Dr. Critchlore's School for Minions

by Sheila Grau

  “I was trying to make myself morph.”

  “Into what? A chew toy?”

  “No, into a werewolf,” I said. “Jake, do you think I’m not a werewolf?”

  Jake sat back and sighed. “Yes, Higgins,” he said. “I think you are not a werewolf. Don’t tell Cook I told you. She said if anyone told you, she’d make him miserable for the rest of his life.”

  “But I remember being with wolves,” I said. “I remember a momma wolf and a daddy wolf and brothers and sisters.”

  Jake shrugged. “I’m sorry, Higgins. You’re the nicest kid here, but you’re not a werewolf. And that’s a good thing. If you were a werewolf, you wouldn’t be you.”

  “Huh?”

  He shrugged again.

  I closed my eyes. How could my not being a werewolf be a good thing? All my life I’d had a certain confidence that came from believing I was a powerful beast. But I wasn’t. I was nothing but a scrawny human.

  But that wasn’t the worst of it. If I hadn’t been left by the pack, then who left me here? Who hadn’t wanted me?

  I felt small. And weak. And hopeless and depressed.

  “You need to get to the infirmary,” Jake said. “You’ve got a concussion. Mrs. Gomes has new rules regarding concussions, you know.” He looked off into the distance. I think he’d had his share of concussions himself. He scratched his head with a burn-scarred hand. “What was I saying?”

  “That I’d better run along, or I’ll be late for class,” I said.

  He smiled at me and helped me up. I handed him the ice pack.

  “You need to get to the infirmary,” he said. “You’ve got a concussion. Mrs. Gomes has new rules regarding concussions.”

  “I know,” I said. “Thanks, Jake.”

  I left.

  My head hurt, but I decided to put off going to the infirmary. I was due at my first-period assignment with Mistress Moira, but I decided to skip that too. What did it matter? Did anything matter anymore? Being a great minion? Being a junior henchman? There was no werewolf family to be proud of me. I wasn’t a litter runt lovingly left where someone would take care of me. I was just another unwanted human. I was nothing, and nobody would want me. Ever.

  I trudged back toward the castle. When I passed the aviary, I detoured inside.

  An untrained minion is as useful as a pet rock. The nonexplosive kind.

  —DR. CRITCHLORE

  The aviary consisted of a hatchery building nestled inside a net-covered area as big as a small village. The net stretched to one side of Mount Curiosity. Hundred-meter-tall supports held the net up on the other side. When you were inside it didn’t feel “inside” at all.

  There was a pond for the waterfowl, lots of trees for nests, and a “practice swarm” arena for drills. I liked to climb partway up the side of Mount Curiosity and sit on a boulder that looked out over the entire space. It was a good thinking spot. I hoped it would be a good sulking spot. My dreams had been crushed; the world as I knew it had just disappeared, like it was swallowed up by a sinkhole.

  I sat down and crossed my weak little human legs, resting my stupid human head on spindly little human hands.

  What could I do now that my very reason to live was gone?

  Sure, I could still be a minion—a human minion. There were always a few humans in every graduating class, but they were pitied because they were so lame. Not one evil overlord had shown interest in my foster brother, Pierre, which was why he worked in the kitchen. I guess that was my future.

  “ ’Sup, Higgins.” I turned and saw a gray parrot sitting on the rock beside me.

  “Hi, Kibwe,” I said. “I’m not a werewolf.”

  Kibwe stretched out a wing and patted me on the back. He had always been my favorite. Master Ping told me it was Kibwe who’d found me when I’d been left outside the school’s south entrance.

  “Two princes,” Kibwe said. He always said that when he saw me.

  “Yeah, two princes. That’s us.”

  “Squawk. Two princes. You don’t need two princes.”

  The Critchlore parrots were funny. Sometimes they spoke like they understood you; other times it just seemed like they repeated random phrases they’d heard.

  “Want a cookie?” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a half-broken one. Kibwe gobbled it up.

  “Werewolves overrated,” Kibwe squawked. Then he flew off.

  A flock of white doves flew in formation, heading right for me. They swirled around me. I wondered if this was a new attack formation. I stood up and they continued to swirl, round and round. Then they all landed on my rock, and when they did, I saw Mistress Moira, her robe as white as the doves, walking up the path to where I was.

  “I thought you might be here,” she said. “Thank you for finding him, my friends,” she added, to the birds.

  She motioned for me to sit back down, then joined me. “What’s happened? Your aura has had a major disruption.”

  “I’m not a werewolf,” I said. And then I started crying. Moira held out her arms and wrapped me in a hug.

  “There, there, child. You can’t get upset about what you’re not.” She rubbed my back. “I always wanted to be a nightclub singer, but, alas, I’m tone-deaf.”

  I pulled back and looked at her.

  “You have to love the you that you are,” she said. “Now, tell me what happened.”

  “Yesterday, at dinner, Pismo told me I’m not a werewolf, and that everybody knew it but me.”

  “What a beast,” Moira said, shaking her head.

  “At first I thought he was just trying to hurt me, because I’d ratted him out to Mrs. Gomes.”

  “Ratted him out?” She reached into a pocket, pulled out a handful of seeds, and threw them to the doves.

  “He’s done a lot of suspicious things since he came here, almost all of them at the same time as the sabotage. He ran for the cemetery just before it exploded. He ditched me in the dungeon right before the carnivorous cockroaches got loose. I think he had something to do with the explosive minions, because he was shooing them back to the castle. And then I found out he’d been expelled from the Pravus Academy. But what if he hadn’t been expelled? What if he’s an undercover double agent?”

  “I see.”

  “Well, I told Mrs. Gomes about him, and she must’ve told him I told, because he was really angry. I figured that’s why he said that mean thing to me. But I just had to know, so this morning I tried to make myself change, and I couldn’t. I’m not a werewolf. I know that now. I’m nothing but a weak little runty human boy.”

  “Hold on, now,” she said. “Just because you are not a werewolf, that doesn’t mean you’re weak. Strength doesn’t come from size, or mystical animal powers.”

  “Where does it come from?”

  “Muscles,” she said. Then she laughed. I must have looked miserable because she added, “I’m just joking, Higgins. Never lose your sense of humor, no matter how low you feel.”

  She tapped my chest. “Strength comes from in there. And you are the same in there that you’ve always been. The only thing that’s changed is up here.” She tapped my head.

  “I don’t belong here,” I said. It was weird saying out loud something I hadn’t even dared to admit to myself. If I didn’t belong here, where did I belong? Where did you go when nobody wanted you? “I’ll never be a junior henchman, who was I kidding?”

  “Why did you want to be a junior henchman?”

  “I thought it would help me find my family,” I said.

  “You wanted to be a junior henchman to find your family,” Moira repeated. “But your family is right here.”

  “What?”

  “Family isn’t always based on biology,” she said. “You have Cook, who loves you like a son. As does the rest of the kitchen staff. You have Tootles and Riga and Syke. And you have me.”

  A little piece of my puny human heart melted, and I hugged her.

  “And you belong here as much as anybody. Why, look what you’v
e done these past few days. You saved Dr. Critchlore on the mountain; you saved the castle from the explosive minions.”

  “You know about that?”

  “I know a lot more about what’s going on than most people. And besides, you told me.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “And now I’m telling you—go on doing the best that you can do, and everything will work out fine.”

  I stood, buoyed up by the frustration I was feeling. “But I don’t know what to do!” I started pacing. “I’m pretty sure there’s going to be more sabotage, but Mrs. Gomes doesn’t believe me. She doesn’t even think there’s a saboteur. On my way here I saw her arguing with Tootles about the danger of high magnetic fields caused by the power lines. Normally, I wouldn’t worry, because Dr. Critchlore controls her crazier notions. But he’s not in control right now. He’s completely out of it. If only I could find some hard evidence—”

  “So find out,” Mistress Moira said, tossing more seeds. “You’re smart, you can do it.”

  “But I’m only human.”

  “And I’m just a crazy old lady,” she said. “But that didn’t stop me from winning this year’s motocross competition. Over-forty division.”

  I thought about that. Maybe I could do this. I just needed proof that I could take to Mrs. Gomes, so she would refocus her troops on something other than the small possibility of magnetic radiation leaking into the atmosphere.

  “Is it true you’ve made some ESP chocolates?” I asked.

  “Oh yes,” she said. “But they have a nasty side effect. Have you seen Drangulus?”

  “Yes. You mean the boils on his face?”

  “That’s just acne, poor fellow. No, the side effect is incontinence.”

  “Incontinence?”

  “No control of your bladder.”

  “That’s not good.”

  I really wanted to read Pismo’s mind. I could find out his next target, and then I could stop him—I knew I could. I would just have to forget about the fact that I wasn’t a werewolf.

  Of course, I didn’t want to pee on myself, but it was a small price to pay if it meant I could save the school. That would be a pretty good accomplishment for a runty human.

  “Could I try some anyway?” I asked.

  In times of peace, minions make good sandwiches.

  —AN ADVERTISEMENT FOR DR. CRITCHLORE’S MINIONS

  Mistress Moira said not to eat the chocolate on an empty stomach, so I put them on my tray as I went through the lunch line. I spotted Darthin already at our table. He looked pale and the new bumpy hump he’d added had fallen down to the middle of his back, making him look like a turtle. I must have been distracted, wondering what had happened to him, because when I looked down at my tray, the chocolates were gone.

  Dog whistles! It was the imps, probably. Those chocolates were my only hope. How was I going to find out what Pismo was up to?

  I trudged over to the table, feeling terrible, but Darthin looked worse.

  “Darthin,” I asked, “what’s wrong?”

  “I … I think I overheard something I wasn’t supposed to.”

  “What?”

  “I went to Frankenhammer’s lab.” He sat up straighter, shifting his hump back up. “When I got there, he wasn’t alone. I didn’t want to intrude, so I waited outside.”

  “Who was with him?”

  “I don’t know!” Darthin threw up his hands. He wasn’t used to not knowing things. “When the stranger came out of the room, I pretended like I was just arriving. He scowled at me, but I’m sure I’ve never seen him here before.”

  “What were they talking about?”

  “PX-993.”

  “PX-993?”

  Darthin leaned forward, his chin almost touching the top of the table. He whispered, “Dr. Frankenhammer’s secret experiment.”

  “I thought they were destroyed.”

  Darthin shook his head. “He was able to thaw a few of them,” he whispered. “And I’m pretty sure he gave a prototype to that man. He said, ‘Nobody must know where you got this. Take it to your boss. Tell him about me.’ I think he’s finally had it with Critchlore stealing his ideas.”

  “Wow. What did the guy look like?”

  “Tall, muscular, pale complexion, short brown hair neatly parted on the side, brown eyes, goatee, scar through one eyelid, expensive-looking suit, pinkie ring with a green stone,” he said. “That’s all I’ve got.”

  Three bells chimed, alerting us to an incoming announcement. The screen at the end of the room lit up, but instead of Dr. Critchlore’s face, we saw Professor Vodum, wearing a business suit, not a lab coat.

  “Good day, students and faculty,” he said. “I’m speaking to you on behalf of Dr. Critchlore, who is unable to perform his duties as headmaster at this time. The board of directors has given me leave to direct today’s festivities.”

  The teachers came out of their soundproof room. They wore various expressions of surprise on their faces. A wave of murmuring washed through the cafeteria. Everyone quieted when Professor Vodum spoke again. “School spirit has hit a new low, much like our stock price.” He smiled at his joke. “Well, I’m going to change that. Today, I am directing everyone to Mount Curiosity, where we shall enjoy a feast while watching the final test that will determine which of our fine third-year students shall enter our prestigious Junior Henchman Training Program. There will be a raffle for some incredible prizes, including a grand prize of unprecedented wonderfulness—unlimited use of Puddles the dragon for all home visits for a year! Imagine how impressed your friends and family will be!”

  A huge cheer exploded in the room. That was unprecedented, all right. Having Puddles meant total freedom. You could go anywhere, do anything. You might get burned to a crisp, but still. What an incredible prize.

  “See you this afternoon!” he concluded.

  Once again, the image faded before the microphone was turned off, and we heard Professor Vodum say, “That was very leaderly, wouldn’t you say? I knew I had a knack for this. It’s not fair I haven’t been allowed to lead. I’m a leader. I aaaammmmm.”

  Everyone started talking excitedly. The only people who didn’t look happy were the other junior henchman trainees like me, the ones who knew they had no chance to win a spot in the Junior Henchman Training Program. Now we would be missing out on the fun and prizes while we competed.

  Actually, most of the teachers looked concerned. “Outrageous.” “Who in their right mind would pick Vodum to take over?” And “This is it, then.”

  Someone else didn’t look happy. Pismo. I saw him across the room. He stood still, looking from one face to another. Confusion, hurt, and anger all played out on his face.

  The ESP chocolates! He must have eaten them. And now he was getting some unfiltered audio of what people were thinking about him. Oh, that couldn’t be good.

  One should never, ever eat a minion.

  —DR. CRITCHLORE IN A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT, EXPLAINING HOW HIS LAST ADVERTISEMENT MIGHT HAVE BEEN MISINTERPRETED

  I had to do something. I rushed over to Pismo, thinking, You idiot, you took my ESP chocolates.

  His gaze shot over to me. “They hate me,” he said. “Everyone hates me.”

  I put a hand on his shoulder and tried not to think, Well, you are obnoxious.

  “I’m obnoxious?” he said. “No I’m not! I’m cute and funny.”

  “Laughing at other people doesn’t make you funny. It’s mean, Pismo. Your pranks are mean. People won’t like you unless you treat them nice.”

  He pushed me aside. “You can all just go down with your stupid school!”

  I stood there watching his back as he ran out of the cafeteria. What did he mean we could go down with our school? Was the school going down? Was his next sabotage going to be something huge?

  I went back to my table, hoping my friends could help me figure out what he was planning.

  “Hey, guys. Suppose that all the accidents we’ve had here—from the ‘Epic
Minion Fail’ to the attempt to destroy the Top Secret Book of Minions—were deliberate acts of sabotage. What do you think would be the next target?” I asked.

  “The Dormitory for Minions of Impressive Size,” Eloni said, flexing a bicep. “They’re the only minions that really count.” Boris nodded.

  I shook my head. How could they be so biased?

  “No, that’s not the pattern,” Darthin said.

  “Darthin’s right,” I said. “The accidents all hit one of the school’s minion supplies, not the minions who are already here. The cemetery, the labs, the book,” I recounted. “That leaves just one type of minion generator that hasn’t been targeted.”

  “The aviary,” Darthin, Frankie, and I said at the same time that Eloni said, “The ogre village.”

  “Or the aviary,” Eloni added.

  “And there’s always been a distraction before the destruction,” I said.

  “That party seems like it would be a pretty big distraction,” Darthin said.

  “Everyone will be there,” Frankie added.

  “That’s right,” I said. “Pismo is going to strike while everyone is on top of Mount Curiosity after school today.”

  “I think you’re right,” Darthin said. “What should we do?”

  The bell rang for next period and everyone stood to leave.

  “I’ll talk to Critchlore,” I said. “I can probably find him before Dance class.” Maybe Professor Vodum’s announcement had knocked some sense into him.

  It wasn’t hard to find Dr. Critchlore. As I ran into the castle foyer, there he was, his face purple, screaming at Professor Vodum, who was looking more cowardly than leaderly. Professor Vodum had his hands up, like a cornered animal expecting an attack. I couldn’t blame him—Dr. Critchlore looked like he was about to hit him.

  “Who gave you the right?” Dr. Critchlore screamed. “I’m in charge here. You can’t make decisions without me!”

  “I cleared it with the board of directors,” Professor Vodum said. “They agreed with me.”