fish

  As they entered the fish frying room, billowy steam slammed into Bolt with such power he almost flopped backward. The vapor dissipated as he stepped farther inside. They now stood atop a raised metal platform that hung over what would have been the biggest swimming pool in the world if it had been filled with water. Instead, it was filled with thick, yellow, bubbling oil.

  Bolt’s mouth dropped open. Sure, he had pictured a large fish fryer—but not something as big as this!

  Also on the metal platform were a dozen penguins, each wearing head mirrors, lab coats, and goggles, operating a computer console that nearly reached to the top of the domed concrete ceiling. The console was filled with hundreds of red and green blinking lights and emitted random beeping blips.

  “What do all those buttons and lights do?” asked Bolt.

  “They blink and blip randomly,” said Dr. Walzanarz.

  A layer of oil—the vapor from the pool—left a thin sheen of grease on just about everything in the room, including Bolt’s skin. Two penguins mopped the floor, although as soon as they were finished cleaning an area, it almost immediately grew oily again.

  Dr. Walzanarz rubbed her hands together. “The haddock, my penguin dahlings. Who has the haddock?”

  A penguin holding a single dead haddock ran to the edge of the platform, where a long metal walkway slowly extended over the oil. Hydraulics hummed and gears clanged as sections of the walkway unlatched from other sections, creating a retractable pier that reached to the middle of the bubbling pool. As soon as the pier had ceased retracting, the penguin waddled down it. About halfway across, the penguin lost its footing—the metal grating was covered with oil, and there was no railing—and spun twice in place before regaining its balance.

  “Oh, do be careful,” called Dr. Walzanarz. “Fried penguin sticks just aren’t my thing.”

  The penguin, no longer spinning, reached the end of the walkway and tossed the haddock into the oil before scampering back.

  The penguins standing at the control panel slapped buttons haphazardly. Some beeped, some didn’t. A couple of buttons whistled. One tooted.

  “Most of the buttons just make fun noises,” admitted Dr. Walzanarz.

  Electronic whirring rose up from the bottom of the pool. Bolt now noticed an enormous machine sitting on the pool bottom, with rotating cogs, a moving canvas belt, and large slicing knives that chopped up and down.

  The oil in the pool began to splash and form tall, bubbling spouts of steaming liquid that sprayed over the retractable metal walkway.

  “Our fish fryer is completely automatic,” said Dr. Walzanarz. “It debones, breads, fries, and even slices.”

  The oil churned and spun, fizzed and frothed. The haddock was sucked down under the bubbling surface.

  “Now comes the fun part,” said Dr. Walzanarz, clapping.

  The entire room vibrated. Loud whirring sounds spat out from the machinery inside the pool, followed by loud hacking sounds, a few clacks, a clink, and then a loud hiss.

  Something shot straight up from the oil and into the air. It hurtled toward Bolt. Bolt put his hands up but Dr. Walzanarz stepped in front of him and caught the projectile on a dinner plate. “A fish pentagon!” she announced, adding a sprig of parsley to the plate. “Want one?”

  Bolt stared down at one perfectly cut and fried five-sided fish shape, still sizzling with oil. He looked at it, amazed, and then picked it up carefully and popped it into his mouth. It was hot, but fresh. “Delicious,” he admitted. Oh, so delicious!

  It also tickled his nose. He scrunched his lips. He held his breath. He rolled his fingers into fists. He gritted his teeth. Then, he sneezed.

  Honk!

  It was a very loud sneeze.

  “The latest batch of bread crumbs was over-peppered.” Dr. Walzanarz rubbed her nose. “We’re still working out the kinks, I’m afraid. That fried haddock was merely a demonstration for you. We didn’t build a fryer this big just to fry a single haddock.” She held up her radio and commanded, “Bring it in.”

  A large metal panel along a far wall lowered, rusty chains clanking. Bolt squinted—a dull oil mist filled the room—as a loud motor roared, grinding and popping.

  A giant metal claw—it reminded Bolt of a claw that pulled prizes from an arcade game, although a thousand times larger—slid along a track in the ceiling. It rattled and creaked as it moved closer.

  Hanging from its metal claws was a brown leather harness. And inside that harness was a whale.

  It was the same whale Bolt had seen earlier, still wearing the bandage around its toothless mouth, still looking as unhappy as it did before. No, even less happy now.

  But as much as the whale seemed to hate being dangled from a crane, the metal claw seemed to enjoy it less. Its tips were bending and the metal warping from the mammal’s immense tonnage. Behind Bolt, at the control console, four penguins in lab coats slapped blinking buttons.

  The claw stopped sliding, and the whale hung directly above the middle of the oil pool. The harness swayed in place, the claw holding it continuing to bend. Bolt wondered if the claw would snap in half.

  “You’re not going to . . .” Bolt began. “You can’t . . .”

  “Of course I can. Dahling, what did you expect? Once we rule the world we’ll have to feed millions of penguins. One haddock can’t feed all of us.”

  “You’d fry a whale?” Bolt asked, horrified.

  “Of course. Fried whale is delicious.”

  Bolt fidgeted. Sure, whales ate penguins. They were natural penguin enemies. But whales were also honorable creatures. Honest. If they borrowed something from you, they always returned it, promptly. Frying them into seafood sticks just didn’t seem right.

  “Imagine eating fried whale every day!” shouted the dentist, raising a fist, her mouth curved into a crazed grin. “Or fried walrus. Or fried anything! Last week I fried a helicopter, just because I could. Isn’t it marvelous? What would you like to fry?”

  This was anything but marvelous. It was terrible! Bolt was so upset that he couldn’t even speak. He merely shook his head and muttered a grumbling “Harrumph.”

  “Fried harrumph? I can’t say I’ve tried that, but why not?”

  Oil continued to boil in the pool. The whale thrashed. The claw creaked. Penguins squawked.

  Bolt reached into the mind of the whale, sensing confusion, anger, panic. Meanwhile, the crane began to lower closer to the oil, metal screeching.

  It’ll be OK, thought Bolt, trying to soothe the creature. />
  Really?

  Well, probably not.

  The whale’s panic became Bolt’s. His throat tightened, and his heart raced in his chest. “You know, I’m not really all that hungry.”

  “A werepenguin not hungry? Don’t be absurd, dahling. You think haddock pentagons are tasty, wait until you try a whale equilateral triangle!”

  The crane jiggled from the weight of the mammal. The gears cracked. The whale swayed.

  “You can’t!” shouted Bolt.

  “But I can. And I will.”

  The penguins at the control deck all wore head mirrors, and there was no way to get through to them. But Bolt had to do something!

  Penguins have excellent eyesight, and so did Bolt. As he stared at the nearest penguin he noticed a small crack in its head mirror, a jagged line running all the way through it. Bolt concentrated on that crack, carefully wiggling his thoughts through it. He could feel his mind curling inside, like small vines twisting around a trellis.

  Stop!

  The penguin continued to press buttons. The whale was only ten feet from the oil, the crane slowly lowering it ever closer. Eight feet. Five feet.

  Bolt jammed his thoughts harder inside the crack. Stop! Stop! Stop!

  The penguin smashed its wing against a button, and the crane screeched to a halt. The crane began to reverse, raising the whale higher and higher, away from the oil. The metal claw screeched, warped, and cried out in agony.

  “What’s happening?” asked Dr. Walzanarz. She jumped up and down and yelled into her radio, “Fry it! Fry it!”

  The crane lowered again.

  Dr. Walzanarz didn’t know what Bolt was thinking—he was careful to keep his vine-like tendrils of thought inside the penguin and away from her. Stop. You don’t want to hurt that whale. Go up.

  The penguin slapped another button, and the metal claw changed direction again with rusty screeching.

  “I want that whale fried!” Dr. Walzanarz shouted. She glared at the mammal, and so didn’t notice the penguin at the console, shaking its head and twitching.