Bad.
Yvwi floated down into the pit and tapped the creature. “Hello? Anyone home?” The grinder cowered, covering its head with all of its strange arms.
Failed, the grinder wailed.
“Failed what?” Mulrox asked.
He saw Yahgurkin and Yvwi exchange looks. “Mulrox, are you feeling alright?”
He looked at them, pointed to the grinder, and then stopped. “You don’t hear it, do you?”
Their faces were blank.
He looked down at the grinder—it was still cowering.
Bad, it said.
“It’s talking.”
“It is?” Yahgurkin asked.
“It’s not,” Yvwi said.
“It’s more like something you feel rather than hear, if you know what I mean,” Mulrox explained.
“Not in the slightest,” Yvwi said.
Mulrox tried to focus. The grinder was saying something else.
Bad work. Fail. Alone.
For a moment, Mulrox thought he saw the grinder wandering alone in the dark woods.
“What happened?” he asked.
Followed.
Mulrox saw dark trees and, here and there, the tiniest spark of something small floating between them. Something with springlike legs, and something else covered in small spikes. The malcognitos. And now a picture of him. This time the image showed him back in Ulgorprog. It was night, and he was on the road between his and Yahgurkin’s house, clutching Geraldine.
“You’ve been following me this whole time?”
There was no response from the creature.
“What whole time?” Yahgurkin said
“It’s been watching me since the night you showed up,” Mulrox said. “It’s been following us.”
Yahgurkin frowned. “What does it want? Did someone send it?”
The image was changing again.
Lost, it said again.
And it was staring at dark expanse of trees. Then the image shifted to something warmer. It was in a cottage—his cottage! There was the dragon around the fireplace and his chalkboard and… Griselda.
Bad work.
The ancient blue ogre was standing in the middle of the room, waving her arms and yelling. In the image, she appeared to shimmer and almost glow with a faint purple light.
“No…” Mulrox said.
“What?!” Yahgurkin asked.
“Griselda. She showed me Griselda.”
Yahgurkin gasped.
“Is that who sent you?” Mulrox asked.
“Woah, it didn’t like that,” Yvwi said. “Are you sure you speak grinder?”
Mulrox opened his eyes. The grinder had gone from a sad, little pile to a wild blur of legs and was throwing herself at the walls of the pit.
“It all makes perfect sense,” Yahgurkin said, ignoring the grinder’s spasms below. “Griselda hates creativity.”
Geraldine nodded, then slapped her foot.
“Yes. And toads,” Yahgurkin added. “And gardens, and innovation, and stories about ogres doing more than crushing things, and basically anything of any value.”
They were right. Who else would go to such lengths to ruin his chances at the Behemoth, to attack his ideas at every turn? The sheep had wanted him back in Ulgorprog, which meant she did too. She wanted to control him. A ball of rage gathered in his stomach. It wasn’t enough to take his house and destroy his life—she had to go after everything.
“Tell it to take us to Sounous,” Yahgurkin said.
Mulrox looked down into the pit. The creature was frantically scrambling at the walls, covering herself in a shower of fresh dirt.
“Give up, Grinder. You’re trapped,” Yvwi said.
The grinder started using one of its poky arms to jab holes in the side of the pit.
“Can you tell it to relax?” Yahgurkin asked, a crease appearing along her brow.
“You’re safe with us,” Mulrox tried. “No one is going to hurt you.”
“Don’t lie to it,” Yvwi said. “Everything is trying to hurt us; I don’t know why the rules would be different for it.”
“Ignore him,” Mulrox said to the creature.
But the grinder was a blur of panicked legs.
“It’s okay.” Yahgurkin yawned and turned away from the hole, shaking her head. “Why don’t you try again tomorrow? We all can. When we’re fresher.”
“I really can hear it… her. I think it’s a her,” Mulrox said.
“And now we know who we’re up against. I don’t know why we didn’t think of it earlier.” Yahgurkin looked down in the pit. “And at least it’s not chasing us anymore. That’s something.”
“Yes, instead it’s in our camp, with shovels for arms,” Yvwi said. “Good thing it’s too stupid to use them properly. Anyway, off to bed!”
Geraldine shivered and jumped into Yahgurkin’s arms.
“That’s a good point. I don’t know if—”
“I’ll take the first watch,” Mulrox said.
“You sure?” Yahgurkin’s eyes were already drooping so low he was afraid she might fall asleep right then.
Mulrox nodded.
“Good night then.” She headed off after the others, leaving Mulrox and the grinder alone.
Though it was so late he knew there were only a few more hours until sunrise, Mulrox was not the least bit tired. His mind was whirring like an over-wound clock, and his fingers and toes felt like they were filled with currents of energy. Mulrox looked into the pit. The grinder was at the bottom, moonlight bouncing off its metallic limbs and joints. It was looking nervously up at him, but it was no longer in a frenzy.
He knew he could get through to it. He had felt it before, but he had gone too fast.
“Hello,” Mulrox said. He pictured himself waving.
There was no response.
Mulrox closed his eyes and tried again, imagining himself in more detail and the grinder standing in front of him.
Still no response.
Mulrox sighed.
Work?
The voice was high and pitiful this time, not so much a question as a plea. The grinder looked the same as before. No movement, nothing to indicate it had spoken.
Mulrox closed his eyes and tried to focus. Name? He pictured himself and the word Mulrox. Then the grinder.
Tork.
“Tork?” Mulrox felt his face pulled into a broad smile.
The grinder bobbed.
It had worked! He had to stifle a giggle bubbling up inside of him.
“Hello, Tork.”
28
Groxor had never been happier to see Ulgorprog in his whole life. He had always felt that the provincial town was holding him back, but this morning, as he stumbled out of the Woods Mercurial, Ulgorprog was the most beautiful place he had ever seen. The moment he saw the familiar huts rising up over the horizon, his heart swelled. He was home. He had made it.
Groxor looked around and, seeing that no one was within view, grabbed a handful of grass and threw it straight up into the air.
“You did it, Groxor!” he told himself. “They can curse you and kidnap you. They can leave you in the woods, but you’ll always come out on top.”
His journey had been daunting. Not only had he stumbled lost through the terrifying woods, trying his best to ignore the howls and hoots and snarls that drifted through the trees, but it was almost as though his mind were against him. Every strange-looking trunk became a gnarled face, a toadstool reminded him of a tiny umbrella, a leaf floating on a puddle of water was like a little boat. He’d never noticed these things before, and the explosion of thoughts and ideas that danced around his brain made him dizzy. He wanted everything to go back to how it had been when things were simple and clear. A tree was just a tree, and a leaf a leaf.
Groxor smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt and straightened his collar. He could feel the exhaustion in his legs and chest, but he knew he was too animated to sleep. He had to tell someone what had happened to him. It was too incredible, too strange to
go to sleep.
As Groxor walked down the main road, he couldn’t help but notice how clean and open everything was. Whereas the woods were a mess of chaos, here everything was order and balance. No trees, or fungi, or shadows, or malcognitos. Bones were stacked in the front yards, the mud pits were freshly combed, and the corners on the hay bales were so sharp he could have sworn you could cut yourself. It was probably the contrast from the woods, but Groxor had never seen Ulgorprog look so good.
The Slobber and Snore, however, looked as ragged as ever. Stones littered the ground from the crumbling facade. A hole in the roof was home to a family of crows, who cawed angrily at Groxor as he approached. Even this early in the morning, smoke puffed out the chimney in long gray streams. He stepped up to the door. He wondered who was in, but the windows were so grubby he could see nothing of the inside, even when he was right up against them.
When Groxor threw open the door of the Slobber and Snore, Oogin and Broxli were seated at their customary table as Groxor had hoped. They sat across from one another with mugs of steaming ox-bone tea and plates heaping with biscuits and runny eggs. They were going to love this.
“You guys are never going to believe where I’ve been!” Groxor said. He slid into the booth, bumping Broxli over to make space for himself. He reached out to align the sulfur-shakers like he always did, but he stopped midreach, realizing they were already lined up. He contented himself with touching the top of each instead before continuing.
“Remember how I told you that I thought that weirdo Mulrox was up to something? I couldn’t have been more right. I’ve probably had the greatest adventure since taking on the dread ship Billibob. No scratch that, this is better. It’s going to blow your minds.”
Groxor smirked and looked up at Oogin. But instead of the slack-jawed excitement Groxor expected, Oogin was scowling at him.
Groxor paused. He looked behind him. Nothing. He looked back. Oogin was still glaring at him. He was used to Mulrox ignoring him and Yahgurkin rolling her eyes, but Oogin loved Groxor’s stories.
“What’s wrong with him?” Groxor asked.
But Broxli ignored him and leaned toward Oogin. “The foundation is almost complete.”
“Good. She grows impatient. It must be perfect,” Oogin said.
“Yes,” Broxli said. “It will be perfect.”
“Guys!” Groxor said. “I’m back. I know I’ve been gone for a few days, but I’m here now.”
“Yes,” Broxli said. “Now leave.”
Groxor stared at the two ogres, his jaw dropped so low he thought it might scrape the tabletop. They looked different somehow, bigger almost. Broxli’s long, gangly arms looked less like wet noodles, and there was something about Oogin’s face… he wasn’t squinting!
“Oogin, can you see now?” Groxor waved his hand in front of Oogin’s face and started a series of complicated hand gestures.
Oogin pushed his hand out of the way. “I see perfectly.” He was definitely grimacing now.
“What’s wrong? Are you ill? Are you feeling sick?” Something in the back of Groxor’s throat began to tickle and catch. The tingling was building in his tongue, and then when he opened his mouth again, the words tumbled out. “Or is this a joke or a stupid trick? I made it back, but now I don’t know what to do. I wanted my best friends, but they swapped them with you.” It was like something had taken over his tongue, forcing out this bouncing, rhyming nonsense. What was wrong with him?
Something bumped his leg. Groxor looked under the table. Two fluffy white sheep were jealously guarding the legs of the other two ogres and glaring at Groxor as though he were a loose end they wanted to snip.
“Grendel’s gout,” Groxor whispered.
Groxor tucked his legs up under him and then looked about the room. There were ogres at many of the tables, but they all had the same faraway expression his friends carried. But by their sides or at their feet or sitting up in the booth next to them were more of the fluffy-looking sheep. The sheep watched over the ogres with their strange sideway eyes.
“Go,” Broxli said.
Groxor flushed. This was not the hero’s welcome he had expected. It was highly irregular. “How about I get us some more tea?” Groxor said.
He stood up from the booth and made his way toward the bar. What was wrong with everyone? He had been gone only a few days and suddenly the whole town had lost its mind. Groxor didn’t understand it, but he knew it had to have something to do with that layabout Mulrox. There was no way Mulrox’s little booger things just happened to show up at the same time the whole town went mad. The pattern was too neat, like something Groxor would have constructed. But what it meant and why his two closest friends were snubbing him was beyond him. Perhaps Mulrox had bewitched the whole town and Groxor alone had tried to stop it. That would explain why they had kidnapped him.
Groxor approached the bar. As Trolzor stepped up to serve him, the two locked eyes. He didn’t seem different, but neither had Broxli. Groxor used the bar to hoist himself up so he could peer around Trolzor’s feet. No sheep.
“Trolzor, I—”
“Who took on the dread ship Billibob?” Trolzor asked.
Groxor’s mouth dropped open. Was he that forgettable? He thought by now everyone in Ulgorprog knew about that. “I haven’t told you? It all started when I—”
Trolzor let out a sigh of relief. “It’s you.” He leaned over the bar until he was next to Groxor’s ear and whispered. “Where are the others? Has Mulrox returned?”
Groxor pulled back. “No, they’re still off on some pointless quest.”
Trolzor’s gaze drifted off to the far wall.
“Of course I would have completed the quest by now if I had stayed, but no time for that. Not with the Behemoth.”
Trolzor shook his head. “That’s all anyone here can talk about.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“Not sure. Nothing natural. It’s got something to do with those dratted sheep. They started showing up two days ago, but they’ve been growing in number. I tried to keep them out of the inn at first, but things got a bit heated.”
Trolzor glanced behind him and Groxor saw a couple fist-sized holes in the wall.
Groxor felt that strange tickling down his throat again. He tried clearing it, but it wouldn’t go. “A fluffy sheep tried to follow me here, but it’s lost in the woods and filled with fear.” Groxor’s eyes bulged. Why was this happening?
Trolzor frowned, appraising Groxor before he continued. “Two days ago, they decided it was no longer good enough to hold the Beatific Behemoth here. Instead they’ve been building something in the town square.”
“Why?” If Groxor kept to single words, he would be safe.
“They’re saying ogres from far and wide will come to see it. They’ve been pestering Svenn too. It’s gotten so bad that now he’s afraid to come down from his room. At first it was only a couple of them. Now it’s practically the whole town. Wandering about like zombies. They’re not right.”
“No.” There was that throat tickle again.
Trolzor shook his head. “And you’re sure you’re okay?”
Groxor could feel the tingling building.
“You don’t have whatever they do, but you’re looking a bit pale around the gills. Maybe you caught something?”
Groxor couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Of course I’m fine! I’ve never been fitter. I’d like three more teas, and make sure they’re bitter.” Groxor slapped his hands over his mouth. Getting away from Mulrox should have been enough, but that cursed ogre had infected him somehow. Soon he probably wouldn’t even know the difference between the Wytrog pattern and the Kuterbuck maneuver.
Trolzor chuckled quietly. “Yes. That’s what I was referring to. I see you had an interesting trip into the Woods Mercurial. I’ve never known you to be so… well…”
“That oaf! This is Mulrox’s doing! When he returns, I’ll—”
“Have you seen my grandnephew then?” came a r
asping voice from the corner of the inn.
Groxor turned. He hadn’t seen her earlier, but sitting in the corner booth was Griselda the Gruesome.
Relief flooded him. She would know what to do. She always did.
“I’ll get your teas.” Trolzor disappeared back into the kitchen.
Groxor left the bar, making his way toward Griselda.
She was a legend. For years, he’s been trying to catch her notice, to prove he was worthy of her and the other pros, to get even a fraction of the attention that she lavished on Mulrox. He’d followed her advice to the letter, pushed himself, stuck to good traditional values, but it never seemed to matter—until this visit.
When she had come back into town almost three weeks ago, Groxor had felt things would be different. For the first time she had actually seemed to recognize his existence. After her first session with the Raid Brigade, she had asked him to stay behind after practice. He’d practically exploded with excitement. And then what had she wanted to talk about? Mulrox. How was Mulrox progressing? Could Groxor help him? Could he make him more ogreian?
It wasn’t fair.
If he screwed up even half as much as Mulrox, he would be thrown off the squad. But Mulrox was the nephew of one of the most famous living ogres. The rules that applied to the rest of them didn’t seem to hold. Not for the first time, he cursed his luck. Just because his father was a doctor, no one believed he had what it took. As a kid, they hadn’t wanted to play with him either. They’d tried to keep him out of their games until he had shown everyone just how great he was. He would prove to Griselda that he was worthy, just like he had with the others.
Now, perhaps the odds had shifted. If Mulrox bewitching the entire town wasn’t enough to turn her against him, Groxor didn’t know what would.
“Your Gruesomeness,” Groxor said.
She nodded to him as he took a seat across from her. She too looked different somehow, stronger.
“I’ve seen him. He…” Groxor lowered his voice to a whisper. “I suspected he was up to something, something big for the Beatific Behemoth, like I was telling you before. He was trying to do something to even the score.” Groxor winced. The rhymes tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. Thankfully Griselda didn’t seem to notice.
Mulrox and the Malcognitos Page 19