“Honor, truth, consistency, and community.” Groxor’s voice boomed over the crowd.
Griselda glared at Groxor. “Can any of you melon heads tell me what these mean?”
“Fighting with smaller beings is wrong,” Oogin said, squinting around for approval.
“No! Victory brings honor,” Broxli shouted, shoving Oogin out of the way.
Griselda seemed to have forgotten Mulrox. He leaned back toward Yahgurkin while keeping his eyes on his great-aunt. “So, what did they say?” he whispered.
“Only one of them really talked. She said that they were looking for an ogre. An ogre named Mulrox.” She shifted a little closer. “She said that you were known to be associating with, and perhaps even harboring, dangerous criminals.”
Mulrox’s mouth dropped open. “I—what did these friends look like?”
“You don’t know?”
Mulrox shook his head.
A wild grin spread from ear to ear on Yahgurkin’s face. “This is so exciting! I knew being friends with you would make things more interesting.”
“Yahgurkin.”
“Right, sorry. They were sheep. It was a herd of sheep.”
Mulrox opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
“Victory is only victory with honor and values.” Wertol tapped his long, pointy nose.
Griselda grabbed her forehead. “Enough. Talking time is over. Go write me an essay on a value.”
The ogres groaned.
Groxor raised his hand. “What form did you want—”
“Go away and write something,” Griselda barked.
The ogres shuffled over to collect the parchment at Griselda’s feet.
“What do they… the sheep want?” Mulrox asked as they formed a line.
“I don’t know. I thought you knew,” she said.
“SILENCE!” Griselda shouted.
* * *
Mulrox wandered off alone and wedged himself behind a cluster of boulders, sheltered from the glares of the other ogres. How could they blame him for Griselda? As if he wouldn’t do anything to get rid of her.
Mulrox took out the scrap of parchment and twiddled the charcoal stick between his fingers. First a cloud of bad ideas, and now a herd of sheep. What could they possibly want with him? Yahgurkin was known to stretch the truth—maybe it had been a vivid nightmare, or the fumes from the roktoil had been stronger than she imagined. Regardless, he had bigger fish to fry. He could deal with a bunch of sheep after he had won the Behemoth.
Mulrox looked down at the parchment and scribbled his name on the top. They’d probably have the rest of the afternoon to write these essays. He could squeeze some poetry in after, but what should he write? A poem about Griselda wasn’t enough. He needed something more captivating and mysterious. Mulrox shivered, yesterday’s horrific events bouncing around his brain. But that was it! He would write about finding the squirrelmonk! It was perfect.
Mulrox had to stop himself from jumping in. Essay first, then poetry. What would Griselda most like to hear? He smiled.
Truth.
What had Griselda told him only last week after insulting him for nearly thirty minutes?
The truth is the truth—accept it.
And then there was the constant refrain.
Dishonesty will not be tolerated. To twist, exaggerate, or disguise the truth is not ogreian. Activities known to promote this behavior––art, storytelling, music, and most especially poetry––should be banned.
“Well, this is boring. When you said you were busy, I pictured something a little more captivating.”
Yvwi floated in front of him in the shape of a broken pair of eye glasses. The crew of malcognitos were there behind him.
The charcoal snapped in two, dropping to the page, then rolled between the boulders.
“I…”
“Am bored. Yes, we know. But we have the perfect solution for that.”
“But you were gone. You left!”
“We did. And now here we are, together again.”
This couldn’t be happening. “Go away!” Mulrox whispered. “You can’t be here.”
“But we just arrived.”
“Go.”
“But you are our champion.”
Not this again. “Whatever you think I am, I’m not. Please go.”
“So modest, no need to stand on ceremony with us. You will defeat our beast with hardly a blink of the eye. Swat him down with the force of your breath. You are Mulrox.”
“I know I’m Mulrox. Which is how I know I can’t help you. What is after you anyway?” Mulrox said.
“I’m afraid that… well… do you think we could speak in private?”
“No.”
“Fine.” Yvwi floated up to Mulrox’s ear and whispered, “I believe the Vaccus has returned.”
“The Vaccus?”
There was a barely audible gasp, and the cloud of malcognitos shrank back.
“Yes,” Yvwi said, looking grave. “I’m afraid so. I didn’t want to say before in case I was wrong.” Yvwi looked at the startled malcognitos and then turned back to Mulrox. “You see why we came.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t have the slightest idea what you are talking about.”
Yvwi took a deep breath. “The Vaccus is a thing of legend in Sounous. It was said to have been locked up somewhere in the heart of Sounous years ago. It hunts ideas. Bad, good, it doesn’t care. If it grabs hold of you, it will suck the life out of you. It’s been gone for years, but I think it’s returned.”
Mulrox looked around. He was starting to get a bit nervous himself. “So this Vaccus is stealing malcognitos?”
Yvwi nodded. “And we need you to stop it.”
“Me? Why me? I don’t know anything about that thing. It would just eat me first.”
“The Vaccus is interested in ideas, not ogres. If anyone can defeat the Vaccus, it’s you.”
“Look, I think you may have me confused with someone else. I’m nothing special, I promise you. Ask anyone.”
“You don’t need to be special. You only have to think of something. In Sounous, your ideas will be magnified. That should be enough.”
“How do the sheep fit into this?”
“Sheep?”
Fantastic. His life was too weird even for a bunch of bad ideas. “There’s apparently a flock of sheep stalking me.” He sighed.
“Fascinating. But nothing to do with us. Will you help us?”
Mulrox looked around at the sad, little creatures who were all staring at him in their intense, faceless way. The frog-shaped one with spring legs hopped a few inches closer to him.
Mulrox tugged at his ear. “What exactly do you need me to do?”
“First, we find the portal and travel back to Sounous. From there, it should be simple enough to find the Vaccus and destroy it, or appease it, or sing to it, or whatever. It will be easy. Then we should be back in time to help you win that contest you’re so worked up about.”
It was possible and entirely in keeping with his luck that these were the helpers the squirrelmonk had mentioned. Unconventional and inconvenient, these blobs might be his best chance at getting everything back to normal. If it really was as easy as they said.
“Where’s this portal?”
“Only a few days journey into the Woods Mercurial.”
Mulrox’s mouth dropped open. Were they nuts? They’d never make it. No ogre had ever spent that long in the Woods Mercurial and come out sane. Not ever.
“Will you help us?”
Mulrox was already backing away, shaking his head.
“Look, Mulrox. I don’t think you quite comprehend the situation. We’ve traveled across realms for your help.”
“No.”
“But you have to. We––”
“Get out of here.”
For the first time, the creature looked genuinely shocked.
“You heard me. Deal with your mythical beast on your own.”
“But we’
re your ideas. You made us.”
“I’ve got my own problems. Besides, as far as I’m concerned, the fewer terrible ideas around, the better.”
One of the malcognitos sped forward and grabbed Mulrox’s notebook from the ground and flew out of reach. It was Death-with-a-kiss.
“Stop that!” Mulrox yelled. “That’s mine!”
He leapt to his feet to charge toward her, but there was a cloud of malcognitos shielding her from his view.
“We might as well have some fun,” Yvwi said, “since we’re all going to disappear anyway.”
“I’ll hand you over to the sheep,” Mulrox said
“We’re not scared of some fluffy livestock,” Yvwi said. “We have a real monster chasing us. And another who refuses to help.” Yvwi sighed. “Give him back his notebook, Death.”
There was a grumbling noise from inside the cloud of malcognitos, but the purple notebook came flying out over top of them and crashed into the dust at his feet. Mulrox snatched it and the essay up off the ground.
“TIME’S UP!” Griselda’s voice boomed across the field. “Get back here!”
“You don’t have to go,” Yvwi said. “You could come with us.”
Mulrox didn’t even reply. He turned his back on the malcognitos and stomped back toward the other ogres.
* * *
“Let’s see what we’ve got.” Griselda thumbed through the grimy-looking parchment.
The ogres were seated around her once more, squirming. Even Groxor looked slightly uncomfortable.
“Here’s one.” She pulled a page out from the stack. “Oogin! Up here, now!”
Oogin stumbled to his feet, squinting around at the rest of them nervously he went up to the front of the group and took the paper from Griselda with trembling hands.
“Com-Community is good. It is the best. I value it… I value it and so does Griselda.” Oogin swallowed and then looked back at Griselda.
“Yes. Yes, I do. That was… succinct. Not bad. Sit down.” Oogin practically ran back into the group, diving next to Broxli.
She shuffled the pages some more. “Broxli, you wrote the word strength and then drew a picture of yourself.” She held up the parchment. There was an ogre-shaped squiggle with an arrow pointing to it titled “Broxli.”
Broxli nodded.
“Not what I had in mind.” She turned back to the stack. “Ah… Yes, here is a good one. Mulrox.” She held out the paper to him.
Groxor turned and glared at him. Mulrox hadn’t even done anything yet.
Let him glare, Mulrox thought. For once there was nothing in there that could embarrass him. It was Griselda’s own words.
Mulrox stood and made the long, slow walk up to the front of the group. He took the paper from her gnarled blue hands.
“I…”
“Speak up, mumble mouth,” Groxor growled.
Mulrox looked down at the sea of bored faces. Oogin and Broxli were busy poking one another, and Wertol was on his back, blowing spit bubbles. But there in the front row, glaring at him as though he had taken the last biscuit, was Groxor. Mulrox swallowed and tried to look down at the paper, but the words swam before his eyes. Every time he tried to speak in public, it was the same. The tremble started in his chest and then slipped through his arms and into his hands.
“I…”
“Give it here!” Griselda barked and snatched the paper back from him. She shoved him back down to the other ogres. And held the paper in front of her.
“With a heart the size of a shriveled pea,
And skin more cracked than the bark of a tree,”
This wasn’t his essay.
“It’s not your fault, your mouth’s older than rocks,
And your feet so sour they curdled your socks.”
The poem. They couldn’t have. The other ogres were starting to giggle. Mulrox flipped through the notebook with a sinking heart.
“You stagger about like you’re blind and drunk.
Last we found you, you were clutching a skunk.”
There in the middle were the ragged edges of ripped-out pages. This couldn’t be happening. He hadn’t even written those last lines. He hadn’t had the time. How… who…
“It wasn’t you that was worse for meeting––
The skunk passed out from the smell of your greeting.”
Mulrox whirled back toward the boulders. Floating above the rocks was one lone blue malcognito. Yvwi. The malcognito waved and dove behind the rocks.
“She thinks she is to what we aspire,
But we wish Grisel—”
Griselda stopped reading. She crushed the paper in her hand.
“Class dismissed.” Her voice was flat. “Mulrox, if you wouldn’t mind staying behind.”
11
There were practically clouds of steam rolling off Mulrox’s back as he stomped down the road. The malcognitos were trailing him, floating a few feet behind as he passed through the rocky countryside on his way home. Here and there, gnarled oak trees spread fingers of shade over the dead grasses.
Mulrox was spluttering. His hands clenching and unclenching. How dare they finish his poem for him. And to give it to Griselda!
“Mulrox,” Yvwi said tentatively, floating forward so that he was in front of the rest of the group but still out of arm’s reach of the seething ogre. “You’re looking a little glum.”
Mulrox glared at the malcognito and plopped down onto a boulder at the side of the road. “I’m not helping you. Don’t you get it?”
“Mulrox, listen.”
“Leave me alone.”
“No, you daft oaf, listen. With your ears.” Yvwi tapped his head. “Don’t you hear that?”
Mulrox scowled but closed his eyes and tilted his head up to the air.
He could make out a low rumbling. He leaned down and lowered his ear to the ground. “Something’s coming,” he said.
“I don’t like this,” Yvwi said, all the humor drained from his voice. “Something’s wrong. I think we should hide.”
“It’s probably a cart or someone else come to torment me.”
“It’s not a cart,” Yvwi said. “Look.”
On the dark red horizon appeared a thin line of white that was quickly drawing near.
“What is it?” Mulrox asked as he watched the line thicken and surge down toward them.
“I believe those are your sheep friends.”
“Grendel’s gout! Should we run?”
“You’re not fast enough.”
Mulrox didn’t like it, but Yvwi was right. Mulrox looked about for a place to hide. The boulder was hardly big enough to sit on let alone hide behind, and the only other object of any size nearby was an oak tree with only a few straggling leaves. Neither was going to do much to conceal him and his bright red skin.
“Any ideas?” Mulrox asked. He thought maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, but the malcognitos looked different. Their edges sharper and less muddled.
Yvwi looked around at the other malcognitos. “Rock? You up for this?” he asked.
The paper-thin malcognito with the warts nodded.
“Okay, Mulrox get up off the road a way. Yes, up the hill there. Now lie down on the ground as flat as you can.”
Mulrox looked at the approaching sheep and back to the fluttering malcognito. He sighed and followed Yvwi’s instructions, lying belly-down in the dirt.
“Good, okay come on.” Yvwi waved and the other malcognitos crowded in next to Mulrox. “We’re ready.”
Rock-like-skin unfurled the full length of his body and, catching the air, was buoyed up for a moment before he settled down like a sheet over the top of them. It was hard to see at first, but after a few seconds, Mulrox’s eyes adjusted and he was able to see the road through the malcognito. It was like looking through a piece of gauze. Mulrox shook his head. It was just his luck to be hiding under his own terrible idea. They’d most likely be spotted in minutes.
The ground was visibly shaking now, little pebbles bounc
ing to the rhythm of hundreds of hooves.
Moments later, animals filled the road, crowding and pushing until they were so close together they looked like one wooly carpet. Now that the stampede had stilled, their bleating cries rang out through the valley.
“There’s something about them…” Mulrox whispered.
“Yes,” Yvwi whispered back. “They’re despicable. Total cowards. No individuality whatsoever. Snooze fest if you ask me.”
Mulrox squinted at them. The sheep were so similar as to be almost identical, but there was something more. The sheep that Mulrox had seen in the past had been grubby creatures, wool stuck through with leaves and branches, legs twisted, hooves chipped or split. But these sheep were perfectly white, their wool cropped evenly around their heads and bodies, and each black leg was as straight as a pin. None of their ears twitched from gnats. Their eyes were free from goo. Their hooves practically shone. In short, they were the most perfect sheep he had ever seen.
“Was he here?” one of the sheep bleated.
“Here?”
The herd passed the question throughout the ranks.
“No. Gone,” said another.
Silence.
The word rumbled through his head.
The herd parted, opening a path.
Work now.
There it was again. Not a voice exactly, a prickling sensation in the form of words. Mulrox looked to Yvwi to see what he made of it, but the malcognito said nothing.
A clicking, mechanical sound filled the valley, and out from the middle of the herd came the strangest thing Mulrox had ever laid eyes on.
A creature, about the size of a large dog with a wide, flat body, and crab-like, scuttling movements emerged. Protruding out of every surface was an appendage, each different from the last like an overstuck pincushion. The thing could flip these limbs up and down as it pleased, sometimes walking on them, other times holding them aloft. There were wheels and pulleys and gears. Hammers, wrenches, screwdrivers. At the front was a series of sharper instruments: saws, pliers, scissors, needles.
Mulrox and the Malcognitos Page 7