by Sam Gayton
‘He’s extremely adventurous,’ Pin explained. ‘We hope he’ll grow out of it. The others did.’
‘We’ve only ourselves to blame…’ Min sighed. ‘While in their eggs, they hear about nothing but heroes and quests and Happily Ever Afters, and then when they hatch—’
‘He could have cost me a customer,’ Stickler interrupted. ‘Happily Ever Afters is a business. Our reputation is everything. We want to be known for helping people, not biting them.’
Hercufleas felt the drop of blood in his belly go hot with shame. ‘But I thought—’
‘I don’t care what you thought,’ Stickler snapped. ‘I care what you did. You sullied our good name. What’s to stop Miss Greta from going to another, rival shop to hire a hero?’
The customer took her finger from her mouth. ‘He was trying to protect his family,’ she said with a shrug. ‘How can I be mad at someone who does that?’
‘Miss Greta,’ Stickler said, voice now wheedling, ‘please accept again my sincere apologies for my employflea’s temporary lapse in—’
‘All right, all right, he’s sorry, you’re sorry, we’re all sorry.’ The girl called Greta rolled her eyes. ‘Now how about you tell me what you can offer me? Then I can sign my contract, give you my gold, get my hero and go.’
Stickler blinked. ‘As you wish.’ He spread his hands wide. ‘So, Miss Greta of Tumber, you want a hero. You’ve come to the right place. Avalon is famous for them. More live on this island than in the rest of the world put together. Here at Happily Ever Afters, we offer our customers only the finest heroes, the most legendary.’
‘Well, where are they?’ said Greta, looking around. ‘I need one quick.’
Hercufleas waved his arm in the air. ‘Ooh! Pick me!’
‘Hush, little one!’ Min clapped a hand over his mouth.
‘Heroes are Avalon’s most valuable resource,’ Stickler explained. ‘Gold must be kept safe in a vault, yes? Well, our heroes are no different. Here in Avalon they sleep in the caverns below our island until they are needed.’
Greta looked down at the floorboards. ‘They’re down there?’
‘Deep down.’
‘Asleep?’
‘Indeed. Avalon’s alchemists use potions to put them in an ageless slumber, while here at Happily Ever Afters, we painstakingly match each hero to the quest that best fits their capabilities. Then they are woken up to save the day, and later they are sent to sleep again. This method saves time, money and energy. It is an extremely efficient way to go on adventures.’
‘How do we find the right hero for me, if they’re all asleep?’
‘Well, now…’ Stickler flicked down a lens of his scopical glasses and peered closely at Greta. ‘For that, we must look through the catalogues.’
7
Leaning below the counter, Mr Stickler cranked a hidden lever. Beneath Hercufleas, machinery began to rumble and whirr. A maze of dark cracks appeared across the countertop. With a clanking sound, high walls rose up on either side of him. Min held his hand tight and whispered, ‘Don’t worry, little one. Stay still and watch.’
With a hiss and shudder, the pistons and cogs below the counter groaned to a stop. Hercufleas looked around. The counter had transformed into a maze of corridors, with tall shelves either side stacked with books the size of stamps.
‘These are my catalogues,’ Stickler explained. ‘A complete record of all the heroes I currently have available. Each book holds the details of one hero: their strengths, their weaknesses, their price…’
Greta gawped. ‘That’s the smallest library I’ve ever seen. Probably the biggest too. There must be thousands of books—’
‘Seven thousand, nine hundred and fifty six,’ said Min.
Greta looked at Stickler in awe. ‘That’s a lot of heroes.’
Stickler smirked. ‘We have one for every conceivable purpose. Now tell me: what sort of hero do you need?’
She answered, ‘A giant-slayer.’
Stickler nodded, glasses slipping down his shiny nose. ‘Of course, of course, we have a fine selection, the finest in Avalon.’ He peered down at Min, Pin and Hercufleas. ‘You heard the customer. Find Miss Greta a giant-slayer.’
‘At once, Mr Stickler!’ Min and Pin grinned, relieved that they were still his employfleas.
‘And keep your little hatchling under control.’
‘We will, Mr Stickler!’
‘And consider that a formal warning.’
‘Certainly! Thank you, sir!’
Seizing hold of Hercufleas, his parents bounded down the corridors. The shelves flew past, all labelled with categories of heroes to suit any quest: Ninjas, Nightmare-Hunters, Necromancers… So this was what Min meant when she said they worked for their host. His parents were the librarians of Stickler’s catalogues of heroes.
‘Tricky business, giant-slaying,’ Stickler said above them, drumming his fingers on a shelf. ‘Every giant has its weakness – an ogre is vulnerable to iron, a troll is susceptible to fire, and a cyclops is prone to conjunctivitis. Giants from the Cloud Kingdom, would you believe, are helpless against little boys called Jack—’
‘Yuk doesn’t come from the clouds,’ Greta interrupted. ‘He comes out of the forests around Tumber.’
‘Hmm.’ Stickler steepled his hands. ‘Perhaps one of my stronger heroes will be able to simply overpower—’
‘No,’ Greta said. ‘The mayor already tried that. He hired strong heroes from other shops: Heroes for Hire, and As Good As Our Sword, and BestQuest, I think, was the last one.’
‘Hmm, BestQuest,’ Stickler sniffed. ‘Yes, they’re just down the road. Although their heroes aren’t quite as legendary as the ones we offer here, of course…’
‘Good,’ said Greta. ‘Because we already hired the Stone Golem from there.’
‘The Stone Golem? You hired him?’ Stickler’s voice was full of envy. ‘He is the strongest hero BestQuest has to offer!’
‘Was their strongest hero,’ Greta corrected. ‘He’s a pile of gravel now.’
‘Gravel?’ Stickler choked on the word. ‘Impossible.’
‘I saw it happen,’ said Greta. ‘I was there.’
And while the fleas searched the miniature library below, Greta told Stickler about Yuk.
8
The night was dark, the moon was new and Yuk was coming. On the edge of Tumber, Greta snuffed her tinderlamp and hid behind some rubble to watch the approaching battle. She stared out into the blackness until she got her night vision. No light but the cold hard shining of the stars. Nothing stirring but the wind, rattling through the empty spaces between the pines. In that silence, her breath seemed too loud in her throat.
It started in the air. The air trembled. Again. Again. Like a heartbeat. Like a thunderstorm coming closer. Then the forest began to sway. Tall pines were parting like curtains. Two glowing moons the colour of curdled milk rose up into the sky from behind the tree line.
And blinked.
Yuk gazed down at Tumber. Each month he grew a little bigger. With every guzzling he was a little stronger. Now he was at least ten houses high. The tree rooted on the top of his head stood up like a mohican. The bats roosting in the cavern of his bellybutton uttered their eerie screams. Shaggy moss covered his body and a tangled beard of vines trailed down his chest. His mouth was full of grey broken teeth, covered with lichen like tombstones. He ground them together, then roared:
‘YUK WANTS TO GUZZLE!’
In one stride he reached the river; in another he crossed it. Greta watched him stomp down the dead streets, plunging his hand into houses with roofs already torn off like the tops of sardine tins. Yuk had guzzled them, months ago.
‘WHERE’S YUK’S FOOD?’ he bellowed.
Enraged, his fists smashed the houses to bits. Bricks and bits of chimney sploshed in the river. When the echoes of his voice faded away, Yuk turned to look up at the Church of Saint Katerina on the Hill, where the last tinderlamps were still lit. Licking his lips, he stepp
ed forward.
Right into the ambush.
‘I shall protect Tumber!’ boomed a voice, and down the hill charged the Stone Golem of Prais.
The Stone Golem, chiselled from granite and brought to life by alchemy!
The Stone Golem, said to be indestructible!
The Stone Golem, who had once punched the ground so hard with his fist, the Earth wobbled out of orbit and descended into a winter ten years long!
His charge took Yuk by surprise. He smashed into the giant’s shin, sending Yuk stumbling back down the hill. But the giant was back on his feet at once, towering over the mighty hero.
The Stone Golem attacked again, but this time Yuk was ready. Raising one enormous foot, he stamped on the hero, grinding him beneath his heel. The Stone Golem’s granite body began to crack and splinter under the pressure. Yuk jumped up and down, pulverising the hero again – again – again – until there was nothing left but gravel.
Licking his lips, the giant reached the Church of Saint Katerina on the Hill. He tore off the roof and plunged in his hand…
‘Enough!’ shrieked Stickler. ‘I’ve heard all I need to hear!’
Greta fell silent. In the library stacks, Hercufleas tried in vain to imagine Yuk’s size. To him, humans were enormous. But Yuk… the giant’s blood cells were probably bigger than he was. What hero could possibly stop something so gargantuan?
‘Gnome-catchers, goblin-trappers…’ Behind him, Min and Pin hopped along the shelves, reading labels. ‘Here we are: giant-slayers.’
But just as they reached the first book, the shelves sank back down again with a shudder. Gears whining, they juddered back below the counter and vanished.
‘Apologies,’ Stickler said to Greta, taking his hand from the lever. ‘We are currently experiencing technical issues. I’m afraid it won’t be possible to help you. Goodbye, and have a Happily Ever After.’
9
Hercufleas looked at Min and Pin. They stared back, as confused as he was. Above them, Mr Stickler sat, hands folded, waiting for Greta to leave the shop.
She did not.
‘What do you mean, you won’t help me?’ She scowled. ‘Why?’
‘At current, we currently have no suitable heroes, erm, currently available.’ Stickler blinked nervously.
‘You didn’t even look!’ Greta cried. ‘You’re afraid!’
‘Afraid?’ Stickler barked a laugh. ‘Ridiculous.’
‘You are. You’re terrified of Yuk!’
‘He could damage my top earners!’ Stickler said primly. ‘Your quest sounds as if it has already wasted a good number of heroes. I recommend you try BestQuest again, or As Good As Our Sword.’
‘Or me!’ Hercufleas piped up.
‘Hercufleas, hush!’ said Min.
‘Goodbye,’ said Stickler. ‘The door is located behind you. Use it at your earliest convenience.’
Greta locked her eyes on him. ‘You’ll help me,’ she growled, ‘or else.’
He snorted. ‘Or else what?’
Her eyes brimmed. ‘Or else this,’ she said, bottom lip quivering.
Stickler folded his arms. ‘Crying won’t get you anywhere.’
‘He wouldn’t help me,’ Greta sniffed, looking around the shop as if people were there. ‘Mr Stickler, from Happily Ever Afters. I only wanted a hero, and he sent away a poor helpless child in need!’
Stickler looked around in confusion. ‘Who are you…? What are you…?’ But Greta drowned him out with an anguished howl and burst into tears. They dribbled down her cheeks and hung from her chin in wobbly drops.
‘Why wouldn’t he help?’ she sobbed to the invisible crowd. ‘Happily Ever Afters had such a good reputation! “You bring the quest, we’ll do the rest,” he says, but that’s not truuuuue.’
Mr Stickler reared back in alarm. ‘Stop it! Don’t… You mustn’t say that to anyone!’
‘I can’t help it,’ Greta wailed, heading for the door. ‘I’m just so saaaaaad! I’m never going to stop being saaaad, or telling everyone just who made me saaaad!’
‘Hold it!’ Stickler said in a panic. ‘Be quiet! Shut up!’
Greta only cried harder, louder. She opened the shop door to the street.
‘All right!’ Stickler lunged forward, catching hold of her satchel and yanking her back inside. ‘It’s all right, you can stop crying, you can shut the door! I remember now!’
Her tears stopped at once. Greta turned to him, eyes red and triumphant. ‘Remember what?’
‘I know who can give you your Happily Ever After.’ Stickler sank back into his chair, dabbing his sweaty forehead with his sleeve.
Greta sniffed. ‘Who?’
‘Me?’ suggested Hercufleas.
‘They are the greatest warriors in all Avalon,’ Stickler said quickly. ‘Happily Ever Afters only offers them, you understand, for the riskiest, most perilous of quests… I do not think they have been awoken in decades.’
Greta came back to the counter. ‘What are their names?’ she said eagerly.
‘Prince Xin,’ said Mr Stickler. ‘And Ugor the Barbarian.’
‘Prince Who?’ said Min.
‘Ugor the What?’ said Pin.
‘Never heard of them,’ they said together.
Hercufleas frowned. Mr Stickler was hiding something he was ashamed of… maybe even afraid of, too. Being a flea, to whom keeping out of sight was second nature, Hercufleas could sense it. But what could it be? He looked at Min, but she just shrugged.
‘We’ve never hired them out before,’ she murmured.
Greta narrowed her eyes at Mr Stickler, obviously suspicious too. He avoided her gaze and took off his glasses to polish them.
‘Are you trying to swindle me?’
‘Swindle you? No, no! Of course not! I give you my one-hundred-per-cent money-back guarantee.’
Hercufleas believed him. If Mr Stickler was trying to swindle Greta, surely that would ruin his reputation just as much as if he’d refused to help her. But what was he up to, then? Hercufleas couldn’t work it out.
Neither could Greta. She scrutinised Mr Stickler, then rolled her eyes and gave up. ‘Have Prince Xin and Ugor got experience slaying giants? I don’t need them strong, I don’t need them to have enchanted swords, I just need giant-slayers. Understand?’
‘Oh yes!’ Stickler nodded furiously, the house-hat wobbling on his head. ‘Of course. Now, there are certain… risks… attached to Prince Xin and Ugor… And the fee to hire such legendary warriors is, of course, considerable…’
Greta leaned down and fiddled with a clog. Three enormous gold coins flicked up into the air. Hercufleas leaped clear as they clattered onto the counter.
Stickler leaned forward to gaze at the florins. Their reflections glittered in his scopical glasses. The muscles in his jaw twitched. ‘That should be… more than sufficient,’ he said. ‘Now all you have to do to seal the deal is sign the contract. Where are the rest of my employfleas?’
‘Here, Mr Stickler!’ The rest of the fleamily exploded out of the house-hat like miniature cannonballs, from the door and the windows and even the chimney. They landed in a drawer that Stickler pulled open. First they lugged an enormous blank sheet of paper out onto the counter. Next they rolled a black bottle of ink out beside it. Finally they gathered pairs of strange iron boots, which they tied tightly to their feet. Hercufleas looked on in bewilderment.
‘Pin and I are Mr Stickler’s librarians,’ Min explained, seeing his confusion. ‘The rest of you have a different job.’
‘Wear these,’ Itch called to him, tossing Hercufleas two iron shoes. ‘You can be X and Q today – they’re the easiest.’
Hercufleas looked at the large letters stamped on the soles. He slipped the shoes on and hopped over to the inkpot, where his brothers and sisters sat on the rim, dipping their feet into the black liquid.
‘Don’t worry.’ Burp grinned. ‘Just watch and learn.’
He held up his feet for Hercufleas to see. He had the letters A and S
. Looking around, Hercufleas saw they had almost the whole alphabet between them.
With a small jump, he realised that his brothers and sisters were Mr Stickler’s typewriter.
Stickler turned to the fleamily and spoke to them in what sounded to Hercufleas like a foreign language. He heard the phrases P23 hero-hire contract, money-back-guarantee coupon and discretionary peril insurance form. He had no idea what any of it meant, but everyone else seemed to understand completely.
‘Ready?’ yelled Speck, over by the blank piece of paper.
‘Steady?’ yelled Fleck.
‘Type!’ they all cried together.
10
The fleamily leaped onto the pristine page, bouncing back and forth. Their shoes left letters wherever they landed, like footprints. Burp somersaulted over Dot, Tittle bounded over Jot, Speck and Fleck added commas and full stops.
In a few minutes, Greta’s contract was almost ready. The fleamily pulled Hercufleas from the inkpot and showed him the one or two blank spaces on the paper that he had to fill in with his own letters. He jumped clumsily from spot to spot, while Titch yelled out, ‘Left foot!’ or ‘Right foot!’ so he knew which letter to land with.
‘Don’t worry!’ Slurp called as Hercufleas typed a Q upside down by mistake. ‘We can practise in the boingy-boing room! It’s fun when you get the hang of it.’
But Slurp was wrong. It wasn’t fun; it would never be fun; it was awful. Hercufleas felt like crying, which is a terrible feeling for fleas especially, because they have no tear ducts.
Inside his egg, life had seemed so simple: hatch, become a hero, go on adventures. But that was impossible now. He didn’t get to go on the quests; he just typed up the forms.
‘What’s wrong, Hercufleas?’ Min said. She smiled. ‘Wait, don’t tell me. I know.’
‘You do?’
‘You’re hungry, aren’t you?’ She shook her head. ‘You hatchlings and your appetites!’
Hercufleas nodded. But he was hungry for adventures, not for blood.
