by E. C. Stever
"But . . . ."
She grabbed Hubward by the ears. "Hubward: Dragon Bacon."
"What?"
"Dragon Bacon." She kissed him on the cheek, leaving a trail of mud on his chin. "That's for luck."
Hubward felt incredibly warm, especially his cheek. His heart thudded wildly in his chest. Had she just kissed him? A girl? Gulchima?
But then again, Gulchima was covered in stinking mud and was wearing a dead fish on her head. Hubward sighed.
He'd always suspected his first kiss would involve a dead fish.
"We'll meet at the dragon and turn it into bacon. Okay?" Gulchima said.
Dragon Bacon!
Hubward turned to face the green monster, and the giant clay trangle in front of him, and the thousands of little fish head monsters in front of them.
He cracked his neck and sparks flew from his fingers.
"You know, I've always wanted to eat a dragon."
Chapter 38: Gulchima is a Nervous Trangle
Rawrp. Gulchima started walking through the crowd of fish-trangles.
Rawrp. The creatures smelled like rotting fish. They pulled at her, and bit her arms, and made that ridiculous Rawrp noise.
She felt sad for the dead fish. They hadn't wanted to become magical. They had just been doing whatever fish do. Drinking water, she supposed. Did fish drink water? How did they breathe? Shouldn't they breathe better in the air? Or did they breathe water, and drink air?
Her mind spun. Rawrp.
There were too many of these things. She tried to walk like they did, but every few steps she was jostled aside, or bitten. It was almost impossible to walk a straight line. She had to get to the sinkhole and rescue her sister.
Rawrp.
Their swirling blue eyes never blinked or closed or showed alarm. They just stumbled around, with no particular aim, except to bite and be bitten.
Rawrp. A fish-trangle got a good hold of her shoulder with its sharp fishhook teeth. Gulchima felt the bite, like a stab of hot metal. She cried out, then covered her mouth.
Rawrp, rawrp, rawrp. The trangle on her head barked a warning.
The other fish-trangles turned to look at her. They started to close in.
Gulchima was nowhere near the entrance to the sinkhole. She needed a miracle.
Not magic. Not exactly. She needed luck. Extreme luck.
And she hoped Hubward understood what she meant. Of course she wanted nothing to do with magic, but . . . she hadn't told Hubward not to use magic. She'd just told him not to use magic on her.
So technically she wasn't breaking her promise to her sister. After all, if you used magic against itself, that wasn't magic, right? If a magical monster breathed fire, and you reflected that fire back onto it, you weren't using magic. You were just . . . redirecting the magic.
You had to turn magic inside out. You had to make the dragon bite its own tail. Had to make the giant bash itself on the head. That was how you defeated magic.
So technically, a few seconds later, when Hubward performed amazingly impressive magic, it wasn't magic. Not exactly.
It was just extremely lucky that the lightning bolt appeared out of the clear night sky and hit the gathered group of trangles.
Rawrp.
Because the fish-trangles had been closing in. Rawrp.
And now, they were distracted.
They swarmed toward Hubward, and away from her.
Chapter 39: Novvy in the Garden of Good and Evil
"My word! This food is delicious," said Father Trumblebutt. "What exactly do you call it again Novvy?"
"Emmm, pumpkin seeds," said Novvy.
Novvy thought it was weird. He'd been in the dragon with Gulch and Hubward. Then he'd coughed. Then something ate his finger. Then he'd been on the water. Then he'd been in the garden. Then the weird blue-skinned people kept talking about pumpkins. Then he'd been asleep. Then a bag of seeds came over the wall and hit him on the head. Then he ate a seed. Then he gave a seed to the weird blue-skinned people. Then they started talking. Then they started talking sense.
"Hmm, delightful," said Father Trumblebutt, leader of these blue-skinned people. The rest of them were just kids that looked like older versions of Hubward. "And I see PUMPKIN you've lost a finger recently."
"A dragon bited it," Novvy said proudly.
"What a coincidence. We were PUMPKIN killed by a dragon," said Father Trumblebutt. "Just PUMPKIN, of course. Hubward will PUMPKIN us in good time."
"Emmm, yep," Novvy said.
"It is PUMPKIN," said Father Trumblebutt. "There are PUMPKINS when I've felt not quite PUMPKIN over the last few PUMPKINS."
This was fun. If Novvy gave them a seed they could talk regular for a few minutes. But eventually they went back to moaning and slobbering. It was fun and boring. Was there a word for that? Foring?
A loud explosion, like a thunderclap, echoed down the canyon. Something had happened at Lake Pepsid.
The seven blue-skinned strangers leapt into action. But Father Trumblebutt held up his hand. "Hold on a moment . . . ."
They waited.
Novvy got bored.
He wondered about the seeds. The bag had said "Magic Seeds" on it. Somebody had writed it.
Novvy put a few seeds under the ground. Then he waited. Then he got bored again. Then a small green vine grew up out of the ground. Then the blue-skinned boys and girls stared solemnly at the ground. Then the flowers popped out, then sunk in, then plumped into green balls, then grew orange, then got eaten by the blue-skinned boys and girls and man.
"A magic pumpkin patch!" said Novvy, excitedly. The vines grew thicker around him. Then he got bored again. "What else do it do?"
A flash of lightning cracked across the sky. The head of a giant clay monster was visible. It roared fiercely.
"Ah see!" said Father Trumblebutt. He had just eaten three largish pumpkins and spoke clearly. His skin was pink now, almost orange. "That's your brother up there, fighting some magical creature."
"He always over-uses lightning when he gets nervous," Hertrude said, with a sigh. She was one of the formerly blue-skinned girls. "Should we go help him papa?"
Father Trumblebutt shook his head. "Hubward Trumblebutt has to fight his own battles, Hertrude. He's not ten anymore, he's eleven. I think an eleven-year-old boy can handle something like a giant clay monster, don't you? It's not like he's fighting hundreds of them."
"Yes papa. You're right papa," said Hertrude quietly.
Novvy got bored again. He wanted to go-see the giant monster.
And there were fires down below in the burgh. He wanted to go-see those too.
He was interrupted by the bad men.
"Oh look, a smallish boy guarding a pumpkin patch," said a cruel voice.
Three large men had entered the garden. They looked like mean ones. They looked like bandits. They had a lot of weapons.
"He's small. Maybe we can sell him to the diamond mines," said one of the bad men.
They walked toward Novvy, a large sack in their hand. They didn't notice the other people in the garden. It was like they couldn't see Father Trumblebutt, and Hertrude, and the others.
"I see they have a magical axe. That's a stupid weapon, isn't it papa?" whispered Hertrude.
"The handle isn't even magic," scoffed Daaniel, the largest boy.
"Don't they know how easy it is to defeat a magical axe on a non-magical axe handle?" asked another.
"Are they stupid papa? Are they?" asked Kelsa, the thinnest girl.
Father Trumblebutt cracked his neck. "We don't use the word 'stupid' in this family. But yes, stupidity and misuse of magic go hand and hand."
He moved toward the bad men, then stopped.
"Novvy, it appears we need your permission," said Father Trumblebutt.
"Emm what?"
"We need your permission to use our magic. Just the rules of being undead you see."
Novvy heard a scream from the burgh. It looked like Bayadev was on fire. The bad men laugh
ed.
Hmmm.
"Did you bad men make that screaming?" Novvy asked.
"Yus," smirked the first bad man.
"Did you bad men start that fire?"
"Yar," growled the second bad man.
"Did you bad men see the other people in the garden?"
"Ney," said the third bad man.
Novvy experimentally punched the air. The first bad man went away.
Novvy kicked the air. The second bad man went away.
Novvy jumped in the air. The third bad man went away.
Novvy saw a lot of fighting. Punching and kicking and running and yelling. Then the three bad men were lined up neatly on the ground. They were wrapped in pumpkin vines and all their magical clothes and weapons were stripped away.
Novvy put on one of the bad men's things. It was a magical eye patch. It made the world look purple and tickly. He took it off.
He liked magic now. Magic was not boring. Magic was fun.
"Novvy, do you think we should go down to Bayadev and see what else needs a good kicking?" asked Father Trumblebutt. There was an edge of excitement beneath his politeness.
Novvy heard another scream. It sounded like a kid screaming. It sounded like his friends.
"Emmm, yes."
"And shall we engage them in battle if they are behaving inappropriately?"
"Emmm . . . ."
Hertrude spoke. "Should we hit them, if they are being mean?"
"Yeah, let's get the mean ones." Novvy touched where his finger used to be.
"Let's punch them like this. Then like that. Then like this." He punched the air, and parts of the garden wall exploded outward.
Gulchima was wrong. Magic wasn't boring at all, Novvy thought.
Magic was fun.
And punching bad guys was going to be fun, too.
Chapter 40: Hubward Does a Little Light Pruning
Hubward squeezed the eyeball until it shriveled. The eyeball juice was salty—no surprise there—Hubward had certainly eaten his fair share of eyeballs over the years. But it tasted slightly of peppermint.
Yuck.
The candy taste made him want to vomit.
Hubward felt for his pouch of melted butter, which he kept on a leather string around his neck. He sipped it, washing down the gross peppermint taste of Ash's eyeball.
Hubward hadn't thought about the eyeball until just now. But it seemed to him, it was incredibly lucky he'd gotten that eyeball inside the dragon, just when he needed it most. In fact, it seemed as if he was supposed to have the eyeball juice handy, for just this moment.
The stolen eyeballs of magical creatures often gave you great power.
Power he needed to get through this part of the task. But he was careful not to squeeze out all the eyeball juice, just in case he needed it again later.
Hubward snapped his fingers, and the lightning danced down.
Good. Now he was fortified. He felt that rush of excitement that came with using magic. He snapped again. Another bolt of lightning hit the ground near him, evaporating a few fish-trangles.
Double good. Now the fish-trangles were all swarming toward him and away from Gulchima. Swarming. With their sharp teeth. Swarming. With their blank far-seeing eyes. Hubward realized he hadn't really come up with a plan. He'd just been thinking about the distraction.
The fish-trangles left Gulchima. She stood alone in the center of the mud flat. He waved. She waved back. Then she jumped into the sinkhole.
What was the giant trangle doing exactly? Hubward looked up. It seemed to be preoccupied with the trees. It was systematically ripping out each tree, then stripping the branches.
A tree trunk hurtled at him.
Hubward dove for the ground. The tree trunk whistled above his head, then slammed into a limestone boulder, shattering into splinters of wood.
Hubward waggled his left pinky and lightning hit the giant trangle square on the forehead. It left a smoking crater, but that sealed up within seconds. The giant trangle roared in anger.
Hmmm. Maybe it was time to find a nice safe place to think.
Hubward started to back away. Now that Gulchima was safe, maybe he could go and get his family. They'd know what to do.
As Hubward turned, he noticed a red robed figure who stood in the center of the lake. A protective faded blue aura engulfed the figure like a shield.
Hubward could see the beginning of a massive spell taking place within the blue aura, the sparks and shudders of high-energy magitrons pinging around.
It was the Sorcerer! Here! And she was casting a powerful spell.
Hubward took a step backwards and crashed into someone. He turned and saw Man-of-Arms standing before him.
Hubward knelt down and picked up two large metal fishhooks. Both had been teeth from the destroyed fish-trangle. They were six inches long, and though pitted with rust, they were both strong.
Man-of-Arms sniffed at him. His nose seemed clogged with boogers, and his dark green skin was almost gray. Only one of Man-of-Arms' arms was working and it held a sword. The other seven looked quite shriveled, and each had a gold shackle around the wrist.
It was the same metal from inside the dragon. The same metal that sat next to the hairbrush where they'd found Ash. Hubward remembered it.
"What happened to you?" Hubward asked. "You were so powerful! You need to remove those golden shackles you wear, help me fight the Sorcerer."
I need them, Man-of-Arms said. I must not use magic. The war is over. I must remove magic and make sure the world is safe for my children.
With only one arm, Man-of-Arms (or was he now, Man-of-Arm?) had to use short choppy sentences. He was usually much more eloquent. But Man-of-Arms could no longer flick boogers, and his armpit fart noises were too soft to be heard over the rawrps of the fish-trangles.
"Safe?" Hubward asked. "You're being tricked. I know you Man-of-Arms. You are the greatest magical swordsman in Baltica. You fight by sense of smell."
The shackles don't make me strong but they make me safe, Man-of-Arms mumbled. I have children now. The world must be safe for them. I must not use magic.
"If those golden handcuffs help you, then how come I can do this—"
Hubward feinted at an overhand chop with his fishhook. Man-of-Arms moved easily to block him, but could not stop Hubward from kicking a sharp piece of wood at him, and slicing off his lower left arm.
The arm, almost entirely decayed from lack of use, fell off. A new arm grew in its place. This one was strong and well muscled. And it held a sword.
That was the remarkable trait of these creatures. When you chopped off their arms they always grew back. With weapons.
You will pay for your insolence, said Man-of-Arms. His armpit farts and hand waving were much more believable now that he had two working arms.
"Yeah, yeah, all magic has its price," Hubward said with a smirk. "And yours is safety. What are you so afraid of, huh? Are you afraid because you have a family now?" Hubward taunted. "Too afraid to try any real magic?"
Man-of-Arms charged at him. Hubward neatly backflipped, but dragged the sharp metal hooks behind him as he spun through the air. The hooks sunk deep into Man-of-Arms, and Hubward yanked, pulling off two more of the creature's arms. It was like pulling the drumsticks off an over-cooked turkey.
Man-of-Arms screamed. Two fresh arms grew from his arm sockets.
"I should have hit you more during training, Hubward," Man-of-Arms said. With four arms, he could make sounds approximating speech. "Your father was wrong about you. You are no great warrior."
"Yeah, then how come I just defeated the greatest swordsman in Baltica?" Hubward asked.
"Because I am crippled by these things!" Man-of-Arms bellowed.
Man-of-Arms tore the rest of his dead arms off. All eight arms were now fully grown. All eight were now powerful. All eight held swords.
Was this such a good plan? Hubward wondered.
"Now Hubward, prepare to meet your doom," Man-of-Arms growled.
Hubward started to laugh. He put down his metal hooks. "You're back," Hubward said. "You're you again."
"Of course I'm back," Man-of-Arms said. "I was challenged to a duel."
"But you can talk now," Hubward said. "Well . . . You can make sounds in the air by farting with your armpits."
Man-of-Arms stopped. "I feel wonderful," he said. "I wanted . . . I don't know what I wanted Hubward. I wanted to be safe, to provide for my family. I suppose I put on these golden shackles to do just that. But my hands were made for sword-fights; that's just what they do."
"And you lost your magic. You gave your power away."
"I allowed it to be siphoned off, absorbed by these metal pieces." Man-of-Arms slapped his nose. "It was the Sorcerer. She tricked me. And Jaroo too. They said I could remove magic from the world, if I worked at their factory. They promised me medical benefits and a small pension."
Hubward pointed at the red robed figure, casting the spell in the center of the lake bed.
"It was her. She's the Sorcerer. It's Lady Keyhide!"
"Then she will pay!" Man-of-Arms yelled.
He threw two swords to Hubward, then cut off both of those arms.
That was another remarkable trait of these creatures. They sometimes cut off their own arms.
Except this time, one of the new arms was waving a rolling pin. Man-of-Arms chuckled then lopped that one off. A fist holding a sword grew in its place.
Man-of-Arms charged into the fish-trangles, chopping heads from bodies, destroying the skeletons that kept them alive. He was like a tornado moving through a field of wheat. Man-of-Arms whistled as he worked and the fish-trangles dropped.
Hubward struggled to keep up. He took out as many of the trangles as he dared. But the giant trangle held his attention, and the occasional tree trunk caused him to dive out of the way. Man-of-Arms seemed not to notice the danger.
"Fish-heads, chop-chop-chop," Man-of-Arms sang gleefully, playing the music from his left boogery nostril.
Hubward saw the giant trangle narrow its mean red eyes.
"Look out!" he called.
But Man-of-Arms did not look out. Man-of-Arms sniffed the air, as if searching.