The Troll Who Cried Wolf

by Rob Harrell

  She motioned for us to follow her up the hill. “You’re here ’cause of Kevin.”

  Still catching my breath, I nodded. “Please tell me you got to him before he did anything stupid.”

  We reached the top of the ridge, where we could see Littlepig Manor in the valley below.

  • 14 •

  SUPER IN TENTS

  Goldie sighed. “It means the little nut job got past us. We had just gotten here when he showed up. He went squealing down that hill and straight in the front door. ‘Wee wee wee’ the whole way. There was no way to stop him.”

  “So what happened?” Chester sounded frantic. “Is he okay?”

  Goldie reached into her side pack and pulled out a canteen, which she handed us to pass around. “No idea. It’s been completely silent since he went in.” She grabbed a pair of binoculars hanging on a tree beside her and handed them to me.

  I focused in on Kevin’s house, which looked eerily quiet in the midday haze. There were maybe a dozen motorcycles parked in the front yard. The only other difference I could see was a big white sheet hanging between two of the upstairs windows. It had a huge paw print painted on it.

  “What’s with the paw?” I asked as I handed the binoculars to Sierra.

  “That’s what this pack calls themselves.”

  Goldie rolled her eyes and started over to a nearby table where two other SQUATists and a knight were looking over a big map. “Seems like The Claw would have instilled more fear, but maybe that’s harder to draw or something.”

  She was showing us on the map how a perimeter had been set up surrounding the house, when Sierra stepped up and set the binoculars down.

  Goldie looked up at her, confused. She glanced at Chester and me and back to Sierra. “Did I miss something?”

  Sierra smiled in a kind of sad, lopsided way. “Kinda. My real name is Sierra Ridinghood.”

  One of Goldie’s eyebrows shot up. She tipped her head sideways for a moment, looking at Sierra through new eyes.

  Just then we heard a tiny electronic engine whining and straining up the hill behind us. We turned around and saw Principal Haggard hunched over the dented little Gnome-Ped from the night before.

  He rolled up beside us and got (awkwardly) off of the ridiculous little bike. As he straightened his shirt and picked a few gnats off of his forehead, he looked up at us sheepishly.

  “Yeah, it’s mine. I won the stupid thing at the Huff n Puff raffle, all right? No judging.”

  * * *

  Goldie invited us into the main tent, along with the lead knight and head SQUATist—Jack Horner (who’d come a long way since his corner-sitting, thumb-plum-eating younger days). What followed was a heated discussion, with Sierra insisting she be allowed to turn herself over—and the rest of us trying to convince her she was out of her flippin’ mind.

  We’d gone back and forth over this about thirty times when SQUATist Horner reached in his pocket and pulled out a Fazzle bar. My first thought, as he tore open the wrapper and took a huge bite, was that it was kind of rude. My second thought was that I hoped his Fazzle didn’t taste like onion and cabbage soup. My third thought was that I had an idea.

  I stood up. “Wait, wait, wait.” Everyone turned. I was pacing now, trying to work this out in my head. My troll brain isn’t used to having big ideas, so it was a bit like blowing Play-Doh through a drinking straw.

  “We all agree that if Sierra goes in, she’ll instantly be Wolf Kibble, right?”

  Everyone nodded.

  I paced a couple more lengths of the tent. “But we need to know what’s happening in there, right? We need someone on the inside?”

  More nods. Jack nodded and spoke through a mouth full of Fazzle. “That’d be great.”

  “So . . .” I was really pushing the limits of troll thinking here. “What if we sent in a wolf?”

  Everyone was looking at me like there was something hanging out of my nose. Goldie just looked confused. “What? Like the Awkward Awful one? What possible good would that do? No way would he work with us.”

  I stopped pacing. “What if the wolf wasn’t really a wolf?”

  • 15 •

  HUNGRY LIKE THE WOLF

  Twenty minutes later, Goldie and I rolled up in front of the school with a very disgruntled wolf in tow. I mean, he wasn’t even slightly gruntled. We lifted him off the back of the cart and forced him down the halls to the science wing.

  It hadn’t taken long for me to convince the group in the tent of my plan. If it worked with soup and a candy bar, it could work with a wolf and a troll, right? Right?

  Everyone agreed that if we were going to do it, I was the only choice. After all, the Interchange Spell didn’t change smells. So my lifelong burden of smelling like a wolf might finally pay off.

  We hoped.

  So we didn’t freak the entire school out, Goldie and I stopped and shoved the protesting wolf into my locker (which still smelled faintly of Stink Dragon—long story) for safekeeping.

  We knocked quickly and walked right into Mr. Jorgenspiel’s fifth-period wizard class—and were shocked when a rather large swan woman—writing her name on the chalkboard—turned around to greet us.

  She explained that this was her first day substituting for Mr. Jorgenspiel, who had gone to Wallen to tend to his aunt who was having surgery for an ingrown toenail. Gross.

  Of all days for him to be gone! My heart sank until I spotted Rebb Glumfort, slumped low at his desk in the back row.

  * * *

  Goldie locked the doors to the cafeteria, flipped off the fluorescents, and pulled the blinds. After wiping some dried juice and a smashed Tater Tot off one of the tables, Goldie and I laid the Awkward Awful Wolf across it and tied him down. Then we turned to an extremely nervous Rebb. “What next?”

  I hadn’t counted on this, but Rebb explained that we both needed to be completely still for the switch to take place. So after getting wrapped up in some rope, I climbed up and tentatively lay down, shoulder to shoulder with the wolf. He’d been locked up in a cell all night with no shower, so he still smelled a bit like spoiled bakery goods.

  The wolf was really irritated, but I think he would have lost his mind if he knew what was coming.

  As Rebb stood up on the bench so he was looking down on us, I started realizing the full magnitude of what we were doing.

  “Rebb, this is temporary. Right?”

  “Should be. Supposed to last eight or ten hours if you do it right.”

  “Are you doing it right?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Will it hurt?”

  “No idea. The Fazzle bar didn’t mention it.”

  Rebb took a last look at his notes before hiking up the back of his wizard robe and stuffing them in his pocket. With a shaking finger, he pushed his Coke-bottle glasses up his nose and took a deep breath.

  As soon as Rebb started waving his wand around, the wolf went nuts. “Wait. What’re you doin’, nerd? Get this Merlin fan boy away from me!!”

  I looked over at Goldie, who gave me a nervous smile. Rebb started mumbling something that sounded like “gunter glieben glauchen globen” or something. When little sparks started floating from the end of his wand, I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath.

  It happened remarkably fast. The first thing I felt was a tugging at my paws and a tingle all over my scalp. Then there was a feeling a little like going over that first big drop on a roller coaster. My heart started beating faster and I was sweating, but I kept my eyes squeezed tight. Finally, it felt like the temperature in the room dropped and there was a sensation like . . . well . . . like I popped. Like a balloon popping. It didn’t really hurt. It just felt . . . weird.

  And then I heard Goldie gasp.

  • 16 •

  CH-CH-CH-CHANGES

  The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the fluorescen
t light directly above me. Then I noticed the snout.

  Imagine suddenly having a foot-long submarine sandwich where your nose used to be. It was disorienting. I turned my head to the side and there, just beyond the snout was . . . me. Zarf. Looking back at me with eyes that were getting wider and wider.

  How can I describe looking over and seeing my own face screaming back at me? How can I describe looking down and seeing big gnarly wolf claws in place of my paws? How can I go on with this story without confusing you to death?

  As soon as I assured her it was me inside the wolf body, Goldie untied me.

  “Are you okay? Did it hurt? How do you feel?”

  I sat up and stretched. I took a second to feel my long muzzle and my ears. I ran a finger along the point of one of my new fangs and was surprised when I almost drew blood. Then I looked up at Goldie and sort of laughed.

  At that point, the wolf caught on to what had happened.

  “I’m a TROLL? SERIOUSLY?? A FILTHY BRIDGE TROLL? Make me something else! Please?”

  Goldie and I thanked Rebb, who was now eyeing me and keeping at least two tables between us. He headed back to class and I spent a few minutes clicking around the cafeteria getting used to my new body. As soon as I could move around without holding the wall, we were back in the cart and headed for Littlepig Manor.

  * * *

  When we got there, the others were suitably impressed, and more than a little nervous around me—despite my constant assurances that it was me. Chester was beside himself with envy and demanded a few selfies. I insisted this wasn’t the time or place, but he wouldn’t shut up ’til I gave in.

  We were heading to the main tent to work out our plan when we heard footsteps in the brush behind us. We all spun around just as my good buddy the prince and his ogre bodyguards (Buddy and the other one) stepped out from behind a mungberry bush.

  The prince was all ticked off. “What is the meaning of trying to set up a defense against these beasts without ME, the bravest warrior in all of the . . . ?” Then Roquefort got one look at me and froze. All color drained from his face and he made a little squeak.

  Before I had a moment to react, both of his ogres were flying through the air at me like airborne dump trucks. They slammed into me hard enough to knock my toenails off, and we went sprawling across the leafy ground into the base of a tree.

  Everyone was yelling at once as Buddy was rearing back for a roundhouse punch. I just barely got my wolf mouth to bark out a few words.

  Buddy paused for just a second. But it was enough. Sierra dashed in, grabbing his huge arm. “It’s okay, Buddy! It’s not a wolf! It’s Zarf.”

  Buddy turned and looked at the prince, who was visibly shaking and looking around the group from face to face. “Whaaa?”

  “It’s true, Your Highness,” Goldie said as she stepped forward—swallowing the word Highness a bit like it pained her to say it. “We had a spell put on him.”

  The prince started over toward me. I went to sit up a bit and he stopped. “That’s Zarf.” He was trying to wrap his tiny little brain around the idea. Buddy slowly lowered his arm.

  I rolled my eyes as I slid over to lean against a tree. “It’s me, Your Slow-on-the-Uptake-ness. Can we move on with this?”

  That convinced him. He walked up to me and sniffed. “Well, isn’t that just . . . disgusting.” He laughed his little hyena laugh.

  “I knew all the time, of course. I was just testing my simpleminded guards here.” Buddy grunted quietly as his eyes met mine and he helped me to my feet.

  * * *

  The plan, when it was revealed, was a bit less than pleasing to the prince.

  “SEND A STUPID TROLL IN?!?” He threw his arms up and started pacing around the map table. Everyone else tried to quiet him down. The last thing we needed was for the wolves to get wind of our next move.

  “Prince Roquefort!” Goldie hissed. “You need to keep your voice down, so . . .”

  “YOU HAVE A PRINCE HERE, AND YOU EXPECT A . . . A COMMON VERMIN TO DO A DELICATE JOB LIKE INFILTRATING THE—”

  Goldie was furious. “Be quiet! You’ll put Zarf and all of the rest of us in serious . . .” She tried to grab the prince by one of his flailing arms, but he squirmed away.

  “WOULD YOU ASK A RAT TO TAKE OUT YOUR APPENDIX IF YOU—”

  Goldie acted so fast, I almost missed it. She grabbed an empty teapot from the center of the table and tossed it at the prince.

  Acting purely on reflex, he caught it—as Goldie reached into her shirt and pulled out Rebb’s wand. (When had she grabbed that?!) She pointed it at the prince and muttered “Gunter glieben glauchen globen.”

  There was a bright flash of light and a pop before the prince dropped unconscious to the ground next to the teapot. We all stood there stunned. After what seemed like an eternity, a small sound came from the end of the teapot’s spout.

  Goldie went over and gently picked up the pot, setting it back on the map. “Sorry, Your Highness, but that had to be done.”

  The teapot shivered and suddenly jerked upright.

  “Wait a second! What have you done to me??” The spout curled down and felt the bowl part of the pot, like a little elephant trunk.

  “I’m . . . wait a second . . . I’m . . .”

  He was still yelling, but it was so much quieter and sort of tinny—like it was coming from a tiny little speaker. I looked over at Sierra, who had both of her hands over her mouth. I was thinking she was upset until she finally broke and barked out a loud, relieved laugh.

  Goldie looked around sheepishly at all of us. “It was all I could think of. He was putting us all in danger.” She smiled nervously at the prince’s bodyguards.

  Buddy looked down at the teapot, now furiously hopping around the table, before shrugging his shoulders.

  I stared at Goldie with my mouth hanging open (again). “How did you do that spell? I thought only magically inclined people could—”

  Goldie cut me off. “I have no clue, Zarf. I just heard Rebb do it before and thought it was worth a shot.”

  I gave her a suspicious look and she just chuckled, patted me on the back, and walked away. “Honestly, Zarf. No idea.”

  * * *

  It was decided I’d go in at dusk. Jack Horner wired a small microphone into the fur of my wrist so they could hear what was happening in the house. They gave me a tiny earphone that fit way down inside my ear so I could hear them as well. Finally, we all fell quiet as we waited for the dark—all except for the prince, but Goldie had thrown a blanket over him to muffle him even further.

  We were watching as a couple of lights came on in the mansion.

  “You betcha.” I was trying to breathe slowly and keep myself calm, but it wasn’t working. Because, you know . . . wolves.

  When it was time, here’s how we did it. On the count of three, I shot out of the woods and took off down the hill like I was being chased. The SQUAT team, hidden in the trees, started yelling and making all kinds of noise as I went screaming down the hill.

  Goldie and the others let loose with a few carefully aimed arrows to make it look like they were close on my heels. As I heard a couple of them whizz past my head, I didn’t have to fake my panic. “OPEN UP!! INCOMING!!!”

  When I was maybe twenty feet from the front door, it swung open. A couple of arrows thunked into the side of the house as I crossed the last few feet and dove into the house.

  The enormous door slammed shut behind me and I was in.

  For better or worse, I was in.

  • 17 •

  DEN OF THIEVES

  Lying on my back, an expensive Oriental rug bunched up underneath me, I slowly opened my eyes. Three of my worst nightmares were staring down at me—all glistening teeth and curled claws.

  One reached out and held a huge paw in front of me. “We thought you was dead, Awful!” I grabbed the pa
w and was helped up.

  I glanced around at the group quickly. In a stroke of luck, each of them was wearing a battered leather jacket with their names stitched above the chest pockets—Horrible Hideous, Dangerous Deadly, and Sinister Sneaky. I wondered for a split second which one had done their embroidery.

  I swallowed hard and forced a chuckle. Then I tried to mimick that high-pitched, nasal voice of Awkward’s. “Shoooot. You kiddin’ me? I was jus’ toyin’ with ’em. Bidin’ my time ta git away.”

  “Yeah, right!” Horrible Hideous let out an awful laugh and slapped me on the back so hard I almost swallowed my tongue. He put a big arm around me and led me into the Littlepigs’ home like he owned the place.

  The tour was a short one. He showed me the guard posts—one watching out the front window, the other out the back window.

  We swung by the dining room, where he pulled a leather jacket off the chair. As he helped me slip into it, I saw the name Awkward Awful stitched on the front. I’ll admit that in spite of being completely terrified, I stopped for a moment to notice how cool that jacket was. It was like someone had captured coolness in its raw form and made a coat out of it.