“Yes, of course he did. We had a bargain of sorts. He would be a fool to not at least try.”
“But I had no idea how irregular it was! He’s in league with these things, malcognitos. They bewitched me, made me do horrible things. And now I think he’s behind all of this too. He’s put Broxli and Oogin under his spell and—”
She waved him silent.
“Where are they?”
Groxor pointed to the table where the ogres sat.
“Not them. Mulrox.”
“The Woods Mercurial,” Groxor whispered, the tickling feeling in the back of his throat was starting again. He fought it. “About a day from here.”
“Take us too him.”
Groxor tried to stop it. Griselda hated all things frivolous; he could not ruin his chance with her—not now. He scratched at his throat. He clamped his teeth down on his tongue, but the tingling grew too much, and like before, the words came rushing out.
“You can’t make me go
back under those trees.
Don’t make me do it.
Don’t make me go, please.”
Griselda shoved up from the table. “There’s something wrong with you,” she spat.
“I’m sorry.” Groxor almost sobbed in embarrassment. “Never before have I tried to rhyme. I promise, I swear, this is the first time.”
She shook her head and rounded the table toward the center of the room, as spry and graceful as he had ever seen her.
“I’m sorry! It’s Mulrox. He’s cursed me.”
“Enough. I am busy now. You will come to my hut tonight. We will fix you. And then you will take us to Mulrox.”
Groxor shook his head. “I can’t. The woods, I… He’s by some big trees, a river.”
“You will come, or I will disband the Raid Brigade.”
Groxor’s jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t.”
But Griselda the Gruesome did not bluff. He shivered, remembering the darkness of the forest, the smell of mold, and all that green.
Groxor closed his eyes and nodded. He couldn’t go back to being just the doctor’s son. When would this nightmare end?
“Groxor!” It was Trolzor, he was back at the bar, a tray balanced on his hooked hand. “Three ox-bone teas.”
“Tonight,” Griselda said as she strode out the door.
Groxor slunk back to Trolzor.
“A miraculous recovery,” Trolzor muttered, staring at the closed door.
“What?”
“Her hip.”
She had moved considerably slower the last time Groxor had seen her. But it was Griselda the Gruesome, the ogress could do anything.
“Listen,” Trolzor whispered, his face creased with concern. “You can’t go there. That’s where they take anyone who dissents. It’s always the same. They come back like them.” He pointed around the room. “With a new sheep shadow.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Of course you do. They don’t have a choice.” He waved to the rest of the room. “But you’re not part of them yet. You can hide here with me.”
“You don’t understand. If I don’t go—”
Someone was tapping him on his shoulder. Groxor turned around to see Oogin and Broxli standing behind him.
“Leave,” Oogin said. “Now.” He pointed a big yellow finger toward the door.
“But I got more tea.” Groxor tried to hand Oogin a mug, but the ogre knocked it from his hands. Broxli grabbed Groxor by the back of the shirt, kicked the door open, and with one great heave, threw him into the street. The door to the Slobber and Snore banged shut behind him.
29
Mulrox spent the rest of the night in conversation with Tork. It took some practice, but before he drifted off to sleep, he had come to understand two key points. First, Tork knew of a portal. She had come through it herself several times with herds of sheep. And second, she had agreed to take them there.
He woke up to Yahgurkin’s foot nudging him in the shoulder.
Mulrox sat up.
Yahgurkin was standing over him, drenched in sweat. Her hair was wild and glistening, and her belt pouches, which had been looking dangerously low, were now overflowing. Clasped before her was a large purple blur.
“Look what I found!”
Mulrox wiped the sleep from his eyes. In Yahgurkin’s arms was a bundle of the puffball flowers that lined his hut. These were enormous, each bloom nearly the size of his head.
“It’s your flower!” she said.
He hated those flowers. “We can’t eat those, can we?” he asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
She dropped the flowers at his feet. “Any more from the grinder?” she asked.
Mulrox straightened up and nodded. “I know how to get to Sounous. Tork is—”
“Ogres!” Yvwi shouted. He was leading a line of malcognitos into the camp. “We’ve discovered a new talent!” Stretched across the backs of the malcognitos was an enormous, silvery fish. “Please welcome the greatest fishermen Veralby has ever seen!” He thrust an arm in the air and the fish’s head flopped with it.
“Well done!” Yahgurkin said, eyeing their catch with obvious delight.
“Thank you, yes,” Yvwi said. He strutted forward, leaving the others behind.
The fish’s head swung down and smacked Cloud-of-locusts in the face. Cloud-of-locusts stumbled. The line tottered. And then the whole train of malcognitos crashed straight into the purple flowers, collapsing in a puff of yellow pollen.
Yvwi turned back and froze. “EXSPRESSO!” he shouted, speeding toward the malcognitos. “EXSPRESSO! EXSPRESSO! NOW!”
Mulrox’s sleepy brain could not understand what was happening. He saw Yahgurkin running for cover and Geraldine scrambling out of the way.
“Aaaaaah AAHHHH—”
He was standing in front of the pollen-soaked malcognitos. There was no time.
Something small and dark smacked him behind the knees, and he tumbled to the ground.
“CHHHOOOO!!! Aahchoo! Aahchoo! Aahchoo! Aahchoo!”
Silence.
He looked up.
In front of him sat Geraldine, drenched in sparkly blue saliva.
“Geraldine?”
She turned.
Maybe she was fine. Could toads even catch malcognitus?
Her slitted yellow eyes were spinning.
“Watch out!” Mulrox shouted.
Geraldine’s tongue shot across the camp and slapped Yahgurkin on the nose. Mulrox ducked as her tongue whizzed by him. She clipped Eyes-like-eels and sent him rolling into the trees. The toad bounced through the campsite, her tongue striking a tree, a pine cone, and then Mulrox.
“Grab her!” Mulrox shouted.
The group formed a rag-tag circle, inching in around her. She was only a few feet from Yahgurkin.
“Geraldine, come here,” Yahgurkin cooed.
The toad turned and looked at her. She took the tiniest of hops closer. Yahgurkin held out her arms. Geraldine leapt, shot straight at Yahgurkin, and smacked her full in the stomach.
The spry amphibian dropped to the ground and rolled out of Yahgurkin’s reach and straight into Cloud-of-locusts. Geraldine tried to wrap her tongue around one pest, then the other, but the locusts darted and swarmed, jostling her toward Rock-like-skin. All at once, Rock swooped under the toad, knocking her legs out from under her and twisting around her like a sheet.
Mulrox snatched Geraldine and the malcognito and held them to him.
“Malcognitus,” he gasped as he tried to catch his breath. “She has malcognitus.”
“Soap root!” Yahgurkin said, digging through one of her pouches. She broke off a piece of the hairy root. “This worked on Groxor?” she asked.
Yvwi shrugged.
“Geraldine, I want you to eat this,” Yahgurkin said, approaching the toad with the root.
The toad looked at her and howled.
Mulrox shoved Geraldine into the crook of his arm and wrestled the root into her mouth. The toad
squirmed and kicked, but after what seemed like forever, he felt her swallow.
* * *
They waited an hour, but there was no change.
“What do we do?” Mulrox asked.
“As much as I’m enjoying the show, we have to get to Sounous,” Yvwi said.
“I could carry her,” Yahgurkin suggested. “Or make a leash.”
“Have you ever tried to get a leash on a toad?” Mulrox asked. “Because it’s not something I ever want to do again.”
“Well, what do you suggest?”
He wanted to go home and care for Geraldine. It wasn’t safe to leave her like this. He kept picturing Geraldine merrily leaping off a cliff or into a bear’s mouth.
He turned back to the toad. “What were you thinking?!” he yelled. “I protect you! That’s how this is supposed to work.”
Yahgurkin tried to place a hand on his back, but he shrugged her off. He needed to fix this.
They just needed a way to contain Geraldine.
He heard the now-familiar pop and opened his eyes. A malcognito tumbled out of the air and dropped something in front of him: a moss-lined cage.
“That’s convenient!” Yahgurkin said. “Hello there.” She waved to the new malcognito. “I’ve got a job for you.”
“No!” Yvwi said. “Absolutely not. We are not putting a sick toad inside of one of us.”
“Then what?” Yahgurkin said.
“I’m not tied to this cage idea. It’s not the worst idea. That’s me, but—”
“A cage would work,” Mulrox said. “We just have to make one.”
“Do you know how?” Yahgurkin asked.
“No.”
Work. He heard the grinder in his mind. Good work.
Mulrox looked over toward the pit and shook his head.
Build cage, she insisted.
“You’ll run,” Mulrox said to Tork.
“Run?” Yahgurkin asked.
No! Good work. Stay with Mulrox.
If what the malcognitos said was true, the grinder could help, but if she ran, they’d lose their only way to Sounous. He looked into Geraldine’s spinning eyes. He had to do something.
“Promise?” Mulrox said.
Yes, promise.
“Promise?” Yahgurkin’s face scrunched up in confusion.
Mulrox shook his head; the others still couldn’t hear Tork.
“His mind has turned to mush. I knew it. Contact illness,” Yvwi said. “Held the toad for too long. You should never hold a toad.”
Mulrox walked to the edge of the trap.
“What are you doing?” Yahgurkin asked.
He leapt into the pit.
“MULROX!” Yahgurkin yelled and rushed to the mouth of the hole.
He got to his feet. The grinder was in the other corner, head low like a frightened dog.
“I’m fine!” Mulrox called. “This is Tork. She promised to help.”
30
It was dark when Groxor awoke.
After he’d been dumped in the street, the exhaustion hit him all at once, and he barely had the energy to make it home and crawl into bed.
Now that he had slept, he could think more clearly. Not that he knew what to do. He couldn’t face the woods again. Not with whatever Mulrox had done to his mind. But to lose the Raid Brigade…
The brigade was his only way into the professional league, Debtor’s Doom. Being the youngest raid leader in a century was supposed to secure his place, but no one seemed to care. One thing was sure, if Griselda disbanded the brigade, all his work would be for nothing. Mulrox would still end up on Debtor’s Doom—Griselda would see to that—even if there was no feeder team, even if he had the worst smashing technique, even, it seemed, if he was trying to destroy Ulgorprog.
Groxor sighed. He would see Griselda and go from there. He still might persuade her to abandon Mulrox to his fate.
Groxor grabbed his long coat and slipped outside. The street was dark. There were no lights on in Broxli’s hut next door nor Oogin’s across the road. Groxor looked around him: there was no smoke in the chimneys and no lights at the windows. Not a single hut looked occupied. It was far too early for ogres to be sleeping. Where was everyone? Someone should be wandering to the Slobber and Snore or bustling about their fire. Groxor rubbed his arm as unease danced and prickled along it.
As he drew near the town square, the feeling only grew worse. The stink of tallow lamps and bonfire smoke drifted toward him, followed by voices and the clang of metal.
Groxor had never approved of sneaking. It wasn’t proper ogre behavior. Ogres faced their battles head-on. Plus, he was so large, he’d never been good at it. But to his amazement, Groxor instinctively dropped into the shadows and crept to the edge of the town square. When he reached it, he pressed himself up against the side of the grain house and peered out.
The square was lit up as though it were midday; torches lined the edges, and every few feet a bonfire spit and crackled with heat. Several dozen ogres were at work, sawing and hammering, hauling and lifting. A fluffy white shadow trailed every one of them.
They were building something. Groxor crept closer. It was the beginnings of a massive structure. An enormous foundation was taking shape on the ground. At the front end were three tree trunks, two propped upright and the third laid across them, framing out the colossal building.
Groxor found a place to hide behind a stack of hay bales and crouched behind them. The cobblestones dug into his knees, and the hay scratched at his face, making his eyes water, but when he spotted his friends out among the others, he forgot his own discomfort.
Broxli was facing an ogre seated on a stump. The other ogre was stitching together a pile of red sheets into a single long stretch of fabric.
“When will you finish the curtains?” Broxli asked.
Groxor’s mouth dropped open. Curtains… since when did ogres make curtains?
“Soon,” the ogre replied.
“Three days!” Broxli shouted. “No time to rest.”
Groxor looked back and forth between the curtains and the structure. And then realization hit: they were building a stage, a stage for the Beatific Behemoth.
“Do you think he’ll show?” Oogin appeared behind Broxli. Oogin’s bright blue eyes were unnerving when he wasn’t squinting.
“Of course,” Broxli said. “He’s obsessed with Griselda. He’ll do anything she says.”
That ungrateful, good-for-nothing goon. He’d make Broxli take that back. Groxor was pushing to his feet when a crash startled him out of his rage. Answering shouts echoed from across the square. Groxor threw himself onto the cobblestones. They had spotted him. It was over.
But as he lay there, his heart pounding in his chest, the footsteps receded again. When Groxor had controlled his trembling, he peered out from behind the hay bale.
Two ogres were shoving a sullen orange ogre through the square.
“What’s wrong with you? I was just having a look around,” the ogre complained.
It was Wertol, shoving his carrot nose where it didn’t belong, again. The ogres pushed Wertol until they came to a stop in front of Broxli. Groxor expected Broxli to break into the Moaning Elf or the Whistling Wood or any of the five hundred other wrestling moves the ogre never stopped talking about, but instead this pompous imposter had replaced the old Broxli.
“What’s this?” Broxli asked.
“Wertol was spying,” said the ogre on the left. Work stopped, and all eyes fixed on Wertol and Broxli.
“No need to spy.” Broxli smiled. “There’s room for everyone.”
A group of sheep crowded around Wertol’s legs, penning him in.
“Come,” Broxli said. “Griselda will see you.” Broxli started toward the far end of the square, the herd of sheep pushing Wertol along with them.
Groxor hesitated. No one was near him. He might slip away, head home, or find Trolzor. The one-armed innkeeper and that slug would protect him. He didn’t need to get involved.
B
roxli turned back to Oogin. “If you don’t see Groxor in the next hour, find him. Griselda needs him. We don’t want to keep her waiting.”
Groxor took a deep breath. There was no getting out of this. He hunched low to the ground and scurried off after Broxli and Wertol.
Groxor followed the sheep as they headed away from the center of town and toward the part of Ulgorprog he did his best to avoid. No one who had a choice lived near the edge of the woods—only the oddballs and outcasts. And Yahgurkin’s grotesque garden and Mulrox’s rambling hodgepodge of a home were the weirdest of the lot.
As they rounded the turn at the bottom of the hill between the two houses, Groxor stopped dead. Mulrox’s hut was crawling with sheep. The sound alone was deafening, the baaing and munching and crunching. They swarmed outside the hut and coated the roof. Even from here, he saw that they were inside too, wool coats smooshed up against the glass.
Broxli and Wertol were pulling ahead of him, but Groxor couldn’t go traipsing up the road. Out here, there were no more carts or rain barrels to hide behind.
To his left loomed Yahgurkin’s monstrous garden. Just looking at the untended jumble of disgusting plants gave Groxor hives. He had ventured into it before. Once he’d spent an afternoon attempting to straighten out the half-buried sword blades but had only succeeded in slicing his palms. Another time, he’d nibbled one of the red geodesic growths in her fungus garden and had spent the rest of the evening leaning over a bucket. He’d even gone to admire the flowering pink trees, only to have a falling seedpod the size of a grapefruit knock him out. Tonight, with the moon bright above his head and nothing but her garden and the bare open road in front of him, he was out of options.
Groxor lost sight of the procession as he slipped into the garden. He picked through the fungi, resisting the urge to crush the little alien shapes that twisted out from the ground and grew on scattered logs and stumps. He passed a bush that Groxor swore was sprouting tiny eyeballs. Next to Yahgurkin’s hut, a plant with colossal green leaves towered over the right side of her house, throwing it in complete darkness. He slipped under the leaves and crept as far toward Mulrox’s hut as he dared.
Mulrox and the Malcognitos Page 20