They waved good-bye until the little shopping cart was out of sight, and then turned and began to walk into the wood.
CHAPTER 9
IN WHICH
OUR HEROES WALK INTO THE WOOD
AND HAVE A STRANGE ENCOUNTER
It’s a bit scary, isn’t it?” Ketchup-Face said as they walked deeper into the wood.
Stinkbomb reached out to her. “You can hold my hand if it makes you feel better,” he said. “OOF!” he added as he fell over. “That’s not my hand, it’s my foot.”
“Sorry,” said Ketchup-Face. “It’s a bit dark and gloomy in here. Do you have a flashlight?”
“I think so,” said Stinkbomb, picking himself up and rummaging in his pockets. “Yes—here’s one.” He pulled it out and tried to switch it on, but it turned out to be a corn dog, so he ate it. Then he tried again and eventually produced a small flashlight shaped like a squirrel in a bow tie, which played “The Wheels on the Bus” when he pushed the switch. It gave out only a very dim light, but it was better than nothing.
They set off again. The thick bracken and tangled brambles made it hard going, and the dim beam from the flashlight flickered all around, casting strange shadows.
After a while, Ketchup-Face said, “Why’s the light so wobbly and shaking?”
“Because I can’t hold it steady,” explained Stinkbomb.
“Why not?” asked Ketchup-Face.
“Because I’m hopping,” Stinkbomb said.
“Oh,” said Ketchup-Face. “Why are you hopping? You’ve got two shoes on.”
“Yes,” said Stinkbomb, “but you’re still holding my foot.”
“Oh, okay,” said Ketchup-Face. “I wonder if we’re going to meet someone else soon who can help us find the badgers.”
Stinkbomb shrugged. “Another animal, you mean?” he said. “There are probably lots of animals in here.”
“Yes, but actually, it might not be an animal this time,” said Ketchup-Face, who considered herself something of an expert on stories. “It might be a strange little man. In lots of old stories, when the heroes are on a quest, it gets to a part where they need help, and then they meet someone who’s going to help them, and it says something like, ‘Just then, they met the strangest little man they had ever seen.’”
Just then, they met the strangest little man they had ever seen. He had bright, beady little eyes, and little round ears, and a pointy, triangular face, and he was covered in thick gray and black fur—except for his head, which was white with two thick black stripes running from nose to neck. His legs were short and stumpy, and he had four of them, one at each corner.
Oh, and he had a fat stubby little tail, and his breath smelled like worms and garbage cans, and he was standing in a clearing spray-painting the words BADGERS RULE on a tree.
“Hello, strange little man,” said Ketchup-Face cheerily. “Are you going to help us on our quest?”
“Depends,” said the strange little man, jumping guiltily and hiding his spray can. “What kind of quest is it?”
“Well,” said Ketchup-Face,
“Yes,” said Stinkbomb, “but we need to find them first.”
The strange little man’s beady little eyes narrowed, becoming even more beady and even more little. “Is that so?” he said. “And why would you want to get rid of the badgers?”
“Because we have found out all about their evil and wicked doings,” said Ketchup-Face, who had a strong sense of the dramatic.
“What?” said the strange little man, his sharp little face looking suddenly worried. “ALL about their evil and wicked doings?”
“Oh, yes,” said Ketchup-Face. “Or, at least, all about all the evil and wicked doings we’ve found out about. I suppose they might have done others.”
“I see,” said the strange little man thoughtfully.
“So,” said Stinkbomb, “can you take us to the place where the badgers live? It’s by a magical stream, just next to a small apartment building.”
“Um, not sure,” said the strange little man thoughtfully. “But I’ve got lots of friends, and some of them might be able to help. Just wait here—I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
And, dropping his spray can, he disappeared into the undergrowth.
Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face waited.
After a moment, Stinkbomb said, “Ketchup-Face?”
“Yes?” said Ketchup-Face.
“Do you think you could let go of my foot now?”
“Um, okay,” said Ketchup-Face, and she did. After another minute or two, Ketchup-Face said, “Stinkbomb?”
“Yes?” said Stinkbomb.
“Why do chapters always have to end just when something’s happening?”
“What do you mean?” asked Stinkbomb.
“Well,” said Ketchup-Face, “like when we got to the palace, or when King Toothbrush Weasel went upstairs to get dressed. It’s always when something’s happening. They never end when you’re just standing around waiting or something like that.”
“They could, though,” said Stinkbomb.
“Could they?”
“Yeah,” said Stinkbomb knowledgeably. “Chapters can end whenever they like. They could even end in the middle of a
CHAPTER 10
IN WHICH
STINKBOMB FINISHES HIS SENTENCE
AND OUR HEROES FIND THEMSELVES
IN TERRIBLE DANGER
sentence, if they wanted to.”
“Gosh!” said Ketchup-Face, impressed.
Just then, the strange little man reappeared.
“Hello again, strange little man,” said Ketchup-Face brightly.
“Er, yeah, hello,” the strange little man said gruffly. “I’ve brought lots of other strange little men. Maybe one of them can help you.”
And suddenly, the clearing was full of strange little men, all of them looking very much like the first, and most of them with rather unpleasant expressions on their pointy stripy furry faces.
“Hello, strange little men!” said Ketchup-Face.
“Right. So, all you other, um, strange little men,” said the first strange little man meaningfully, “these two are here because they’ve found out about all the badgers’ evil and wicked doings that they’ve been doing evilly and wickedly. So we’re going to, um, help them find the badgers.” There was some muttering among the strange little men, and they shuffled forward in a way that Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face did not find entirely comfortable.
And then one of them—a particularly small strange little man with a high squeaky voice—said, in a puzzled tone:
hissed all the other badgers, because that is what they were. But it was too late—Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face had heard.
Ketchup-Face’s eyes narrowed. “You never said you were badgers,” she said accusingly.
“Er, we’re not,” said one of the badgers. “We’re, er, lemmings. Isn’t that right, Rolf the Badger?”
“That’s right,” agreed Rolf the Badger, a big badger with a big badge that said
“We’re not badgers at all. Are we, Harry the Badger?”
“No,” agreed Harry the Badger, taking a sip of tea from a mug marked
“We’re not even slightly badgery. Are we, Stewart the Badger?”
“Yes, we are,” said Stewart the Badger cheerfully.
Harry the Badger passed him a note that said:
Stewart the Badger read it slowly three times and then added, “Er, no, we’re not.”
He turned the note over. On the other side it said:
“Er, I’m a lemming,” he added.
Ketchup-Face smiled a relieved sort of smile. “Oh, well, that’s all right, then,” she said. “Can you tell us where to find the badgers?”
But Stinkbomb was not so easily fooled. He reached into his pocket and pu
lled out a book he had borrowed from King Toothbrush Weasel. It was called The Wrong Book, but it was the wrong book, so he put it back and pulled out another one, called How to Identify a Badger. He leafed through it quickly, noting the badgers’ stripy heads, gray and black fur, and thick, muscular bodies. “Are you sure you’re not badgers?” he asked suspiciously.
“Oh, yes,” said all the badgers. “Quite sure.”
Stinkbomb turned to the chapter entitled “Absolutely Foolproof Ways to Identify a Badger,” read it carefully, and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a garbage can, a chicken, and a sports car.
Immediately, the badgers knocked over the garbage can, frightened the chicken, and drove the sports car too fast.
Stinkbomb’s eyes widened as he realized the danger they were in.
he yelled.
“Okay,” said Ketchup-Face, sitting down. “Can you help me with my shoelaces? Oof!” she added as she disappeared under a pile of badgers.
Stinkbomb was outraged.
he said.
Rolf the Badger looked up from his position on top of the pile. “Isn’t it?” he said.
“No, it’s not!” said Stinkbomb firmly. “She hadn’t finished putting her shoe on. It’s cheating to jump on her before she’s ready.”
The badgers blushed. “Sorry,” they mumbled, and got off Ketchup-Face. Stewart the Badger even helped her with her shoelace, just to make amends.
“Right,” said Stinkbomb. “Now you have to give us a head start.”
“Okay,” agreed the badgers, and they closed their eyes and began to count to a hundred.
They’d gotten as far as thirty-seven when Harry the Badger opened his eyes and said, “Hang on! We’re not supposed to be fair! We’re the bad guys!”
All the other badgers took their paws away from their faces and said, “Oh, yeah! I forgot!”— all, that is, except Stewart the Badger, who said, “Are we? Awwww!”
cried Rolf the Badger.
“Er . . . get who?” asked Stewart the Badger, looking around, puzzled.
“Those pesky kids, of course!” growled Harry the Badger.
But there was no sign of Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face.
“Grrr!” growled Harry the Badger in an especially growly way, just to prove he was a bad guy. “After them!”
“But we don’t know which way they’ve gone,” Stewart the Badger pointed out.
Rolf the Badger kicked him on the bottom because he wanted to prove he was a bad guy as well. All the other badgers laughed, not because it was particularly funny, but just because they were bad guys too.
Harry the Badger sighed a BIG sigh. “We’re animals, right?” he said. “So we can track ’em down using our animal senses.”
“Right,” said Stewart the Badger eagerly. “So . . . we should try touching them until we find them!”
Rolf the Badger gave him a hard stare. “How’re you going to touch them before you’ve found them?”
Stewart the Badger scratched his head. “I see what you mean,” he said. “So . . . we should try tasting them until we find them?”
Harry the Badger thwacked him on the ear. “We’ve got five senses, Stewart the Badger,” he said. “Figures you’d pick the wrong two for tracking.”
“Oh,” said Stewart the Badger. “Right. Well . . .” He looked all around the clearing, but he couldn’t see either Stinkbomb or Ketchup-Face, for the very simple reason that they weren’t there. Then he tried smelling them, but he couldn’t smell anything except for the perfumed blossom of the woodland trees, the sweet smell of the woodland flowers, and the stinky stink of the woodland trash that had spilled out when they knocked the garbage can over.
So then he listened very, very hard, and so did all the other badgers. And after a while, they heard something. In fact, they heard two somethings.
“Listen!” said Rolf the Badger. “Is it me, or does one of those noises sound like a frightened chicken?”
“Yeah,” agreed Harry the Badger, “and the other one sounds like a squirrel with a bow tie playing ‘The Wheels on the Bus.’”
“After them!” cried all the other badgers except Stewart the Badger.
“But it sounds like they’re miles away,” Stewart the Badger pointed out. “We’ll never catch them now.”
“Oh, yes, we will,” said Harry the Badger. “Because you, Stewart the Badger, have failed to notice one very important thing.”
“What’s that?” asked Stewart the Badger.
“They’ve left their sports car behind!” said Harry the Badger. “Come on!”
And all the badgers jumped into the sports car and roared out of the clearing, driving much too fast and knocking the garbage can over again as they left.
CHAPTER 11
IN WHICH
THERE IS AN EXCITING CHASE
AND KETCHUP-FACE CLEARS HER THROAT
Then there was a chase, which was really exciting. Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face ran as quickly as they could, and the badgers drove too fast and caught up with them, and Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face tried running even faster, but they couldn’t, and the chicken got really really frightened and stuck its head out of Stinkbomb’s pocket and went Buk-AWWWWWK! and then the badgers caught them. Except for the chicken, which jumped out of Stinkbomb’s pocket and ran away.
All right, so it doesn’t look quite so exciting written down. But it was.
Anyway, then the badgers picked Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face up and put them in the car.
shouted Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face.
But there was no answer. Then they shouted, “Hemmmmph! MMMMPH!” because the badgers had thrown them into the backseat of the car and sat on their faces.
Then the badgers drove back to the clearing where they lived, and carried Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face into the crumbling apartment building next to their home. There, in a little basement room with horrid brown and mustard-yellow swirly carpet on the walls and orange wallpaper on the floor, the children learned the dreadful fate that was to be theirs.
“Right,” said Harry the Badger. “We can’t have you two goin’ around telling everyone about our evil and wicked doings.”
“No,” said Stewart the Badger. “Especially the one where we’re going to get rid of King Toothbrush Weasel and replace him with King Harry the Badger.”
“Oh,” said Ketchup-Face. “We didn’t know about that one.”
“Didn’t you?” said Stewart the Badger, surprised. “What about the one where we’re going to take all the moms in Great Kerfuffle prisoner and force them to make us lunches every day?”
“Yeah,” agreed Rolf the Badger, “with worm sandwiches and garbage can gravy!”
“Mmmm! Yum!” said all the other badgers.
“Nope,” said Stinkbomb. “We didn’t know about that one either.”
“What about,” said Stewart the Badger, “the one where we’re going to put saddles on all the dads and make them give us piggyback rides everywhere?”
Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face shook their heads.
“Oh,” said Stewart the Badger. “Maybe we should let them go. It doesn’t look like they do know about our evil and wicked doings after all.”
Harry the Badger thwacked him on the ear again. “Except that you’ve just told them, haven’t you? So now we’ve got no choice. Rolf the Badger: fetch . . . THE BOX!”
Rolf the Badger fetched a box. It was a big cardboard box.
“Right,” said Harry the Badger. “Now for another evil and wicked doing.” He laughed a wicked laugh, and then passed around a box marked EVIL MUSTACHES, and each badger took one and twirled it evilly.
“What we’re going to do,” Harry the Badger went on, “is put you in this box, and then we’re going to mail you to the remote mountain kingdom of Bajerstan, where you’ll be put to work painting stripes on secondhand
tigers.”
Stinkbomb thought about this. The idea of being put in a cardboard box and mailed to the remote mountain kingdom of Bajerstan and then being put to work painting stripes on secondhand tigers certainly sounded interesting, but he wasn’t sure he would actually like it.
Ketchup-Face, on the other hand, was extremely indignant. “You can’t put me in a box and mail me to the remote mountain kingdom of Bajerstan and make me paint stripes on secondhand tigers!” she protested. “What about my fans?”
“What fans?” demanded Rolf the Badger.
Ketchup-Face straightened in a most dignified manner. “When I’m grown up,” she said, “I’m going to be a famous singer, and people will come for miles around to see me, and if I’m not there because I’m painting stripes on secondhand tigers in the remote mountain kingdom of Bajerstan, they’re going to be all disappointed.”
“Oh,” said Harry the Badger. “That’s a shame. Oh, well, never mind.”
“Never mind?” said Ketchup-Face. “Never mind?”
“Um . . . maybe she could sing a song for us now,” suggested Stewart the Badger, who liked songs and was aware that we hadn’t had one since Chapter Two.
“Good idea, Stewart the Badger!” exclaimed Harry the Badger.
“Is it?” asked Stewart the Badger in surprise. He wasn’t used to having good ideas.
“Not really,” admitted Harry the Badger. “It’s probably a stupid idea, but let’s do it anyway. All right, little girl: what are you going to sing for us?”
Ketchup-Face cleared her throat. “I’m going to sing a song which is a work of complete genius,” she said. “It’s probably the best song in the world, and it’s called ‘Blueberry Jam.’”
CHAPTER 12
IN WHICH
Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face and the Badness of Badgers Page 3
