Unapproved, unendorsed, unofficial, and
unstoppable: An award-winning parody for all
ages. The devious Lord Revolting has split his
soul into seven Plot Devices, from the One Ring
to Coloring Book of Doom. Destroying the
Ministry of Muckups, he launches himself on a
campaign of terror and ruthlessness, the likes
of which hasn’t been seen since the last
Wizneyland Princess Beach Week. Can Henry Potty,
lousy student and heroic Chosen One, destroy the
Plot Devices in time? Or will a paper shortage
kill him, as the loudmouthed ghost of Bumbling
Bore foresees? Join Henry as he duels unexploded
mimes, flying monkeys, telemarketers, and the
dreaded Tooth Fairy. It’s a race against
National Treasures, Legions of Dimness, and
Miniclorians, from the Funhouse of Terror to
Chickenfeet Academy. But if Henry wants to
recoup his fans from Professor Sniffly Snort, he
must try. As the epic battle nears, only one
thing is certain: Henry Potty’s series is
numbered.
Henry Potty and the Deathly Paper Shortage: An Unauthorized Parody
by Valerie Estelle Frankel
"So what are these National Treasures I have to find?" Henry Potty asked.
"The Mega Death Laser 3000, the Bucket of Extra Lives, and the Very
Wizardly Hat. The latter can produce bunnies and trick decks of cards, and
all manner of wondrous marvels. Some even say..." Here Bumbling Bore
paused dramatically. "...it is alive! Most don't, of course, but it's
still a groovy accessory."
"And you think I should find all three? Even though I'm up to my ears in
quests and items already? I mean, the motorhome's bursting at the seams."
Bumbling Bore nodded sagely. "You also need to find the thirteen treasures
of Britain, the fourteen things on my laundry list, the three Unbelievable
Curses--"
"Got those," Henry muttered. "You were gullible enough to let Frankenstein
teach us in our fourth year."
"... A Golden Ticket, the Subtle Compass, Santa's wishlist, Carmen
Santiago, the lost plunger, the Last Manticore, the six great Stopsigns of
the Light, a bottle of dehydrated water, the Perfect Chicken Strip, the
Used Handkerchief of Destiny Upon Which Angels Themselves..."
"Forget it. I'm just going after the Plot Devices!"
Bumbling Bore nodded sagely. He didn't know any other way to nod. "Then
you're a better man than I. You've passed the test. Many would've been
tempted by hot babes, unlimited wealth, and domination over the entire
earth. But, no, you choose to risk your life destroying the worthless
fragments of Lord Revolting."
Henry cleared his throat. "Did you say hot babes?"
***
Henry Potty and the Deathly Paper Shortage
An Unauthorized Harry Potter Parody
by Valerie Estelle Frankel
www. HarryPotterParody.com
***
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: The Dimness is Rising
Chapter 2: My Big Fat Nondenominational Wedding
Chapter 3: The League of Extraordinarily Green Things
Chapter 4: A Series of Unfortunate Camping Trips
Chapter 5: It's a Wonderful Nutcracker
Chapter 6: The Phantom Funhouse
Chapter 7: National Treasures
Chapter 8: Fired from On High
Chapter 9: Crossing Over
Chapter 10: Are We Done Yet?
***
Introduction
Author's Note:
This book is SUITABLE FOR ALL AGES. Some more so than others.
Supplementary Note:
Even so, this parody may be offensive to the following groups: Pirates,
parrots, pirates' parrots, lawyers, telemarketers, vampires, ghosts,
ghasts, guests, red-shirted security guards, adolescents, adolescuncles,
children, adults, fundamentalists, Spanish Inquisitors, Polish Mafia
stooges, minions, vegetarians, humanitarians, new-agers, old-agers, elves,
fantasy writers, professors, orcs, puppets, battle droids, frogs, lice,
hail, darkness, corpses, and fictional characters.
Supplementary Supplement:
Within the novel lurk similar weighty issues to those in Harry Potter,
including death, birth, rebirth, war, violence, sexual orientation,
politics, social commentary, and cafeteria food. If you prefer to
experience these issues only on TV, in computer games, on the news, and at
school, rather than in books, you should not read further, or even handle
this book without adequate protection.
Supplement to the Supplementary Supplement:
In fact, some of the puns are known to be venomous and strike out if
they've missed feeding time.
PS: This stand-alone novel, book seven, is the sequel to Henry Potty and
the Pet Rock. Some might think that after book one would come book two,
and then three, and so on in some logical fashion. Those people lack
imagination. This author, on the other hand, has a chorus of singing
potatoes to guide her. Shall we?
Chapter 1:
The Dimness is Rising
Vast drifts of white peacock poop dotted Lord Revolting's Funhouse of
Terror and Magical Thrill Ride. Come one, Come all: Tour the Haunted House
and Get Well and Truly Scared, boasted the blinking neon sign. Under it, a
small tag read Two thousand and one evil deeds done. High on the hill
towered the rotting gothic mansion Lord Revolting had renovated into a
rotting administration hub, freak show, and lost children center. The
off-duty minions were currently in the basement playing foosball and
trying to rig the pinball machines. Below, in the dungeon, captured
wandmakers were having their spirits broken by constant brutal exposure to
taped reruns of daytime TV. Those who resisted were shown the shopping
channel. Up above, Lord Revolting was having his Chief Lackeys to dinner.
"You, you, and you." Voice grating like a sack of muddy gravel, Revolting
gestured to three elves. "Slice yourselves open so the good bits fall on
my plate."
As the elves hastened to comply, Lord Revolting leaned back in his creaky
chair. Festooned with heaps of garbage over a shiny layer of green makeup,
he still smelled like the hind end of a diseased orangutan. The Dim Lord
began stroking his large white cat, which turned instantly brown from his
unwashed hands. He scrutinized his Legions of Dimness as they cowered
around the dining table. So many of his evil minions had been killed in
previous books that he'd widened his recruitment pool to significantly
naughty malcontents, halfwits, and even movie stars. Miffie Muffet, school
bully with adorable brown ringlets and button nose. Wormsnail, so named
for his diet. The Phantom of the Cesspit. Dracula. The Mummy. The Blob.
Mr. Hide. The Wicked Witch of the West. Sniffly Snort, inscrutable as
always. And last, the dreaded Tooth Fairy, fangs bared. Only two of these
were the same person.
Revolting straightened. "Welcome, everyone. I hope after a summer at
management training camp you've all revitalized your cruelest core
competencies: hexing, squelching, mangling, and the like. As you know,
this is the year we increase death production, employ cutting-edge
technology to shred our enemies into puppy chow, and downsize the
Wizarding World until it capsizes. I don't just mean the dull bits. In
fact, we'll be implementing my hostile corporate takeover of...wait for
it... Chickenfeet Academy itself."
The Lackeys applauded.
"I'll expect your proposals on my desk in the next ten minutes. Now, for
the old business: Who gets nominated for our weekly Competency Award?
Remember there's a muffin basket in it for you."
Dracula leaned forward, smacking bloodless lips. "My plan to incapacitate
the Ministry of Muckups is nearly complete! One more week of serving them
decaf and they'll be too sluggish to resist us."
"And the rest of you?"
"I convinced the Polish Mafia to give us all their knickerbocker sausages
at a third off!"
"I used this golden compass to chip a hole in the ozone layer!"
"I sent out twelve thousand junk emails."
"I kicked a man in the shins and stole his lunch money."
"I got Dorothy...and her little dog, too!"
Mr. Hide, a tiny hairy urban cannibal, gibbered incoherently from under the
table. No one had ever caught more than a glimpse of him as he scampered
from cover to cover, occasionally strangling anything smaller than he was,
which wasn't much.
The greenish and gooey Blob slurped as if sucking the last bit of milkshake
up a straw. No one asked for details.
Only one man (or woman or nauseating thing) at the table remained silent,
as he had no need to speak. Oh, he could speak, and quite well; he'd even
been a cooking professor before a tiny indiscretion of first-degree murder
had hastened his retirement. However, his deeds could speak for
themselves.
Lord Revolting favored him with a very cold, very thin, very oily smile.
(He had left his thin, oily dentures in the freezer overnight). "Well,
Professor Snort. In the time you've been working for this organization, I
see you've maximized potential scream capacity, underwritten our expenses
in iron maidens and thumbscrews, reduced the number of idiots working for
me, and disposed neatly of their bodies. At this rate, you may be CEO
someday soon." His eyes narrowed. "Too soon. Why don't you take my pet,
Slimy, for a walk? And a little massage, if his poisonous secretions
aren't flowing freely."
Sniffly Snort was the newcomer to the group, hastily promoted after a
number of mysterious deaths. His wizard bathrobe was thin and austere,
allowing onlookers a glimpse of his equally austere socks and
undergarments. He was pale and tall, so much so that some mistook him for
Lord Revolting's far-less-disgusting half-brother. This was almost
certainly untrue. Professor Snort blew his nose, taking his time with the
honking and gentlemanly sniff. He tossed the soaked handkerchief to some
elves, who scrambled for it greedily. "You forget, Your Great Rottenness,
I already did so." He snapped off a pair of heavy-strength industrial
gloves, half-dissolved with poisoned worm secretions. "Perhaps you're the
one who needs exercise. A brief stroll along that picturesque bridge
overlooking the shark tank might coax a healthy green glow into your
cheeks."
Lord Revolting's eyes narrowed. "Isn't that bridge hanging by a thread?"
Professor Snort was saved having to answer as a messenger ran into the
room. "Henry Potty's escaping!"
Lord Revolting drew his wand and shot the messenger, killing him instantly.
"How? Where?" he demanded.
"He seems at a loss for words," Snort commented neutrally. "Not to mention
his head. However, as I've already told you, a perfect source has spent
seventeen years protecting Henry Potty, only to turn traitor now at the
last minute. He says the boy should be on his way to the park now if we
want to show up and grind him into duck food.
"Well, that would certainly make the ducks happy, wouldn't it?" Revolting
mused. "All right. You've only tried to kill me once today, so let me get
my coat."
The doorbell rang. "Trick or Treat!"
"Get lost!" Revolting shouted. "Can't you see I'm consulting my Legions of
Dimness?"
Snort raised a finger. "Effluvious One, I must protest."
"You like Trick or Treaters? Then you can run to the market."
In answer, Snort waved his wand out the window, prompting shrieks of terror
and a barrage of fading footsteps. "Indeed, no. I'm wondering if you'll
continue to call us that."
Revolting drew himself up stiffly at the verbal glove Snort had tossed. The
other Chief Lackeys shrank in their seats. "You take your names from me.
`Dim Lord' strikes fear into the huddled masses, an imposing phrase
suggesting murky lighting. And you know I don't like having my name said
aloud. Everyone always pronounces it funny."
"Indeed. But `The Dim Lord and his Legions of Dimness' also implies a
certain..." Snort's voice trailed off at Revolting's sneer. "On second
thought, it's perfect. Congratulations. Shall we go slaughter the Potty
boy now?"
The Tooth Fairy heaved her mallet and crowbar, displaying her twelve-inch
beribboned fangs. "We will not fail."
"Meeting adjourned," Revolting said.
"Don't forget your sweaters," the Mummy cackled.
And they left.
***
Meanwhile, on the other side of the wizarding world...
Henry Potty was so famous he couldn't even stand it. There had been movie
deals and book clubs and toothpaste brands. Conventions and media circuses
and crazed fans tearing off his jacket and pants, only to reveal he'd
forgotten to put on underwear that day. But it wasn't enough.
"Where is Lord Revolting," Henry wondered. "And why, in all these books,
haven't I beaten him yet?"
"Seek the pieces of his soul," whispered an unearthly disembodied voice
carried on a single puff of wind. "And yoooooooouuuuuu will destroy
hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimmmmmmmmm forever."
Henry fell over, stunned into an enchanted sleep.
He awoke three inches from his undead mentor's nostrils. The rest of the
mentor, unfortunately, was there as well, hovering over the bed. Henry
grimaced. Having his old principal hanging around as a ghost had ruined
his summer, especially since the exterminators were on strike. "Stop
boring me!"
"You could ignore me," Bumbling Bore said reasonably. A tall, bearded,
nightgowned old man, he could stun people with a single phrase: Class,
open your books.
"I just keep hoping you'll say something useful," Henry complained. "All
you ever say is `Seek the pieces of his soul.' I don't know what you're
talking about."
"It's very simple. The evil Lord Revolting has divided his soul into seven
Plot Devices. He turned the Gizzarding World into a morass of evil and
despair. The Ministry of Muckups responded in a savage, fearless campaign
by changing our name back to the Wizarding World, still in a morass of
evil and despair, by the way. And you, the Chosen One, are doomed to
defeat him before he destroys you. Clear?"
Henry rolled over and hauled the covers over his head. "I'll find them
after lunch."
Bumbling Bore sat on Henry's desk chair and sank right through it, so that
his knees were bumping his nose. "I come back from the realm of death and
the only person I can speak to is you."
"As my manager, you're under a seven year contract," Henry said. "I'm not
breaking that just because you're dead."
"And now that I am, you don't listen to a word."
"I listen. Just not when you make those stupid adult comments like, `I'll
tell you when you're older' or `your face will freeze that way,' or
`Professor Snort's on our side.'"
"I have the utmost trust in Professor Snort."
Henry blinked. "Still? He tried to kill me a bunch of times. He shot the
curator at the Louvre. He cut down all the beautiful trees to build his
Fortress of Doom. He tied Little Nell to the train tracks. And didn't he
murder you?"
"Only somewhat. And he certainly didn't mean to bring about this deathly
paper shortage."
"What! I thought that referred to all the forests we chopped down to
publish my series. You mean there's more going on?"
"No, no, of course not."
"There's something, isn't there?"
Bumbling Bore twitched and dropped his ghostly glasses through his ghostly
lap. "What? Why would you think that?"
"Because I may have failed all my classes, but I'm not that much of a
moron. So what is it? What are you hiding? Will I need to sacrifice my
life or something?"
"Only if you swallowed a Plot Device by mistake." Bumbling Bore eyed him.
"You didn't, did you? That would be really foolish. Even for you."
"Then what's going on?"
"Nothing," Bumbling Bore huffed. "It's not as if I screwed up in my
managerial duties because of being dead, and allowed Revolting an
additional method of taking over the world in just a few months through an
unforeseen loophole. Not at all."
"Uh huh," Henry said, unconvinced. "And about those duties--I'm not
impressed. Since I've been a movie star, kids have fallen in love with
tons of other novels. What about me?" He gazed around at his room. Once
bursting with homemade memorabilia, from endorsed soda cans to toothpick
holders, it now held items of a more mature nature: acne medicine, Getting
a Girlfriend for Lamebrains, t-shirts that audaciously displayed his lack
of muscles, and a certificate proving he was legally, although probably
not functionally, an adult. On the cusp of his seventeenth birthday (not
to mention Lord Revolting's destruction of the Wizarding World) Henry had
tabled his plans to release Henry Potty exclusive chewing gum (tastes just
like him!) and was concentrating on survival and the bare essentials,
rather than merchandising. Even the Henry Potty toilet paper project had
been scrapped: After seven books, paper was getting scarcer.
Meanwhile, his pet flying pig, Hortense, flapped aimlessly around the room
and straight through Bumbling Bore, who started and growled under his
breath. "You're still ignoring my advice, aren't you? Hey, Henry, you want
a real shocker? I'm gay. I'm GAY!!!!"
"Congratulations," Henry said, dangling treats for Hortense. "That white
ghostly look was getting tiring."
"Gay, not gray! I am Bumbling Bore the Gay and I've been teaching wizarding
teens for centuries!"
"Really? Just centuries?"
"I'm younger than I look," Bumbling Bore muttered. "But doesn't that
concern you? Don't you want to argue about that a lot on chatrooms or buy
a thousand copies of my autobiography, The Life and Times of a Total
Windbag Who Happens to be Gay and Isn't Just Saying that for Cheap
Publicity? I've come out of the broom closet. Aren't you intrigued?"
Henry blinked. "Maybe fifty years ago, back when interracial marriage was
outlawed and people hunted squirrels for entertainment. But in the
wizarding world we good guys aren't prejudiced, except against those
snooty French wizards, who always insult our cooking."
Bumbling Bore grimaced. "I thought they liked frogs. How was I to know they
don't belong in shepherd's pie?" He eyed Henry. "So you're not going to
post on a dozen chatrooms loudly debating my love life? How about
something else? My collection of antique sugar bowls?"
"Or your fashion sense?" Henry suggested. "Although the housedresses you
wear make a little more sense now. I thought you just let your mother pick
them out."
"They aren't housedresses," Bumbling Bore thundered. He loomed upward ten
feet, and his knees magically no longer bumped his nose. "They are
state-of-the-art wizard bathrobes, a tradition that has reigned for
centuries. It is said: do not mess with a wizard's dress sense, for after
thousands of years of bathrobes, we won't listen when you say we look
silly!"
"That's been said?"
"Everywhere. Now why aren't you dressed yet?"
Henry draped an arm over his eyes. "You just said sloppy bathrobes count."
"Not for a wedding."
"Really Wimpy's to Horrendous Gangrene?"
"Of course. And you're the best man. Or best something anyway. Now get
dressed. I'll be downstairs, telling off your aunt and uncle for the
seventh time."
***
After Bumbling Bore had knocked Henry's closest relatives into a stupor,
the pair left the house. Henry eyed his vacuum cleaner where it leaned
against the shed. Someone had traced "Please wash me" with a fingertip.
"Is it safe to travel? I mean with the doom and despair and vicious name
changing and so forth?"
"Relax," Bumbling Bore said. "You won't die this early in the book."
"Well, that's true," Henry said, brightening.
"Besides, it's not as if I'd deliberately betray your plans to Revolting
himself, just to keep my semi-loyal double agent in work. Even in this
huge recession we're having. I mean, that would be unforgivable, not to
mention stupid, betraying the Chosen One just for a few dollars--which I
haven't received by the way."
"Pounds."
Bumbling Bore blinked.
"We're in England, so it's pounds, not dollars."
"Of course, of course. Quite right. Well, off you go."
"Wait, you babysat me all summer and now you're staying behind? Bumbling
Bore, you're responsible for my education."
Bumbling Bore's eyes narrowed. "Is that a statement or an accusation?" He
shrugged. "Well, I've prepared you as well as someone with my limited
capabilities can. And I don't think you'll need me for the next, say, hour
or two."
"How `bout the rest of my life?"
"Yes, that's what I said. Now, off you go."
So Henry flew off blissfully into the sun.
***
A few minutes later, on the other other side of the wizarding world...
Henry alighted by the duck pond. His vacuum had mysteriously run out of
gas, and duck guano would substitute well in a pinch. Just then, a dark
shadow sprang from the bushes. A lighter shadow unrolled beside it.
Henry clapped both hands to his cheeks and screamed. "Ahhhhhhhh! It's
Dracula and the Mummy."
He spun. The Phantom was flicking his fingers menacingly from behind a
tree. "A weird neurotic guy in a cape and top hat!" The Blob squelched
out, and Henry's eyes widened. "And...last night's dinner?"
A magical shot rang out from behind the grassy knoll. Blasted from a green
grease-painted hand, it headed unerringly for Henry's head, preparing to
turn it into a bowl of mint custard. Far away, the AUTHOR'S fingers
spasmed on the keyboard. She'd made Revolting too powerful! And if Henry
ended this early, so would the book.
Just then, a miracle happened. Henry ducked, and as he did, his wand
shuddered and fired of its own volition in the knoll's direction. A blast
shook the air, coupled with an acidic sizzle. "That's impossible," Henry
murmured. If he'd listened, he might have discerned the faint
garbage-scented cry of "My batteries! No!" Oblivious, however, Henry aimed
his wand carefully at the Blob. "Expeli-arms!"
Nothing happened.
In desperation, Henry shot the same spell at the Phantom, who screamed as
his arms fell off at the shoulders and tumbled uselessly to the ground.
Abandoning his ineffective vacuum, Henry ran. The grass was uneven and
hilly, with occasional slippery patches the ducks had clearly visited.
Behind him he heard the sharp squeals of the Tooth Fairy, bent on her
prey. Twin scents of ozone and burned teeth hovered ever closer.
Encircling him, the horror movie henchmen flung ancient bandages and sharp
spells, while the grass only provided cover for Henry's precious toes.
Thud! Henry tumbled against a familiar figure. "Ahhhhhh! The Dogman!" He
clapped his hands to his cheeks, even though it hadn't helped him the last
time. "Aaaargh!"
"Quiet, I'm on your side."
Henry stared at Rover S. Barkin, last of his father's dearest friends who
hadn't betrayed him or been killed in some horrible way. Bitten by a
weirdwolf years before, the Dogman was mostly shaggy canine: just as furry
and about as intelligent. Some of the foremost pedigree experts in the
world had pronounced him part golden retriever, part collie, and part used
mop. "Oh, good. Brought me a birthday present?"
"Yes, but there's no time for that now! We're in great danger! If we're not
back for dinner, my wife will have me declawed!"
The monsters had left their protective cover and were sneaking (in one
case, squelching) closer. Henry ducked as a frayed bandage lashed far too
close. He clutched the Dogman's fur coat, only to realize he wasn't
wearing one. "Every scary monster from the last hundred years of cinema is
chasing me. I need your help!"
"I'm on it." The Dogman turned to face the monsters. "Hey, uglies. Know who
this is?"
"Oh yes." The Tooth Fairy cackled in triumph. "Now leave him to us."
"This is Henry Potty. He's expected at his movie premiere next week. If he
doesn't show up..."
The Mummy reached under its bandages to scratch its head. The Blob chewed
its squelchy lips.
"Ve vant the boy," Dracula said, but it lacked heart. Mostly because his
hadn't beat for centuries.
"But you also want a remake of Dracula II. And Son of the Curse of Dracula.
And Dracula Bites It. If Henry doesn't show up, and teens lose faith in
the movie industry, we've all had it!"
The Tooth Fairy hesitated. She didn't have a movie, but she had dreams.
"Fine, we'll pick him up after the premiere. But I want tickets. Good
ones."
"You'll get them," the Dogman promised as he fetched the vacuum and led
Henry away. "Right after my big break," he muttered. "Legions of Dimness
indeed."
"Expeli-arms!" Henry shouted at the Blob, for good measure. Again, nothing
happened.
The Dogman sighed. "Sheesh, Henry, it's like you don't know any other
spells."
"I don't. Haven't you noticed how much I cut class? Now, c'mon. I'm
supposed to be the best man, and I'll bet there's still cake."
The Dogman's tail wagged. "I'll poof us there." He snapped his furry
fingers, and they vanished in a fluffy cloud of coconut-scented smoke and
cheap stage effects. As they catapulted through the air toward the
wedding, neither recalled the sabotaged vacuum or the mysterious figure
behind the grassy knoll.
***
On whichever side of the wizarding world we were at in the first place...
"Blast, foiled again!" Revolting flung his wand onto the desk, groaning at
the clunk of fried batteries. "I hate not getting what I want! Dim
Lackeys, recruit some more dim minions! And tell my ghoulfriend I can't
pick up pizza and a video, but if she wants to be helpful she could iron
my tux, the one with two custard stains and the unsightly greenish blob on
the elbow." He smashed his fist down on the table, flinging silverware in
all directions. "We have a wedding to crash!"
Chapter 2:
My Big Fat Nondenominational Wedding
The wedding hall was spectacular, from golden streamers and balloons to
golden globes, gold stars, golden eagles, and Olympic gold medals. Henry
rushed through all the decorated rooms to find the bride waiting outside
the chapel. Horrendous Gangrene was beaming (though it would be hard not
to, with all that reflected light). Otherwise, she looked the same as
ever, from bushy hair to tiny knapsack (with her wand tucked neatly
inside). She'd dabbed Eau de Pencil Shavings, her favorite, behind each
ear. Fussing over her were her stocky, red-haired in-laws-to-be, the
Wimpys, and their only daughter, Skinny Ann Wimpy. Skinny and Henry were
dating, occasionally each other.
Ignoring his girlfriend, Henry rushed into Horrendous's arms. "Wow, you're
getting married while we're all under death threats. That's so grown-up!"
"Thanks." She held him close in a jumble of too many elbows and then drew
back, eying Henry's mismatched socks and tennis shoes. "I guess girls
really do mature faster."
"Ahem!" Skinny, already in a slinky dress, crossed her arms in a way that
tightened her gown still further. Her upswept auburn curls fizzled with
annoyance. "Weren't you, like, coming in disguise?"
Henry stared at her interesting neckline until Horrendous punched him in
the kidney. "I am! I used disguise-o potion to grow a mustache!"
Skinny eyed him. "So that's what that smudge is."
"Hey!"
"Sweetie, you've so gotta be more careful! There's a price on your head."
She reached up and pulled the price tag off his hood.
"Gosh, Skinny, it's been so long! I wish I could ask you on a real date,
instead of just a picnic where I make you pack all the food, but I'm going
off to battle Lord Revolting." Henry made his eyes as big as possible. "I
may not...survive it." He felt an urge to sing something soulful and
tragic. Or given his voice, maybe just tragic.
"Oh, Henry!" Skinny stepped closer. Her golden lipstick glistened. "I wanna
give you something, like, totally magical. Something to remind you, when
you meet alien babes and beautiful wood nymphs, that I'm sitting at home
by the fire, waiting for you."
"Cool!" Henry puckered up.
Skinny snapped a magical binder clip on his lips.
"Mph?!"
"If you kiss another girl it'll sever your tongue." Skinny smiled sweetly.
"Hurry back, baby."
Mrs. Wimpy neatened Horrendous's veil. "It's so nice that you're marrying
my son," she cooed. "He so needs someone to take care of him."
"Definitely," Mr. Wimpy said. "It's so selfless of you to give up your
dreams of a career and button him into his little onesie each night. Oh,
and mop up his accidents."
Horrendous's smile grew brittle.
"Henry, you should let Horrendous and Really honeymoon instead of dragging
them on your silly quest," Mrs. Wimpy said. "Why not stay here where it's
safe and marry Skinny?"
Henry yanked off the binder clip. Under Skinny's stern gaze, he shoved it
into his pocket. "The entire fate of the wizarding world depends on my
going!"
"Oh, well, if getting killed is so much more important to you than staying
here with your girlfriend, there's not much I can do." Mrs. Wimpy's voice
dripped with an expert's touch of guilt. "I've only brought you up over
the years, with barely any help from your relatives and godparents and
mentors and pets." She glanced at Henry's companion. "Oh, Dogman, your
wife's waiting inside. She says if you don't bring her some ice water,
she's foretelling a very unhappy future for you, involving a carton of
eggs, you, and a twelve-pound mallet." Mrs. Wimpy waggled her finger.
"Banshees can predict the future, you know. I'd watch myself."
The Dogman closed his eyes and howled. "She would pick today to start
wailing on me."
Skinny shook her head sympathetically. "Women."
"Well, then. I think everything's set," Mrs. Wimpy said. She tugged an
eight-page list from her pocket and glanced over it. "The stuffed tomatoes
are sizzling, steaks are teriyaki-ing, Mariachi band's set up, Chinese
lanterns are lit, escargot's within its expiration date, and only two
elves have fallen into the custard pies."
"Ever heard of a theme?" Horrendous muttered.
Mrs. Wimpy pretended to ignore her. "And Higgle will come for the
reception. There was some excuse, but I couldn't quite make it out."
Higgle, a brown puffball of a person, was honorary professor of Animal
Care and Champion Mumbler at Chickenfeet. She scanned down the list.
"Dogman, have you been checked for fleas?" At his nod, she checked off and
folded her list. "Let's all go in. My son's been waiting by the altar for
quite a while, while we make sure everything's perfect." She smoothed a
bow, then fluffed it, then smoothed it, then fluffed it. This is
obligatory at weddings. "Horrendous, wait here while I signal the band.
Then it's up the aisle and off to the happiest moment of your life. Better
than the rest will be, anyway."
If Horrendous's smile had been able to detach, it would've fallen to the
ground and shattered.
***
Really Wimpy had matured from a short, gangly child to a short, gangly
adolescent. Over the course of six books, he'd grown pimples and bangs,
with a voice that cracked when he breathed. In honor of his wedding, his
mother had removed the training wheels from his racing vacuum. Now he
waited expectantly by the altar, shuffling his feet and fidgeting.
Henry hurried up to him. The room was packed with whispering guests. "I'm
not late, am I?"
"No later than Horrendous. She should've walked up the aisle two hours
ago." Really Wimpy fidgeted some more. "I'm afraid she's getting cold
feet."
"I'll save this wedding!" Henry pointed his wand at the back wall. Everyone
in the chapel ducked, especially the ones in front.
With a single wave of his wand, Henry vanished the wall, exposing
Horrendous standing half-in and half-out of the special gold stretch
vacuum cleaner. A calligraphied sign on the back read, Congratulations on
Wasting your Life!
Henry smiled. Poor Horrendous was so foolish she'd been ready to leave the
chapel without getting married. "Hey, Horrendous, the altar's up here."
"Oh," Horrendous said through gritted teeth. Her glare could have
pulverized a steel building. "Thanks." She glanced up the aisle at Really
Wimpy. He was wearing his big boy shoes without the Velcro. "Right," she
sighed. "Let's do this." As a dozen rented elves hummed the Wedding March
in a dozen different keys, Horrendous picked up her bouquet of corrected
homework assignments and entered the chapel. She truly looked lovely, all
the guests agreed, from her fluffy poufy puffy dress to her gilded
protractor. She floated up the aisle like a delicate, wind-tossed blossom,
thanks to the helium balloons tied to the corners of her skirts. Skinny
staggered behind her, lugging twenty pounds of gilded train.
"Welcome," said the nondenominational wizarding clergyperson responsible
for egalitarian civil unions. (It must be noted: some view this series and
those like it as a religious allegory. Others believe it promotes devil
worship. A few realize it's definitely both. To cater to as many different
tastes as possible, this wedding has been staged in a neutral location
that doesn't impose beliefs of any sort. Likewise, the
not-terribly-politically-correct witches have become, instead, new age
whiches, though this doesn't stop them from baking gingerbread houses and
cackling over cauldrons. Readers are encouraged to insert details for an
orthodox, civil, or satanic ceremony as desired, with whichever [or
wizardever] type of clergyperson they find most appropriate.)
"Dearly beloved," he or she said. "We gather in the sight of...er...the
deity or deities of one's choice to join this which and this wizard in
holy or at least municipally legalized matrimony."
"They both look so grown up," murmured one of the guests.
"Sunrise, sunset," a second sobbed.
"I thought we were calling ourselves gizzards?" whispered a third.
"Changed in committee."
"Ahem," said the nondenominational wizarding clergyperson. "If I might have
quiet, I'm trying to proceed with this ceremony designed to offend no one,
from religious fundamentalists to religious new-agers. Now if I might
continue?"
A moment's silence appeased him or her, and he or she proceeded.
"Do you, Really Wimpy, vow to love, protect, and defend Horrendous with
your life, even though we're in the middle of a war and you both might be
dead by tomorrow?"
"I wrote our own vows," Horrendous whispered to Henry. (Readers may insert
any vows they wish if these are inappropriate.)
Really Wimpy quaked in his boots. He leaned forward and urgently whispered
to the clergyperson.
"I see. Then do you, Really Wimpy, vow to be an equal, self-reliant partner
in your marriage, and a support for Horrendous to lean on if she doesn't
require you to do anything too risky or frightening?"
Really Wimpy leaned in again and whispered more. Horrendous was twitching
her hand toward her wand.
"Oh my. Are you sure you should be doing this then? Well, all right. Really
Wimpy, do you at least vow to take out the trash now and then? To the best
of your ability?"
"I do," Really said proudly. It was so nice being treated as an adult. Even
his pet fish didn't do that.
"Finally. All right, then, Horrendous, do you vow to completely support and
care for Really Wimpy, even though he appears to have put his shoes on the
wrong feet, and never ever stop babysitting him for an instant for the
rest of your natural life, so help you deity or deities of one's choice?"
Horrendous swallowed hard, glancing from her expectant groom to his eager
parents. "Um, can I have a minute?"
The clergyperson grimaced. "I'm afraid we only have the hall until eleven.
And you're delaying the caterers."
"Right. Um. I--I--ah, um--"
The clergyperson helpfully mouthed, "I do."
"I--ah--"
"Excuse me, I feel I must interrupt," a voice said from the remains of the
doorway.
"Thank God!" Horrendous said. "Or, um, deity or deities of one's choice."
"Another interruption!" roared the clergyperson. "The next person who says
a single word will be Darned to the depths of Heck and burned in the
everlasting fires of Tarnation. If you believe in that thing. Which some
of us do. And some don't. And that's okay." He or she glanced around and
realized his or her threat wasn't very devastating.
Mrs. Wimpy leapt to her feet. "You can't stop the wedding! We eliminated
that `if anyone sees a reason these two should not be married' part." She
glanced around and realized everyone was staring. "Well, it delays the
kissing. Horrendous, pucker up."
"Married?" A wizard in a six-piece suit strode up the aisle. All heads
swung in his direction. The ushers shuffled their feet, clearly unclear
whether to escort him out or escort him in. "Oh, I'm so sorry. No, this
has nothing to do with the wedding. I should have called first, shouldn't
I? Oh dear."
"Why are you here?" Horrendous asked, in the tone of one who will listen
all day.
"I'm looking for Henry Potty." All heads swung in Henry's direction.
"I knew it! You so work for Revolting!" Skinny pointed her wand at him,
along with everyone else in the room. (That is, everyone pointed wands. It
pays to be precise, even in high-tension situations like this. Plus it
draws out the suspense.)
"No! I'm an innocent lawyer!" All heads swung back in his direction. There
was a pause while everyone digested this. The statement was so astonishing
it was probably true. "I'm here to read Professor Whata Bumbling Bore's
last will." The wands lowered. The lawyer cleared his throat. "So, I guess
now's a bad time?" He glanced hopefully at the five-tier cake dominating
the banquet table.
"Not for presents!" Henry exclaimed. "Hand it over, what'd he give me?"
"This is very inappropriate." Horrendous glanced at Really Wimpy. He was
grinning hopefully. "Take your time, Henry."
"Well then, let's get started." The lawyer tugged a set of legal briefs
from one pocket and legal boxers from the other. He opened the briefs and
began to read:
"I, Whata Bumbling Bore, being of sound mind and body, except for the left
arm which is falling off, and the mind, which is anyone's guess, do make
the following bequests:
"For Henry Can'tyouteachthatkidtousea Potty, a dozen boxes of his fan mail
and a note." The lawyer motioned to three wheelbarrow-laden men who
trooped up the aisle and tipped fifteen boxes onto the floor. To Mr. and
Mrs. Wimpy's delight, most of them blocked the escape route. "Shall I read
the message?" the lawyer asked. "I already opened it, and it didn't look
too personal."
"Sure."
"Ahem. `Dear Henry. All these letters are cluttering my desk. Dispose of
them or I'll dispose of you. Your manager.'"
"Gee, not as helpful as it could be. Is there anything else? Money?"
The lawyer kicked him in the pants. "I'm sorry, that was in my
instructions. Continuing..."
"To Really Incredibly Wimpy, I leave this lump of gum I found under my
sandal. It will prove useful beyond imagining in these dark times."
"I'll say," said Really, already chomping away. "There's still a little of
the gum's flavor. Or some flavor, anyhow. Kind of a wet dog bouquet."
Henry shuddered. This from a kid willing to eat many-flavored bugs.
"To Horrendous Grungy Gangrene: some advice. Don't marry Really Wimpy. Get
out before it's too late."
"Hey!" Really Wimpy said around his mouthful of dog-flavored gum.
"So useful," Horrendous muttered. She glanced at Really out of the corner
of her eye as he stretched out long strings of used gum and then coiled
them back up on his none-too-clean finger.
"Sure it was! We found out we all have middle names." Henry sounded them
out. "I wonder what mine means."
"There's also a package for Horrendous," the lawyer said. "It seems he left
you a cheat guide on how to win the game. I mean, book."
Henry stared. "Hey, Defeating Lord Revolting for Lamebrains! I almost read
it as a first-year student!"
"You knew about this?" Horrendous snatched the cheat guide to her chest.
"And for seven books, you've been, what? Planning to try it someday?"
"It's eighty pages," Henry muttered defensively. "Plus I figured you'd get
to it eventually if you read the library cover to cover."
"Actually, she wouldn't have," the lawyer commented. "It was shelved at the
far end, and this is a short series. And now that Lord Revolting's taken
over Chickenfeet Academy, he's ordered the burning of any book that could
definitely lead to his total downfall."
"That fiend!" Henry scowled. He glanced at Horrendous. "Have you read it by
now?"
Horrendous shook her head miserably. "The pages are blank!"
"Great!" Really said. "We don't need to do anything!" He glanced at Henry,
who was still sulking over his gift. All the crates of paper looked like
homework.
"No, I'm sure there's a code," Horrendous said. "Or a spell. I just have to
work it out."
"Still not finished?" Henry asked.
"You know, you could try breaking this code yourself," Horrendous said.
A chorus of screams burst through the church. Er, worship center.
"The fans don't seem to like that idea," Henry said.
"No, look!" Horrendous pointed. Really Wimpy took one glance and dived
under a pew.
Pirates, battle droids, orcs, cultists, maniacs, mime artists,
telemarketers, the Sicilian Mafia, and the Spanish Inquisition were
thundering up the aisle. Sniffly Snort, the Tooth Fairy, and others of
Revolting's henchmonsters trailed close behind. Behind them, a few ushers
started rolling the red carpet back up. "Busy day for weddings," Henry
said.
"Run, you idiot!" Horrendous screamed. "They've all come to kill you!"
Clutching Defeating Lord Revolting for Lamebrains, she grabbed Really
Wimpy by the collar and bolted for the emergency exit the clergyperson had
shown her before the ceremony.
Henry Potty glanced at the route to safety behind him, where his two best
friends in the world had fled. Before him, past a flimsy barrier of fan
mail, swarmed flunkies, goons, and henchmen from a dozen bad movies and
two good ones. His choice was clear. Besides, Skinny was watching. He
vaulted over the boxes and drew his wand. "I regret I have but one life to
give for no particular reason! It's clobbering time!"
Behind him, the guests snatched up anything at hand: wands, submachine
guns, and the inevitable custard pies.
"Pow, pow, pow," shouted a battle droid whose weapon wasn't working.
"Oh dear, oh dear, oh my goodness me," moaned another, until the Blob took
pity on him and engulfed him. Clearly he wasn't suited for combat, or to
be more than the sad sack of comic relief. Having finished snacking on
him, the Blob stretched out an oozing tentacle and engulfed the droid's
Uzi.
An army of orcs raised arms in the air and howled loudly. Many guests
covered their ears. Others preferred shielding their noses. Mrs. Barkin
the Banshee screamed at all the orcs about how they were ruining such a
nice wedding--what was wrong with them, did they know how long she'd spent
doing her hair! And now no one was eating her spinach dip--how could the
orcs manage to sleep at night? Before she had finished, the orcs were all
cowering under the piano, curly tails straightening in fear. Meanwhile,
her husband, the Dogman, savaged telemarketers left and right until he was
distracted by a fire hydrant.
The Phantom of the Cesspit sang a long, tragic song about how he was cut
off from the world of sunlight and laughter and Mariachi bands. "Quiet,
you!" the Tooth Fairy cried. In a poof of pink gauze, she shoved him into
a potted fern. The plant burped happily. No longer upstaged, the fairy
zapped left and right, inflicting gingivitis wherever she flew. At last,
Noodle Loudbottom managed to chase her off with a flyswatter.
"Arr!" a pirate snarled at an innocent leprechaun.
"You can't have my lucky charms!" the tiny man screamed as he vanished in a
puff of cereal.
Henry flung squelchy pies at the pirates, one of whom dropped to the
ground. "My eye! My eye!" he screamed. Henry didn't see an eye anywhere,
but he did see an ugly wooden marble, green with mold. He pocketed it to
leave in Really Wimpy's soup later. Determinedly, he continued hurling
pies, since for once in his life, starting a food fight was the heroic,
noble thing to do. Creamy vanilla scents rose to cover the pirates' aroma
of leftover fishsticks.
Grave robbers with grave expressions encircled the waitresses slicing the
cake, demanding slices with the corner roses. One slipped and fell into
the middle of the cake, to emerge spitting candles and dripping with
frosting. The comic laws of the universe ensure this happens in every
battle.
Above, the Wicked Witch of the West circled, cackling and shrieking and
writing obscene messages with acrid red smoke, thus damaging the local
environment for weeks to come.
A parapsychologist burst in. "Wizards! Elves! Telemarketers! They do
exist!" He was run over by a monster truck he hadn't believed in before
that day.
Despite the many fearsome foes, our heroes were slowly winning the day.
Though the cream pies were running out, stuffed tomatoes soared to new
heights that day, followed rapidly by new lows. A group of high school
cheerleaders raced after Dracula and his minions. Their war cry of
"You're, like, totally slain, dudes" echoed triumphantly through the
hall.
Across the room, other attacks were significantly less devastating: The
Polish Mafia stood around, smoking giant sausages and trying to look cool.
The Spanish Inquisition, having cornered a little old lady, were pelting
her furiously with comfy cushions. Sniffly Snort (clearly electing to stay
safe) reclined in an upholstered chair. As the battle raged, he poured
himself a glass of champagne and nibbled an orange-glazed canapé.
Meanwhile, the cultists eagerly worshipped the ceramic figures on the
smashed cake, while the Goths spied the band and ran over for autographs.
Many of the bad guys, dripping with a mélange of tomato sauce and whipped
topping, began to slink away. The Mafia goons, too dignified to slink,
preferred to sidle.
Higgle the Chickenfeet caretaker arrived to discover he was just in time
for the party. He mistook the Blob for lime jello and ate him.
Mr. Hide hid.
"I vant to suck your blooood!" howled Dracula.
"I'm not your type," Skinny yelled. She swung a teriyaki steak hard at the
vampire and struck him through the heart, slaying him instantly.
A mafia stooge ran to the mummy to have his booboos kissed and made
better.
An entire crew of scurvy pirates raced forward, only to find that cutlasses
are little use against guns and wands. Some fell back, while others fell
down. Then Horrendous and Really charged into the fight, bodily picked up
Henry, and carried him off.
Chapter 3:
The League of Extraordinarily Green Things
We have to go back there!" Henry said. "I haven't finished smiting yet!" He
looked around. His friends had dragged him into Wizney Burger (So little
meat they're magical). Now all three sat huddled around a table, comforted
in the knowledge that Lord Revolting and his minions had recently
purchased, and thus, seldom left the bathrooms of, a competing franchise
(DimBurgers--so good you'll die for them. So far, there had only been
limited fatalities).
"No, we mustn't," Really Wimpy whimpered. "They'll be far safer if we
escape and leave them to face the vicious monsters." The other two
blinked. "We should hide, instead. The enemy has eyes everywhere." A pile
of eyeballs fell off a ceiling fan and squished on Really's Wizney Super
Fun Fish Sandwich. He shoved it away in disgust.
"All right," Horrendous said. The odor of fried grease was oddly soothing,
as it contained enough sedatives to make customers forget what they were
eating. "First we need a plan of attack. Then we can pool all our
resources."
Henry and Really Wimpy exchanged glances. "Here's my credit card," Henry
volunteered. There was less on it than the cost of his Triple
Wizneyburger.
Really picked at his sandwich. He had only his teddy bat and wasn't about
to share it.
"I have a year's supply of canned goods, all the disguise-o potion left
over from the first six books, a .01 parts per million cleanroom,
traveler's checks, and the entire Chickenfeet library including the books
Lord Revolting burned last week."
The boys exchanged glances, wondering who would ask first. "In there?"
Henry said at last, tentatively gesturing toward her fluffy dress.
"Of course not. My aunt's motorhome is parked around the corner. It'll come
when I call it." She fidgeted under their gazes. "Well, someone had to be
prepared." They kept staring. "Look, is it really so hard to believe that
I predicted this attack down to the millisecond, stole all your
belongings, and trained the motorhome to come on command? I am the
great-granddaughter of Nostradamus! There were ominous portents! Ominous,
I tell you!"
"Like what?"
Horrendous's glare turned into something Norman Webster would probably
photograph, and paste under the word "hostile" in his dictionary. "This
morning I got up on the wrong side of the bed, broke eight mirrors, heard
thirteen crows caw while a black cat pooped in my boot, walked under a
ladder, and ate a bowl of stewed prunes."
"Prunes?"
"Oh they're unlucky, believe me." Horrendous massaged her stomach.
"Particularly at the moment."
"So you didn't predict it using that fax that arrived this morning from the
Ministry of Muckups?" Really Wimpy asked helpfully.
Horrendous's pained expression made any leftover stewed prunes cower in
their kettle. She quickly handed something to Henry. "Here. I scanned your
fan mail onto disk and burned a CD."
He blinked. "In the five seconds since we ran out of there?" Henry supposed
it was as plausible as everything else.
"Three actually. I also grabbed the ruined cake." She blushed. "And ate it.
It's been a stressful day." She glanced at her limp salad, decorated with
a pale sliver of tomato and a blob of gloppy dressing. "And things aren't
looking too hopeful."
***
On the other other side of wherever it was before...oh, forget it.
Lord Revolting presided once again over his Funhouse of Terror. He had
suitably punished his minions for yet another failure, making them all
wear clothes from the previous season. Now they were watching as he and
Snort played chess.
Wormsnail tugged at his sleeve. "Master, master. I've spotted his strategy!
Every time you move a piece, he moves one too."
Lord Revolting eyed Snort and smiled. Time to watch evil's poster boy
squirm. "Oh, Snort?"
"Yes, Your Unwashedness?" Without missing a beat, Snort's pawn leapt across
the board and captured one of Revolting's bishops.
Tarnation, the man was skilled! (Lord Revolting had received a few calls
from concerned parents who objected to careless words. Henry's and
Really's double entendres about wandwork were still sneaking past the
censors, but their days were numbered.) Revolting would need to move
carefully. He scooted a knight one square forward. "Once again you've
failed to capture the boy."
"The thought occurs that you might have helped out, had you been so
inclined." Snort moved a rook.
"I was helping from the sidelines," Revolting snarled. "But my wand gave up
entirely and changed into a balloon animal!" He glared upwards. "Something
won't let me kill that Potty boy! I've been trying for seven books now!"
He snatched up his knight and moved it straight into the path of
slaughter. His glower suggested he longed for Snort to suffer a similar
fate.
"So you say," Snort said sweetly.
Revolting glared at him and Snort looked away. "At the same time, my
minions report that at the Battle of Us Getting Totally Creamed, you were
seen eating a canapé. And drinking tea?"
"Champagne, actually." Professor Snort moved the rook again, ignoring the
sacrificial knight. "While your minions and monsters were laying down
their lives in your glorious cause, I suddenly found myself thinking: what
is it the good guys have and we don't? Then it struck me--culture. They
know which fork to use with which wine. They're always invited to parties.
Whereas we--" Professor Snort glanced from the Phantom, who was gnawing on
a discarded fishbone to the Mummy, who was running low on rotting bandages
and trying to patch the holes with toilet paper. Mr. Hide gibbered under
the table. "Well, we lack a few social graces."
"Like running water," the Wicked Witch of the West chimed in.
"And glitter." This was the Tooth Fairy. She was new to ambiance, but had
plenty of experience with culture, specifically that of
elementary-schoolers. Her "Bubblegum Mist" cologne, currently clouding her
fellow minions' lungs with sweltering sweetness, was its own lethal
weapon.
"And opera tickets."
"We've never even seen The Godfather."
"Silence," Revolting screamed, high enough to shatter everything in the
Tooth Fairy's purse. He smoldered at Professor Snort. "Very well. You're
permitted to sit out of battles and sample hors d'oeuvres until further
notice. But bring back enough for all of us."
"Just as I intended." Snort moved a chess piece, and no one noticed it was
the second he'd moved in a row.
***
The motorhome was quite spacious, at least if you happened to be mice. For
humans, the bed-slash-shelf, oven-slash-cupboard-slash-elf storage, and
toilet-slash-washing machine offered a particular lack of charm. In fact,
the entire bathroom was just a plastic curtain-and-drain affair,
necessitating two teens to sit around humming loudly when one wanted to
use it. Horrendous claimed the only bed, a cozy, purple-draped alcove over
the cab. This left Henry to curl up in the small vacuum cupboard (where he
felt most at home) and Really to manage with the gap under the
table-slash-emergency mortuary. The remaining floor space bowed under
stacks of books, clothes, and canned goods. Still, there was an element of
mystery to the place, as Really quickly discovered.
"Wow, look," he cried. "A magic wardrobe!"
"Great, we have magic coats." Horrendous clambered up to the cab.
Safely in the motorhome, Henry pulled down the blinds, including the
mini-curtain that covered the peephole. He threw a sheet over the
landscape painting for good measure.
Horrendous looked back questioningly from the driver's seat. "Where to?"
"Somewhere safe. Somewhere none of those bad guys will find us. Especially
Professor Snort," Really said, sniffling. Horrendous had forgotten his
feetie pajamas.
"How about the house where the Order of the Takeout met in secret and
plotted Lord Revolting's downfall?" Henry offered.
"Snort was a member of the Order," Horrendous said.
"Yes, but Horrendous, it was a secret club," Henry explained patiently.
"The whole point is not to tell people. Especially your boss. Let's go."
Muttering about some people's complete lunacy, Horrendous waved her wand
and the motorhome obediently sped into the night.
***
At last, they arrived at Number Twelve Inyerface. A horde of henchmen were
patrolling the street, but Horrendous shouted, "Look, a sale on
jackboots," and they all ran in the other direction. Thus unobstructed,
they crept up on the modest twelve-story mansion.
Henry jiggled all the locks. Nothing.
"Got it," Horrendous called, crouching behind the bushes. She sprang up,
clutching a fat key-shaped box in both hands. Henry snatched it and tore
it open to reveal a fist-sized rock. He used it to smash the closest
window and flung himself inside, rolling about on the broken glass as he
looked for evil henchmen. Nothing. Only empty rooms and the lingering
scent of mouse droppings. Henry stood, shook off the larger hunks of
glass, and opened the door for his friends. "No one here. I checked out
the area thoroughly."
"And by area you mean the living room?" Horrendous asked. Really Wimpy had
gratefully responded to the implied safety of headquarters by hiding under
the cobwebby couch. She glanced about. The once-stylish furniture was
motheaten and covered in dusty drapes. Even the bowl of wax fruit on the
end table looked withered. If the crash hadn't brought anyone, they were
probably safe. "Well, we know the first thing to do!"
"Go find the Plot Devices?" Henry asked.
"No. Make tea." She raised her eyebrows at Henry's confusion. "Well, we are
British."
"And I haven't eaten since before the wedding," Really piped in. "My Super
Fun Fish Sandwich had half a frog in it."
They reached the kitchen, where Really Wimpy prepared a nourishing meal of
bubble and squeak, fish and chips, and steak and kidney pudding. (His
mother had spent a week training him in a spectrum of British culinary
delights, all of which contained the same four overcooked vegetables.) The
odor of cabbages permeated the room, thick enough to slice and eat by
itself. As they sat, Horrendous began shoveling pounds of dust off the
table and Henry began waxing nostalgic.
"Wow, it's the League of Extraordinarily Green Things' old headquarters,
where lovable chartreuse characters gathered to scheme against Lord
Revolting and his stooges at the Ministry of Muckups. There's Kumquat the
Frog's banjo where he would sing about rainbows and dreams and happier
times. There's the dent in the wall where Master Yada used his incredible
powers to smash the banjo to pieces."
Really Wimpy gazed dewy-eyed at Horrendous. A warm cloud of nostalgia
seemed to be taking over all of them. He glanced around for the source of
the soppy theme music. "And there's the chair where Horrendous knitted
pink and yellow straightjackets to catch elves. Too bad they were a rotten
food supply."
Henry nodded, smile vacant. The League of Extraordinarily Green Things,
cuddly puppet division of the famed Order of the Takeout, had accomplished
much against Lord Revolting. Poster campaigns, for instance. "And that
gecko who tried to sell everyone car insurance. Of course, the Grunch kept
motioning to destroy Christmas, but we outvoted him every time. Remember
how Sweat the Ogre--"
"Stop it!" Horrendous dropped her dust shovel and burst into tears. The
soppy music sputtered and went out. "They're gone forever, now that
Revolting's loose and they've joined the Bremen Town Musicians. We can't
recreate the past or rebuild the Order. That was two whole books ago. It's
over!"
Really, looking terrified, patted Horrendous's back. Henry sang a quick
round of the Order's theme song, "It's No Vacuum Ride Being Green," but it
didn't raise his friends' spirits. On the other hand, they did hide under
a table when the windows began to shatter.
"It'll be okay, Horrendous," Really piped up after Henry piped down. "We
still have each other."
"But you two couldn't find your backsides with both hands!" Her head
dropped. "I'm all alone."
A crash echoed from the next room. Really Wimpy flung his fishsticks into
the air, and abandoned the pan of frying chips in favor of cowering in the
oven. "Are you a bad guy?" he asked, voice quavering.
"Really, what a dumb thing to ask. Horrendous is right about you." Henry
raised his voice. "Are you a good guy in disguise?"
"For crying out loud," Horrendous groaned. "Who's there?"
"Jutht me, Mithtreth." A shambling figure shambled into the kitchen. "I
wath in the bathment exthperimenting on raccoonth. Did you know they can
thupport a current of twenty-eight megawath?"
Horrendous ducked as spittle flew in all directions. "Igor! The loyal
family servant!" Behind her, Really Wimpy cautiously crept from the oven.
Igor nodded until his lumpy head nearly tumbled off his shoulders. The only
thing bigger than his tangerinelike nose was his left ear, and the only
things bigger than that were his houseboat-sized feet. Years of
experimenting with hazardous chemicals had left him nearly hairless, with
only sparse white tufts protecting his rather magnetized skull. Squat and
green, he no longer served his master, Frankenstein, but had joined the
Green League through their open door policy, before it had become a vacant
house policy. He also lisped. "Yeth, Mithtreth." He beckoned them into the
living room. Really Wimpy glanced at his chip pan, which was starting to
smoke, and then abandoned it to run from the room. Igor gestured eagerly
to seats, and watched, bemused, as the teens chose the ones with no broken
glass. "The Green League ditholved. I've been waiting here for two yearth,
polishing my thkullth. Thuch a tragic tale, really."
"Thukullth?" Henry asked worriedly.
"Yeth." Igor pounded a fist on his head, exuding a hollow clunk. "Thkull,
thee?"
"Oh, skulls," Horrendous said. She hesitated. "You do mean other people's
right? Dead people no longer using them?"
"Of courth. Grave robbing ith appropriate for one in my pothithon. And,
Marthter Thereal liked to thpeak with them. He thought it wath like having
friendth."
"Igor, we can't stay to talk," Henry said. "We have to find the seven Plot
Devices before it's too late! Time's running out! Tension is high!"
"And the Order of the Takeout's dissolved like Really Wimpy's food under a
barrage of soap!" Horrendous sobbed.
"And I couldn't find any parsnips!" Really whimpered.
"Not to worry. I have tholuthons!"
"You have what?" the teens chorused.
"Anthers. Retholuthons. That'th why I'm here, you thee. It'th a technique
called Deus ex machina, where an outside character appearth and workth out
all your problemth becauth you're thuch twitth. Regarding the Order of the
Takeout, one member remainth at large... Have you forgotten Rover S.
Barkin? The Dogman? For dinner, I have a nice liver jutht waiting." He saw
their faces. "From a cow. And for the third item, Revolting'th thoul, I
have one part right here."
"What!" Horrendous stared wordlessly at the evil ring encircling one of
Igor's twelve fingers. It was slowly turning his hand brown.
"Where--How--"
"Mine!" Henry said, leaping to the important part. He yanked it off Igor's
hand, and winced as the finger came off with it.
"You've had it all this time?" Really asked. Maybe he could get halfsies.
"Oh yeth. `Igor, go hide the bodieth. Igor, thtop the torch-wielding mob.
Igor, what'th an eight-letter word for terror?' But nobody athkth what'th
in Igor'th thecret drawerth."
Horrendous shook that image away. "But how'd you get it?"
"Ah, now that is a long, and fascinating tale, filled with daring, valor,
and...daring. Marthter Thereal took me on an outing to destroy Lord
Revolting in revenge for not returning Marthter Thereal's thtereo.
Unfortunately, Lord Revolting'th unkillable. Therefore, Marthter Thereal
merely nicked Revolting'th thtuff."
Henry blinked. "Where's the valor?"
"Revolting had hidden the ring in hith laundry pile."
"Ah." Really Wimpy nodded sagely.
"Then that underhanded little thief Galling kept trying to theal it. But I
got him exthpelled from the League. For conduct unbecoming a puppet."
"Wow." Horrendous stared reverently at the first Plot Device. "So no one
took it or lost it or sold it to prolong the plot?"
Igor rolled his eyes at her, and then gestured for her to roll them back to
him. "Don't be thilly. You thtill have plenty to do."
"Our quest is finished! Already!" Henry stood. "Which dramatic pose should
I use? This?" Muscles flexed, head turned to the right. "Or this?" Muscles
flexed, head turned to the left.
"Henry, we need all seven parts of Lord Revolting's soul. And we have to
destroy them!"
"Right. And how many more will make seven?"
Horrendous rolled her eyes. "A much much better question is, how do we
destroy it?"
"We could feed it Really's cooking," Henry suggested. The overflowing chip
pan was taking on a life of its own. If knights had ever learned the
recipe, no siege would have lasted beyond a single toss of boiling oil.
"How do we destroy the one ring?" Really Wimpy mused. "I think this calls
for a magical quest!"
"Or you could read the inthructhons." While the others had been ignoring
him, Igor had been busy, taking the teens' coats and using them to sweep
the floor into the next day's stew. Then he'd cleaned the clocks. Some of
the more picturesque lumps of dust and shattered glass were now framed.
Now Igor retrieved his finger from Henry and began stitching it back in
place.
Henry eyed the tarnished ring. It did indeed have some words carved on it
in an unreadable ancient language. Probably French.
Horrendous glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, look, it's Esperanto. Haven't
you read Impractical Languages? It says, `Insert finger here.'"
"No, on the inthide," Igor thuggethed. I mean, suggested.
"Okay." Horrendous cleared her throat. "It says: `Warning: May change eye
color and result in multiple personality syndrome. While this ring is
impervious to all sources of destruction, including heroic quests and
eagle intervention, volcanoes may void its warranty.'"
"We should use that hint guide," Really said. "If we knew how to read it."
"I have a pair of color-change bifocalth," Igor offered. "They work in
other taleth."
Horrendous retrieved Defeating Lord Revolting for Lamebrains from the
convenient pocket of her wedding dress and opened it. "Wait, there's an
inscription."
"Ooh, read it to us," said Henry, who was lazy.
"Dear Reader, You must choose your own adventure, as no one's going to do
it for you. You know your mission. Find the Plot Devices or Lord Revolting
will finally take over the world and live forever and murder all the
innocent goldfish out there. You're the last hope. You're the child of
prophecy. It all depends on you, Horrendous. You have to solve all the
clues and let Henry take the credit, or the world's doomed. Good luck. PS:
The hintline is open 24 hours a day at a rate of $29.95 for the first
minute and $30.00 for each additional minute."
"We can't afford that!" Henry groaned. "Not unless we sell someone here for
medical experiments!" He suddenly looked quiet and furtive, as if he'd had
an epiphany.
Horrendous flipped mindlessly through the blank pages, and paused.
Sprouting like shitake mushrooms, words were appearing on the page: See
Spot run. Run Spot run. Run home, Spot.
"What does it mean?" Henry asked.
"Hmm. We need a master of cryptology. The man who wrote the Messy Map and
actually got Henry to learn part of his textbook."
"Cool, let's call him," Really said. He picked up his cellphone and dialed.
As he pressed the final digit, the Dogman poofed into the living room.
Horrendous blinked. "How'd you get here so fast?"
"Pager." The Dogman realized he was panting in eagerness and quickly
retracted his tongue. "And I just happened to be in the area. Running
errands. It's not as if I've been sitting by the phone or loitering
outside since the wedding, waiting for my next scene. I mean, I have
hobbies, I do--"
"Okay," Henry said skeptically. "Can you translate this code for us?" He
handed over the book.
Really Wimpy moved closer. "Hey, want some dinner?"
"Sure, I'm starving." The Dogman eyed the kitchen. A scent rather like
fried wet cat was oozing from the chip pan. "Y'know, never mind." He
hesitated. "Are you guys actually eating meals from a self-taught chef
with the mind of a toddler?"
Horrendous shrugged. "What with this series of unfortunate events we're
finding ourselves in, it seemed appropriate."
Resolutely turning his back on the chip pan before he followed his first
impulse and buried it, the Dogman returned to the code. Using his wand, he
lifted the words up off the page and rearranged the letters so they read
"Activate Cheat Code."
Horrendous glared. "Those words don't unscramble to `Activate Cheat Code.'
If they did, I could've worked it out myself."
The Dogman smiled. "Only teachers get to bend the rules like this. I've
used these guides before."
"How does it work?" Henry asked.
"You just read the book to the end, and there's your answer, just waiting.
Cheat codes are amazing, really."
"Who, me?" Really asked.
"No. Just really. They can even change the environment around you to better
suit your needs."
"Like increasing my bank account?" Henry asked.
"Sure." Rover sighed. "Pity it doesn't last very long or my wife wouldn't
have kicked me out."
"What happened?" Henry asked, trying to sound sympathetic. He still hadn't
gotten his birthday present.
"Well, what with my having canine hearing and her being a banshee, we're
just not getting along that well. And when I go out for a steak with the
guys, I get home to find she's hidden all my squeaky toys, doggone it."
Henry shook his head. "Rough."
"Tell me about it. My life's been one very long, very tragic story, from
becoming a Dogman to marrying the old muzzle-and-leash. Heck, I was
bullied even before I was bitten, since my parents nicknamed me `the
Dogman.'"
Horrendous's eyes narrowed. "You mean that was your name before you
became--"
"Well," Rover said hastily. "Maybe we can hang out for a while, play ball
and stuff. I can control my slobber most of the time. And we can have fun,
right? Right guys? Huh? Huh?"
The teens exchanged perfectly understood glances. No one would be sharing a
motorhome with the Dogman or his fleas.
"Your wife loves you and needs you," Horrendous said gently. "We don't. Now
scram, okay?"
Rover took up the mournful howl of all canines left behind.
"Rover, I'll give you something to howl about." Henry raised a
vicious-looking squirt bottle, and the Dogman fled.
***
A short time later, Horrendous cleared her throat delicately. "Henry, maybe
you were a bit mean?"
"What, because I called the Pound on him?" He shrugged. "Rover's tough.
He'll get over it." Henry sighed nostalgically, and the syrupy music
drifted back. There on the wall was a photo of his parents and their
friends, The Order of the Takeout Mark One. Bumbling Bore, Lames and Jelly
Potty, and Cereals Back had big crosses of red ink over them. Rover and
the treacherous Wormsnail were both still alive, but a red marker waited
conveniently on a string. The photo was labeled Henry Potty's Mentors.
Beside it hung a Magic Mirror, a convenient invention for those who wanted
to watch other wizards do private activities, especially those of an
illegal or adult nature, preferably both. It had formerly been under
Really Wimpy's bed (placed there, in all likelihood by his mischievous
twin brothers, who liked to practice ghost noises at night). In a fit of
terror, Really had hung it in the kitchen where he could keep an eye on it
during top-secret planning sessions. Shortly after, Revolting had
mysteriously discovered Cereals Back's location and had him killed, and
the Order abandoned their secret meeting place.
"We don't have time for two whole paragraphs of nostalgia," Horrendous
said. "Revolting's goons have probably traced Really's cellphone call by
now." She punched him. "I told you ordering a pizza would be pushing our
luck."
"If you thtay, I could thtill therve you," Igor said. "Exthpertly."
"Well fascinating as the idea is," Horrendous said, hastily wiping off her
glasses with a handkerchief, and when it was soaked through, groping for a
sponge. "I think we should be going..."
"But Lord Revolting could get us if we go out there!" Really Wimpy
whimpered.
"Compared with the threat of drowning, it's probably worth the risk."
Henry eyed Igor, who gave him a hopeful, toothless smile. (A few rotten
stumps remained all alone; Igor didn't believe in dental hygiene.) Igor
lifted a wax apple from the end table with the sly confidence of one used
to picking pockets. He rubbed it briskly under his arm to polish it and
extended the treat toward Henry. "Igorth take good care of their
marthters."
Henry ran for the door. "The quest waits for no man!"
***
Safely down the driveway and out of sight of Number Twelve Inyerface, they
all piled into the motorhome and realized that no one knew their
destination. Worse, yet, no one knew how to drive, though Horrendous had
read a few books of theory and Henry had once seen a movie that taught him
cars have feelings too. He patted the seat cushion beside him, just in
case.
"Wait!" Horrendous said. Snatching a raincoat as a precaution, she ran back
into the house and returned a moment later. She lifted the giant Magic
Mirror and hung it up on the motorhome wall. "There. Now I've put this
where no one will find it! If Revolting looks through, all he'll be able
to see is us!"
Really scratched his head. "Isn't the whole point--?"
"I think it adds some much-needed spice to the trip," Henry said. "And
speaking of that, why all the canned goods?"
Horrendous rolled her eyes.
"No, I mean, it's not much of an adventure this way. We need some
desperation and starvation. Some suffering."
"We could let Really cook."
"Hey! For that, I'm throwing out the table-slash-emergency mortuary. It
gives me the creeps."
Henry shrugged. "Let's start by dumping the food by the side of the road.
We can live off the land, eating wild greens and insects. It'll be more of
an adventure, like how the real pros do it."
"Real pros without supermarkets or forward planning," Horrendous muttered.
"Well, then, we could throw away those triple B maps you brought. Or drink
water we haven't boiled. Or try to build a reflector oven out of
tinfoil."
The pair firmly shot his ideas, and nearly him, down.
"Well, could we at least wear the evil ring, to wear us down and give us
some extra misery?"
Really and Horrendous exchanged glances and agreed to the compromise.
Horrendous curled up on her curtained bed. "Well, now that we're set up,
I'll ask the cheat guide what we should be doing. After all, we don't want
to spend the whole book sitting around and camping in the forest." She
opened the codebook. After reading to the end, she set it down and
groaned.
Directions for saving the world:
Destroy the Plot Devices.
That should do it.
You have two remaining cheat codes. After that, it's coming out of your
experience points.
She read the instructions aloud.
Really winced. "That's as useless as I am!"
A knock sounded on the motorhome door. "Don't get it," Horrendous hissed.
"We need to stay inconspicuous."
"We're safe." Henry gestured at the landscape painting. "Just look
outside--no one's moving."
"But even the walls have ears." She pointed at the curtained picture
window. A large, flabby ear poked out on either side.
"Hello? I'm selling Turkish Delight door to door?" The woman's silhouette
had a very tall, spiky crown. "It's a little addictive but worth it, I
guarantee." Silence. "Well, I'll stick a flyer under the door. Winter's
coming." They all held their breaths as she did so. "Bye now."
"Can you tell me the way to Oxford?" a much younger voice called a few
minutes later. "I must consult a scholar there. He has my cookie order
form."
"Mushrooms?" This outline showed a fluffy dress and bow. "The caterpillar
hasn't even sat on them much."
"Excuse me? We're poor, lost circus performers? And, um, we're selling
calendars."
"Oh no!" Horrendous breathed. "It's school fundraiser week."
It was indeed, but the teens stayed quiet and the stream of visitors
finally diminished, leaving only the tattered remains of a lemonade stand
on the motorhome's porch.
Horrendous paced nervously. "We can't stay here."
Henry gazed across the pale surface of the page to the thick section of
book in the reader's right hand. "No. There's a long way to go yet."
He hopped onto the driver's seat and prepared to pull out. As he turned to
ask his comrades if driver's ed was really necessary, a hissing, spitting
thing landed on the dashboard, spitting and hissing.
"An evil teakettle!" Horrendous shrieked.
"Quick, turn off the engine," Really Wimpy said. But it was too late. The
teakettle, hot enough to boil, sprayed steam all over the windshield,
blinding Henry and all who rode with him.
"Outside," Really sobbed, and they all hurried out, where the teakettle
flew at them with renewed fury.
"Cast a spell! Cast a spell!"
"I don't know any spells! Magic's your job, Horrendous." But Henry did know
one incantation, a jingle of such evil he doubted any appliance could
withstand it. Nor could humans, but that was incidental. He waved his wand
with a flourish. "Send in the clowns!"
Nothing happened.
"Use wizard language," Horrendous urged.
"Right. Send in the clowns-ium!"
A tiny fire engine pulled up beside them, and forty-three clowns clambered
from its cramped interior. They sprayed the teakettle with fire
extinguishers and buckets of exploding confetti. Though the teakettle
produced a cloud of deadly mist, the clowns valiantly beat it to death at
last with a ten-foot ladder.
The kettle offered a last squeal of defiance, and tumbled to the ground,
the light fading from its underside.
"Perfect," Horrendous said. "Now how do we get rid of the clowns?"
"I think you have to tent the place," Really said.
Since the clowns had already unpacked all their giant pants and ele-pants
(which were stored in the trunk), the teens hastily drove away, though not
before accepting arcane gifts to help them on their quest.
End of Free Sample
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