Dr. Critchlore's School for Minions

by Sheila Grau

  At the bottom I pulled out my DPS, because I wasn’t too familiar with this end of the dungeon. We were close to the cemetery, and I just didn’t know what we’d run into in this unused section. I checked for the fastest route to the lab, put the DPS back into my pocket, and led the way. We walked down an unfinished corridor, the dirt floor lumpy with rocks.

  Motion detector lights switched on when we walked past the sensors, then shut off after we’d gone by. We traveled in our own little moving tunnel of light. These automatic lights were so much better than the torches that used to line the dungeon’s corridors. The torches filled the hallways with smoke and creepy shadows. Plus they went out at very inconvenient times.

  “Can I look at your DPS?” Pismo asked, pointing to my pocket.

  “No. Just follow me.”

  “C’mon, let me have a look,” he said. “It’s so unfair that first-years don’t get their own.”

  “You have to learn the rules first,” I said. “Which means you’ll probably get yours in six or seven years.”

  “I hate this school,” he said. “The Pravus Academy gives each new student a DPS, a pet, and your very own minilab. I bet the students are a lot nicer too.”

  “Oh, fine,” I said, handing over my DPS. “But you don’t know what you’re talking about. This is a great school.”

  We walked on. Pismo flashed through different screen shots as we went. “Cool, there’s an underground grotto here.”

  “You do not want to go there,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “Two words: flesh-eating fish monster.”

  “That’s four words.”

  “Yeah, but the first two are the only ones that matter.”

  He shrugged. “Why do you love this school so much?”

  “Why do I love this school?” I repeated. “Where to start? I love everything about it. I love the teachers and the subjects we get to learn. Have you had your Battlefield Implements class yet?”

  “No.”

  “It’s amazing. Professor Portry lets you reenact famous minion battles, using the actual weapons! Plus I love the way the castle looks, so old and Gothic. How it’s filled with secret passages and mysterious rooms. I love the sports teams, the extracurricular stuff, and the dorms.” I went on and on and on, and Pismo listened quietly.

  Too quietly.

  I turned around and he was gone.

  “Pismo?”

  I ran back the way we’d come, looking down side passages, but he had disappeared. I felt a moment of panic—what if he got lost down here?

  Then I remembered that he had my DPS and I felt better.

  Until I realized that he’d stolen my DPS and ditched me.

  Aw, shih tzu puppies.

  I made it to Dr. Frankenhammer’s lab, but it was locked. I rang the buzzer and soon heard the click of the door unlocking.

  “Dr. Frankenhammer?” I said after stepping inside. “Why is your door locked?”

  “Professor Vodum was just here,” he said from across the room. He was studying something through his microscope and didn’t look up. “The worm. He thinkssss I had something to do with the explosion in the cemetery.” Frankenhammer shook his head. “Thinkssss I have it in for him, because he’s a Critchlore by marriage. Please. I don’t need to sabotage his work to prove he’s uselessss. He does an excellent job on his own.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Um. I was wondering if I could get some brains.”

  “Help yourself,” he said, looking up briefly to point to the refrigerator. “I may be running low, though. Vodum ruined some in a fit of petulance.”

  “He farted?”

  “Not flatulence, Higginssss,” Dr. Frankenhammer said. “Petulance. He’s a big baby.”

  I walked over to the stainless steel refrigerator and opened it. There were four good brains left, and a few Tupperware containers labeled “Brain Bits.”

  “Should I take a brain, or the bits?”

  “Leave the bitssss,” he said. “They’re for something I’m working on. Which reminds me—” He stood up and came toward me, scalpel in hand. “I need some fingernails for something I’m working on. Would you mind?”

  I looked at his hand. One of his fingers was wrapped in a bandage, blood leaking from the sides. I quickly grabbed a brain and wrapped it in a paper towel, but as I turned to leave, Dr. Frankenhammer’s hand clamped on my wrist. He smiled. “It only hurts for a minute.”

  And then the alarm sounded.

  An investment in minions is an investment in security.

  —DR. CRITCHLORE’S SCHOOL FOR MINIONS BROCHURE

  A mechanical voice came on over the loudspeaker. “Unidentified chemical detected in the Research Zone. Commencing lockdown. Repeat. Unidentified chemical detected in the Research Zone. Commencing lockdown.”

  I heard steel doors slam shut, sealing off this quadrant of the dungeon. Dr. Frankenhammer was the picture of panic—he raced around the lab, locking things into airtight stainless steel containers. I reached for my medallion, but my hand only clasped empty space.

  “Higginssss!” Dr. Frankenhammer yelled over the sound of the bell. “Those specimens need to be secured from contamination! Help me.”

  I raced over to his workbench, where petri dishes were arranged in three long rows. Dr. Frankenhammer was slapping lids on top of them, so I did the same.

  They were filled with a brownish-gray goop, the color you get when you mix too many paints together. As I lowered one lid, tiny hands reached out of the goop and pushed the top off. I pushed it back on, struggling against those strong hands, and managed to turn the top closed.

  “What are these?”

  “Top ssssecret,” Dr. Frankenhammer said. “I’m going to need to erase your memory when we’re done.”

  An explosion shook the floor. “Stay here, Higginssss! Guard those petri dishes. I have to save another experiment next door.”

  He raced out. Just as I finished putting lids on the dishes, I heard a thump in the wall. I turned and saw the ventilation grate burst open, pushed by a huge mass of swarming insects. They looked like giant cockroaches, each one as big as a rat.

  I don’t like bugs. They give me the creeps. I once promised to do Frankie’s dragon cleanup duty if he’d get rid of an earwig for me.

  A waterfall of cockroaches plunged into the room and I stood there, frozen. Maybe if I had run for the door as soon as they came through the vent, I might have made it out safely, but once the insects hit the floor, they quickly swarmed the room, blocking my way to the exit. I was an island in a sea of cockroaches. I jumped up on the nearest table and looked for a weapon.

  “Dr. Frankenhammer!” I screamed.

  The cockroaches zipped past me, making a strange clicking noise. They weren’t coming after me. They were going for the petri dishes.

  “Dr. Frankenhammer!”

  They climbed up the legs of the table and headed for the dishes. I watched as they shattered the glass containers and slurped up the contents. They were eating Dr. Frankenhammer’s top-secret project.

  I ran to the opposite side of the table and grabbed a couple of petri dishes, trying not to look down because they creeped me out. I searched for a safe place to put them and decided on the stainless steel freezer, because it was close. I ran back to the table and made a stack of five more. The cockroaches continued to crack through the glass tops. They slurped and chewed and seemed to grow with each gulp.

  I grabbed another stack, working as fast as I could. The cockroaches headed for me, coming from the other end. I stacked, ran to the freezer, unloaded, and ran back. I felt a hot pinch on my foot. A cockroach had eaten through my shoe and was going after my big toe like it was a T-bone steak. I kicked my foot, but it held on tight. I screamed and tugged it off with my fingers and flung it across the room. I practically convulsed with shivers.

  I managed to save about twenty dishes before the bugs destroyed the rest. And then I grabbed a microscope and squashed the bugs with the heavy end. They wer
e slow and fat from gorging on Dr. Frankenhammer’s experiment, and they burst when I crushed them, spraying bug guts and digested experiment everywhere. I was freaking out, it was so disgusting, but I had to save the lab. I squashed with a fury I’d never known. I was a beast.

  And then everything was quiet. No more clicking bugs, just me, breathing hard, standing in a soup of guts. Where was Dr. Frankenhammer?

  I ran into the hallway. Heavy pounding echoed through the passageway, coming from the other lab. I heard Dr. Frankenhammer yelling for help. His door had been sealed from the outside.

  “Dr. Frankenhammer? Are you okay?”

  “Higginssss, open the door,” he said. “The code is 4-5-6-2-7-9-3-8-7-1-0-0-9-5-4-2-8-1-3.”

  I entered the code after he recited it back a few times, but nothing happened.

  “Drat! You need to find Bloggo, the dungeon superintendent.”

  “I can’t,” I said. “This section is still locked down.”

  “Use your DPS to call him.”

  I reached for my pocket, and then I remembered. “I haven’t got it.”

  “Higginssss! You are always supposed to have it.”

  “I lent it to a first-year,” I said. “Oh no, what if he’s trapped in here with the gas?”

  “My sensorssss are not detecting any gassss,” Dr. Frankenhammer said. “I have to get out of here. Higginssss, go back to my lab. Use my computer to notify Dungeon Base that we’re clear of gas and need help. Tell them to send Ssssecurity.”

  I ran back to the lab and over to Dr. Frankenhammer’s computer, which was password protected, so I had to run back to get the password, which was “monstermaker457.”

  “Remind me to erase your memory,” Dr. Frankenhammer mumbled through the door. (But I forgot to remind him and he forgot to erase my memory, which was a good thing, because if he had, I’d never have known why my foot was bleeding and I was covered in cockroach splat … Okay, maybe that wasn’t something I needed to remember. To this day I still can’t look at a cockroach without feeling nauseated.)

  Dungeon Security finally arrived and released Dr. Frankenhammer. I told them everything as we followed him into his lab. The pain of his loss bent him over and seemed to crush him.

  “Carnivorous cockroachessss,” he said, stepping around the goop. “We haven’t had an infestation in years. How did they get in?”

  I pointed to the ventilation grate. Then I opened the freezer and saw that some of the petri dish experiments were shivering with cold. I pulled them out.

  “I didn’t know where else to put them,” I said. “Those bugs were so fast.”

  Dr. Frankenhammer walked over with his arms outstretched, a blank expression on his face. He looked like a zombie. “Higginssss,” he whispered. He took the dishes from me. “Oh, Higginssss, why the freezer? There’s a storage locker right there.” He pointed under the table at a very secure-looking row of lockers with metal handles. “They’re destroyed,” he said. “All my work. Destroyed.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  His expression turned fierce as he placed a dish down on the table. “Vodum,” he said. “I saw the way he looked at me when I joked about him losing his minions—it was the look of a man bent on revenge. I should know; I invented that look! And now I’ve lost my minions. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”

  “But why would he do something that hurts the school?” I asked.

  “Oh, Higginssss, don’t be naive,” he said. “The man is pure ambition. He’ll destroy anything to get his revenge.” He paused, then added, “And you know what? So will I.”

  “Oh no,” I said. I couldn’t believe it.

  “Oh yesssss,” Dr. Frankenhammer said. He picked up his dish and took off the lid, prodding the little thing inside with a finger. “I was going to name her Francine.”

  I tiptoed back toward the door, feeling terrible. I’d killed Francine.

  As I neared the door, Mrs. Gomes strode into the room, followed by two of her security detail, black-clad men with stern faces. Margaret, her harried assistant, followed, carrying two bulging satchels and a notepad. Mrs. Gomes took one look at the scene and motioned for Margaret to take pictures.

  Mrs. Gomes had been hired last year after the previous head of security, Mr. Rupplehowzer, retired. The school Employee Selection Committee had narrowed the replacement options down to two candidates: Mrs. Gomes and Captain Yardley. Mrs. Gomes was a petite woman, the mother of six, with a degree in investigative journalism. Captain Yardley was a retired military commander with a long résumé of leadership and private investigative work.

  Dr. Critchlore hadn’t hesitated. “I want Mrs. Gomes,” he’d said. When asked why, he’d answered, “Because she’s a mother. When I was growing up, my mother could imagine the most horrendously wicked things happening to me in any situation. If I wanted to go to the store, she’d say, ‘You could be hit by a car, or kidnapped, or a tile could fall off the building and strike you in the head—don’t forget to look up occasionally. Or there could be a stampede of animals, or the shop workers may go on strike and attack anyone who crosses their picket line. And it might be chilly, so put on a sweater.’

  “If I wanted to play in my backyard, she’d say, ‘Don’t eat any plants, they could be poisonous. Watch out for wild animals, they may smell you and jump over our fence to get you, or mole people may dig up a hole next to your sandbox and abduct you. And it might be chilly, so put on a sweater.’

  “The things she could imagine, it was incredible. And that’s the kind of thinking I want in my head of security. Someone who can imagine every possible disaster. I need a mom.”

  Mrs. Gomes wore a crisp blue suit with a cream-colored shirt. A badge that granted her access everywhere hung from a chain around her neck. She had poufed, highlighted brown hair that never moved, like a helmet. And she had the no-nonsense demeanor of a drill sergeant. She strode right up to Dr. Frankenhammer.

  “Frankenhammer, what happened?” she asked, getting right to the point.

  “We had an alarm for a chemical leak, the section was locked down, and I secured the petri dishes here and went to my other lab, leaving Higginssss behind to guard my work.” He glared at me. Apparently, I’d failed.

  “Higgins?” Mrs. Gomes asked.

  I told her my story.

  “Carnivorous cockroaches,” Mrs. Gomes muttered as she checked out the vent.

  Without turning around, she began barking out orders to her men. “Walthrop, I want you to make sure all dungeon vents are properly sealed. Iron bar reinforcements should do the trick. Adams, Tootles has experience with bug infestations, see if he can root out their nest. And let’s add extra-strength bug spray to our safety stations.”

  She pointed to the wall where some canisters were mounted below Mrs. Gomes’s very own safety symbol—two intertwined, giant blue Ss on a yellow diamond trimmed with a green border. Dr. Frankenhammer’s safety station already held a fire extinguisher, a first aid kit, a disposable respirator, a flashlight, and fluorescent green tape to mark accidents. Mrs. Gomes had installed the safety stations all over the school. The ones outside had sunscreen dispensers and an emergency sweater supply.

  Dr. Frankenhammer pinched the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed. “Aren’t you overlooking the obvioussss?”

  “And what’s that, Dr. Frankenhammer?” Mrs. Gomes didn’t look up as she continued to scribble notes into her notebook.

  “Intentional sabotage.”

  “That will be considered during our investigation, of course. First, I have to make sure we are safe. Then, we need to make sure this doesn’t happen again. Safety first, prevention second, investigation third. Now, then, Higgins,” she said. “You said you were bitten on your toe?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I replied.

  “Tell me, when was your last tetanus shot?”

  Dr. Frankenhammer threw up his arms and stormed out of the room. “Vodum’s not getting away with this.”

  In the future, any student ca
ught riding a dragon without a helmet will get detention.

  —ALL-POINTS SAFETY BULLETIN NO. 47, FROM MRS. GOMES

  Because of the lockdown, the investigation, and having to go to the infirmary for a tetanus shot, I was late for my next class, which meant I got my third tardy, which meant I got detention for the second day in a row.

  “Hi, Mr. Griphold,” I said, taking my seat. He shook his head sadly. Hector was back, sitting next to Melissa, a seventh-year shape-shifter.

  “What’d you do?” I asked her.

  “Uniform violation,” she said.

  Hector leaned over. “She went to class in her old Girl Explorers uniform, just to mess with the ogre-men. It was hilarious.”

  She smiled. “So worth it.”

  “They looked like they wanted to rip you apart,” Hector said.

  “Let ’em try,” she said, and then she shifted into an eagle.

  “Hey, Runt,” Pismo said, sneaking up behind me. “You’re some kind of misbehaving delinquent, aren’t you?”

  Surprise, surprise. Pismo was back. I ignored him.

  “What’cha in for?” he asked.

  “Three tardies,” I said.

  “Borrrring,” he said.

  “You?”

  “That Tootles guy caught me cutting a hole in his hedge maze. I was trying to make a secret exit. You know, just in case some upperclassmen chased me in there. What kind of a name is ‘Tootles’?”

  “It’s short for Tootlevexlinovous.”

  “Dang.”

  “Can I have my DPS back?” I asked.

  “Yeah, about that …” He smiled a fake smile. A guilty smile. A smile that said, “Don’t be mad at me, but—”

  “What?”

  “I ran into one of those Festering Boil Spitters, so I threw the DPS at it and ran away. Sorry.” He shrugged. “But you can get another one, right?”

  “No!”

  “Well, you don’t need it anyway; you said so yourself yesterday.”

  “I could have used it today, when the dungeon was locked down because of a chemical spill. I could have called for help.”

  “Bummer.”

  “All right, boys,” Mr. Griphold said as he followed the last detainee in. It was Drangulus, the fourth-year lizard-boy, again. “Assignment time. I need two of you—”