Polar Distress

by Sheila Grau

  Wexmir Smarvy rose from his seat, towering over the worker. He grabbed the poor guy and threw him over the table and onto the floor. Two workers ran out to drag him away. Smarvy sat down as if nothing had happened.

  “Dr. Pravus,” he read, “you are accused of sabotaging other minion schools for the purpose of driving up demand for your own minions. This is a serious breach of the Minion School Directives, and if found guilty . . . well, you know the punishment.”

  “I do.”

  Dr. Critchlore’s voice chimed in over the video feed, “School license revoked, public shaming, and then banishment to Skelterdam. Yes!”

  “We have written testimony from five schools detailing the sabotage they’ve experienced,” Smarvy continued, “and also the evidence that you were behind it.”

  “Of course they blame me,” Dr. Pravus said. “I am the superior trainer of minions, so naturally they will use any excuse to bring me down. I expect that. But please don’t act like I’m not a victim too.”

  This was met by a few sideways looks by the EOs.

  “You have been sabotaged?” Fraze Coldheart asked.

  “I have.” Dr. Pravus turned and sniffed, his body shaking with sobs. He held up a hand to ask for a moment to compose himself. “Yesterday . . .” His voice squeaked. He cleared his throat and continued. “Yesterday, my giant gorilla enclosure was destroyed when a sinkhole opened up beneath it. Every one of my . . . my . . .” He shook his head, sadness turning to anger. “It was sabotage!”

  It felt like the breath had been sucked out of the room, both here in the cafeteria and among the evil overlords. Dr. Pravus’s giant gorillas, the most terrifying beasts on the Porvian Continent, were gone?

  “And I know who did it,” Dr. Pravus said.

  I looked at Darthin, who looked at Frankie, who looked at Eloni, who looked at Boris, who looked confused.

  “Critchlore?” Eloni asked.

  “No, not Critchlore,” I said. “Sabotage is one thing. But this—Someone murdered those gorillas.”

  After the shock had passed, Fraze Coldheart asked, “Who? And why?”

  Dr. Pravus frowned at him, which I thought was very bold.

  “Pravus sure hates Coldheart,” Eloni said, echoing my thoughts. “I wonder why.”

  “Maybe Fraze Coldheart stole Pravus’s dessert,” Boris said, with a hard scowl at Eloni. Eloni got up to get another dessert for Boris.

  On the screen, Pravus turned to Wexmir Smarvy as if he had asked the question.

  “Everyone knows my giant gorillas are the most dangerous beasts on the Porvian Continent,” Dr. Pravus said. “Despite that ridiculous rumor about their falling in love too easily. Please. One untrained teenager shouldn’t be taken as representative of the group. They are strong and intelligent. Unstoppable!

  “And so a rival of mine—I’m not naming names, but a man so desperate to reach my level that he’d do anything to bring me down, Dr. Critch—um . . . someone applied a rock-dissolving substance to the ground below, and pffft! Now they’re gone.” He bowed his head. “I blame myself,” he said, wiping a tear. “The enclosure was just outside our school grounds. If only I’d made the area more secure.”

  “Your giant gorillas . . . perished?”

  Dr. Pravus nodded his head. “Every last one.”

  There were murmurs among the EOs. Wexmir Smarvy looked smugly happy. He’d already recruited some giant gorillas, and now he had the only ones left.

  “That liar!” Dr. Critchlore’s voice exploded out of the television. “He did it himself, to deflect the blame!”

  “It’s strange timing, don’t you think?” Fraze Coldheart said, echoing Dr. Critchlore’s suspicions. “The day before you are to appear before us, you suffer the same crime that you are accused of committing.”

  “It’s hard not to think that you staged this yourself,” Maya Tupo added.

  “It’s what I would have done,” Cera Bacculus agreed.

  “I’m flattered that you believe me so cunning,” Dr. Pravus said. “Unfortunately, it is not the case. I’ve been much too busy with my latest project. You see, I’ve come into a bit of information about a minion that will make my giant gorillas look like helpless little imps in comparison.”

  A chorus of boos filled the cafeteria as imps threw food at the screen.

  “I’m very close. I have assembled the, er, subjects. I only need to make sure they are properly trained. I assure you, you will not be disappointed. In addition—”

  Wexmir Smarvy held his hand up to stop him. The EOs covered their microphones and conferred quietly with one another. Very quickly they were ready to give their verdict.

  “Dr. Pravus,” Wexmir Smarvy said, “we are of the opinion that you had a hand in the sabotage of the other schools. It’s not without a little admiration that we’ve followed your tactics. But this sabotaging behavior must stop, and we cannot allow rule breaking to go unpunished.

  “My suggestion of banishment has been overruled by my colleagues, who point out that you’ve excelled at training minions for over two decades. We’re also intrigued about this new minion of yours. So, in conclusion, if you pay a restitution minion to each school and promise not to sabotage again, we will dismiss this case.”

  “I promise,” Dr. Pravus said, looking as sincere as an imp promising not to prank anybody.

  The video feed cut to Dr. Critchlore, who looked livid. His voice roared, “So he gets away with it! Not a lick of punishment! It’s outrageous!” He collected his composure and stared right at us. “Students, this is disastrous news, which will have dire consequences for us. Dire! I am hereby invoking the Prime Imperative. Stand by for instructions.”

  We looked at one another, wondering what this meant.

  “Did he say he was in Voking?” Boris asked. “Because I was in Voking once. There’s nothing to do there.”

  Darthin explained that Dr. Critchlore meant he was making a command. But none of us had ever heard of the Prime Imperative.

  “Well, ‘prime’ means of the first importance,” Darthin, our human dictionary, said, “and ‘imperative,’ when used as a noun, means an absolute requirement. Whatever it is, it sounds ominous.”

  “You’ve never heard of it happening before?” Frankie asked me. I shook my head.

  Rumors swirled through the room, causing more panic and unease than a ghost invasion.

  “He’s going to ask us to attack the Pravus Academy,” a monkey-man guessed.

  “That’s crazy,” said the monkey-man next to him. “We’d be crushed, and Dr. Critchlore would be banished to Skelterdam.”

  “I bet he’s going to get rid of all the humans,” an upperclassman said. “Get back to training monsters. That’s the first duty of a minion school.”

  I didn’t know if it was the green beans or the rumors, but suddenly I felt very sick.

  The next morning everyone showed up to breakfast early, hoping to hear more about the Prime Imperative. My human table was met by more than a few looks of pity. Some monsters pointed to us and then made slashing gestures across their throats, clearly indicating they thought we were goners.

  “Maybe we could transfer to Minion Prep?” Darthin said.

  My stomach clenched. I’d grown up here. I didn’t want to go anywhere else.

  At last the giant screen on the wall of the cafeteria blinked on, and our headmaster’s face greeted us.

  “Good morning,” he said. He looked exhausted, like he’d been up all night. “I know you are all wondering about the Prime Imperative.”

  My breath caught in my throat.

  “I have to apologize. I overreacted after seeing my archenemy escape the punishment he so richly deserved.” He smiled. “We’re fine. Everything’s fine. There’s no need to worry about anything.”

  Students murmured and looked at one another, confusion plain on each face. This was quite a switch in attitude.

  “Indeed, everything is peachy keen. Things are going so well, in fact, that I’ve decide
d we all deserve a little fun. How about we move the annual Minion Games up in the schedule? In fact, let’s start them right now!”

  The whole room erupted in cheers. Everyone loved the Minion Games. They normally took place near the end of the year—a week of fun and games after the grueling work of the term. It was, without a doubt, the highlight of the school year.

  “See? How could things not be completely fine if we are giving up our studies to play?” Dr. Critchlore continued. “Competition teams will be assigned . . . this evening! The contest will begin tomorrow! Let the games begin!”

  Everyone in the cafeteria whooped with happiness. But then I noticed the look on Dr. Critchlore’s face before the screen blinked off. He looked frightened.

  Hard work beats monsters if monsters don’t work hard.

  —PEP TALK FOR HUMANS DURING LAST YEAR’S MINION GAMES

  On the way to my first-period class with my new mentor, the head groundskeeper, I thought about the Minion Games and how they weren’t going to be as much fun without Syke. The Minion Games are made for monsters, but Syke always found a way for us to help our team. We’d always been teammates. But now she was gone.

  It was nearly spring, and the air felt fresh and cool. On my way to Tootles’s tree house I noticed new growth popping up from the ground, along with two dirty hands. One of the new zombies liked to sleep buried in the garden.

  Tootles and his wife, Riga, had been at the school longer than anybody. He’d been castle groundskeeper to Dr. Critchlore’s father, and Riga worked in construction, assembling many of the mock buildings that we used for training and the sets that we used for the fashion show.

  They’d also raised Syke when Dr. Critchlore had agreed to take care of her after her parents died. Dr. Critchlore was too busy for most parenting tasks, and Tootles and Riga had always wanted a child of their own.

  While Tootles didn’t teach a class of minions I could help lead, there was an upside to working with him. Now I’d have some time alone with him to ask some questions. I had a feeling he knew more about why Dr. Critchlore had burned down Syke’s mother’s tree than he’d told me. Didn’t he know it was a hamadryad-protected forest? If so, why’d he let Dr. Critchlore destroy it?

  If I could find the answers to those questions, maybe Syke would come back.

  Tootles wasn’t in his tree house, but Riga, dressed for work in her overalls, with safety glasses perched on her graying hair, told me where to find him: out behind the castle, working on the Forest Restoration Project. The FRP was a peace offering Dr. Critchlore had made to the hamadryads when they’d come to check on Syke. Syke had left before work had started.

  The new forest was going to be located on the far side of the Aviary, stretching out from the base of Mount Curiosity, with a narrow river running along the far edge. It was a wide patch of land, now speckled with small tree saplings.

  I found Tootles planting a group of white-trunked birch trees near the river.

  “Hi, Tootles,” I said.

  He stood up, removing a glove to shake my hand. He wore his white hair in a ponytail, and his skin was weathered and tan. “Runt, how are you?”

  “Okay, I guess,” I said. “I can almost imagine how the forest is going to look.”

  “It will be perfect. I’m going to put a little clearing in the center, with a pond. Just like Syke wanted.”

  “That’s nice and all, but she won’t come back,” I said. “Not while she believes that Dr. Critchlore killed her mother. Plus, she knows some people here are mad at her because of the sabotage.”

  A few weeks ago, when I’d gone to the Great Library with Professor Zaida to collect some books, Syke had barely talked to me. But Sara, the girl explorer/vaskor who’d saved me from Dr. Pravus, had. She was close friends with Syke now, and she’d told me that Syke knew her acts of sabotage were unforgivable. Syke didn’t care, because she wasn’t ever coming back.

  Tootles looked sad. “She may not come back,” he agreed. “I’m going to finish it, though. I owe it to them.”

  “Them?”

  “Syke and her mother, Karya.”

  “Tootles, I’ve asked you a million times, but can you please, please tell me what happened? You’ve worked here forever. You must have known it was a hamadryad-protected forest.”

  “I did.” He turned back to his work, trying to cut off this conversation.

  “So why did you let him burn it down? I know it wasn’t to make a boulderball field. He could have made it right here, in this clearing. It’s not that far from the castle.”

  “Runt, I’ve told you—I can’t talk about it.”

  Why not? I wanted to scream. But that strategy hadn’t worked when I tried it a few weeks ago. It hadn’t worked with him or Cook or Riga or Uncle Ludwig or anyone who’d been living here when the fire happened. Nobody would tell me anything.

  “Tootles,” I said, “you and I know that the story you’re telling me doesn’t make sense. It makes no sense that Dr. Critchlore burned down the forest. First of all, why burn it down? Why not have the giants pull out the trees? They could have cleared the land in a day without the risk of a fire.”

  “Runt, these are grown-up things. It’s complicated. Now, did Professor Murphy send you here?”

  “Yes,” I said with a sigh. “He said you needed help with something.”

  Tootles led me over to where he’d grouped the trees he was going to plant. There were hundreds of planter boxes covering the field. A few were turned upside down, and I assumed that Tootles had already planted those trees. Six boxes were upright and empty.

  “Those are the ones that got away,” he said.

  “Huh?”

  “They were going to be a surprise for Syke: enchanted weeping blue atlas cedars. They’re strongly rooted as adults, but as saplings, they tend to wander off.”

  I did not know that.

  “How? Why? Where?” I mumbled.

  “I thought these were firmly rooted. I don’t know how they got out of their boxes. There are six of them. I raised them in my secret greenhouse. I’m pretty sure they won’t go far. They’re attracted to water: streams and lakes. They’re also somewhat . . .”

  “Weak? Slow? Easy to catch?” I prompted.

  “Uh . . . no.”

  “Cuddly? Friendly? Helpful?”

  “Sadly, no. They are mischievous and sneaky and very strong. You won’t be able to subdue them physically.”

  “What do you want me to do, then?”

  “Convince them to come back here.”

  “Convince them?” I said. “Like . . . with words?”

  “Yes,” he said. “As adults, they’re quite charming and excellent conversationalists.”

  “But as saplings?”

  “Not so much.”

  I sighed. “Should I start looking by the river or the lake?”

  “Actually . . .” He winced, like he was afraid to go on.

  “What?”

  “My biggest fear is that they’ve gone to the swamp. I don’t want them to secure their roots there.”

  “Um . . . you do know there’s a swamp creature in there.”

  “Yes, thanks for your concern,” Tootles said, putting his gloves back on and returning to his work. “But the trees are hardy. They’ll be fine.”

  “I was talking about me!”

  Tootles laughed. “You’ll be fine too. I saw you evade a swamp creature in the hedge maze, remember?”

  I did. “Okay, fine. I was planning to go to the swamp after school. For . . . something else.”

  “Perfect. Thank you, Runt.”

  With luck, I could round up the trees and have a new mentor by the end of the day. A real mentor. With monster minions.

  Legend tells us an Undefeatable Minion was created generations ago. It caused so much horrific damage that the knowledge of how it came to be was locked away, never to be used again.

  —THE HISTORY OF WAR, BY DUNGA POX

  After that, I headed to my junior hench
man class. The six desks were arranged in an arc, facing the front and Professor Murphy’s enormous desk.

  I took my seat next to Meztli, the exchange student were-jaguar from the southern continent of Orgal. Next to him was Jud, a werewolf, and then came Rufus, the alpha werewolf, and then Janet, the most perfect girl ever. She was smart and funny and nice, and had a smile that made me feel fluttery inside when it was aimed at me. At the far end of the row sat Frieda, the ogre.

  Our test scores had been posted on the board. Professor Murphy was the sort of teacher who thought humiliation motivated a minion to work harder. It had the opposite effect on me—it made me feel like quitting.

  There I was, on the bottom, with a giant F next to my name. Janet, Freida, and Jud had As, Meztli had a B-minus, and Rufus had a C-minus. Rufus might be Professor Murphy’s favorite, but it wasn’t due to hard work. He did only enough to pass and no more.

  “You got an F?” Meztli whispered to me.

  “I ate the apple,” I said. “You?”

  “I ate the mouse.”

  Ew. He must have noticed my expression. “I’m a cat.” He shrugged. “Nobody said not to.”

  Professor Murphy began a lecture that summed up our lesson on food safety. The loud clock seemed to slow down again, and the whole room felt smothered by boredom. I watched Meztli swat his pencil to the edge of his desk. He looked at it for a second and then pushed it off.

  At last Professor Murphy turned to the subject we were all waiting for—the Minion Games.

  “Our next subject was going to be interrogation techniques, but it will have to wait,” he said. “As you know, Dr. Pravus has not been banished, as we’d hoped. This, in itself, is not a problem for our school, as Dr. Critchlore is the superior trainer of minions. However, Dr. Pravus now possesses a dangerous piece of information.”