Little Red Rodent Hood

by Ursula Vernon

  “Don’t tell fibs, dear,” said Grandmother, yanking the blanket back over herself.

  Red scuffed her toe on the floor. “Fine,” she mumbled. “I might stare a little.”

  “And you have a very special stare, don’t you, dear? I’m very proud of you.”

  Red beamed.

  “But why are you staring at weasel-wolves?” said Harriet, baffled.

  “It’s the only way to catch them,” said Red, as if Harriet were being rather slow.

  “But why do you want to catch them?” asked Wilbur. “You said they were horrible and stinky!”

  CHAPTER 11

  Buy them?” said Harriet.

  “They’re great pets,” said the little girl. “They’re really sweet and loyal once they’re hypnotized!”

  “That’s right,” said Grandmother. “And my little Red is the best at catching them!”

  She put her arm around Red. Red snuggled up against her grandmother, not seeming to notice the teeth and claws and fur.

  “You can’t sell the weasel-wolves as pets!” said Harriet, aghast.

  “Why not? I’ve been doing it for months,” said Grandmother. “It’s worked fine so far.”

  “What’s the problem?” said Grandmother. “Wild weasel-wolves are bad. The woods will be much safer once they’re gone.”

  “But they live in the woods,” said Wilbur, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “It’s their home!”

  “I don’t care! It’s my home too! I moved here a year ago, fair and square!”

  Wilbur frowned. “But there have been weasel-wolves in the woods for as long as I’ve been alive . . .”

  Grandmother yanked her blanket tighter around herself. “I’ll fix that soon enough,” she said.

  “They’re really nice pets!” said Red. “They’re sweet and they don’t scare anyone and once you give them a couple of baths, they don’t stink at all.”

  “And they don’t bite anyone,” added Grandmother. “Everybody’s happier. Happy weasels, happy customers, happy . . . err . . . people not getting eaten in the woods . . .”

  “After we’re all done, Grandmother says I get to keep one!” said Red happily. “There’s a little tiny one in the woods who is so cute!”

  “And if you decide you don’t want him, we’ll sell him as a teacup weasel for twice the price!” said Grandmother.

  It was impossible for Harriet to put her thoughts into words—fighting a hungry weasel-wolf that came after you in the woods was one thing, but hypnotizing them to be pets was entirely different.

  She suspected that Grey would not be happy at all to hear about what was happening to his pack.

  “The big weasel-wolf—” she began.

  The little girl folded her arms. “That’s why we need your help! He’s been sniffing around and he’s actually scary!”

  “You’re kidnapping his friends!” said Wilbur.

  “I’m running a small independent business!” said Grandmother.

  “You’re running a small independent business that specializes in kidnapping his friends and selling them as pets!” shouted Harriet. “Of course he’s trying to stop you!”

  Grandmother scowled with all her sharp weasel-wolf teeth. “You know, I had hoped that a princess would be more concerned about her subjects!”

  “I’m very concerned!” shouted Harriet.

  Even Wilbur gave her a surprised look. “Does this mean the weasel-wolves are your subjects?” he whispered.

  Harriet gritted her teeth. She’d fought weasel-wolves on multiple occasions and they were scary and they did eat people and . . .

  And . . .

  And it just wasn’t okay that they were being sold as pets, and that was all there was to it.

  “I can see you’re going to be unreasonable about this,” said Grandmother. She sighed. “I did hope we’d be able to come to an understanding. I suppose we’ll have to move, and just after I got settled. Little Red, my dear, you know what to do.”

  Red threw her hood back and stared Harriet in the face.

  “What?” said Harriet.

  Harriet tried to look away, but there was something strange going on. Something very strange. Red’s hypnotic eyes seemed to fill the entire world. Harriet tried to grab her sword, but it felt as if she were moving through molasses.

  Her last thought was that now she understood why the wolves had gotten out of Red’s way, and that she had to find some way to tell Grey what he was up against.

  CHAPTER 12

  Harriet yawned and woke up. There was a weasel-wolf standing over her, jaws on the collar of her jacket, dragging her somewhere.

  Her first instinct was to swing her fist at it, since it was probably trying to eat her, but then she remembered what was happening.

  “Easy,” said a familiar voice.

  “Grey?” said Harriet. “Is that you?” Her head was splitting. She sat up and rubbed the base of her ears. “Where’s Wilbur?”

  “I’ve got him.”

  “Is he all right?” said Harriet.

  “He’s pretty groggy . . .”

  “’M fine,” mumbled Wilbur as Grey set him down. “Just . . . ow. My brain feels scrambled. I think I fainted.”

  “What happened to you two?”

  “It was Red,” said Harriet. “She stared at us. No, not like you’re staring at me. Like . . . her eyes did a thing. A whirly swirly thing. And then I fell over.”

  Harriet abandoned this line of conversation for a more important one. “How did you get us out of Grandmother’s wagon?”

  “I didn’t,” said Grey. “You were both lying on the ground. Your quail were very upset and qwerking like anything.”

  “Qwerk!” cried Mumfrey, who had been pacing back and forth in the background. “Qwerk qwerk!” This was Quail for “I didn’t know how to wake you up, so I went and got the big weasel-wolf. He’s a weasel, but at least he has thumbs.”

  “Qwerk,” added Hyacinth, which was Quail for “I still don’t trust him, but thumbs are really useful.”

  “Where’s the wagon?” asked Harriet, jumping to her feet. “Red’s the one who’s been stealing your people! You were right, Grey!”

  He looked like he wanted to say more, but the tiny weasel-wolf they had seen earlier dashed up and began to woof frantically at Grey.

  “Uh-oh,” said Grey.

  “Uh-oh-what?” said Wilbur. He didn’t like “uh-oh.” When Harriet said “uh-oh” it usually meant that everything was on fire, the floor was about to collapse, and her mother was getting home early and about to see the mess she’d made.

  “This is Snuffle. He was hiding, and the little girl went by him. And then one of his packmates chased after her. And didn’t come back.”

  Harriet thought quickly. If Grandmother was selling the weasel-wolves as pets, Snuffle’s packmate might be in grave danger indeed.

  “We’ve got to get back to those wagons!”

  Snuffle gulped and tried to hide behind Grey.

  Grey sighed. “Yes, but . . . uh . . .”

  “He’s scared of Harriet, isn’t he?” said Wilbur.

  She waved her sword around for emphasis. Snuffle let out a yelp and dove behind Wilbur.

  “. . . I’ll walk in back,” said Harriet, sighing.

  “That’s not the only thing,” said Grey. “It’s . . . well, look for yourself.” He pointed through the woods.

  Harriet followed in the direction he’d pointed and saw the clearing.

  There were huge ruts in the grass where the wheels had passed. Other than that, the clearing was empty.

  The wagons were gone.

  CHAPTER 13

  This is a problem,” said Harriet.

  “If they’ve left my territory, I’d normally be glad to just let them go,” said Grey. “But they’ve taken S
haggy Paw.”

  “Shaggy Paw?”

  “Snuffle’s friend.”

  Harriet sighed. “Yeah, and they’re gonna sell him as a pet.”

  Wilbur and Snuffle hid behind Harriet. Harriet tilted her head to one side and waited while Grey howled in rage.

  The were-hamster’s chest was heaving with outrage. “A pet? She’s selling my people as pets?”

  “And we’re going to stop them!” snapped Harriet. “Focus, Grey!”

  Grey blinked at her. Then he turned his back and took several deep breaths.

  “You’re right,” he said, after a minute. “I’ll get mad later.” He took a deep breath. “But I’m going to get really mad.”

  “Totally fair.” Harriet was rather interested to see what that would look like. For a minute there, Grey had looked exactly as savage and dangerous as the legends of were-weasels said they were.

  Snuffle whimpered. Wilbur petted him behind the ears. The tiny weasel-wolf looked sad and frightened.

  “We’ll get your friend back,” promised Wilbur.

  “Wrrflle . . .”

  “Okay,” said Harriet. “First things first. Let’s find those wagons!”

  * * *

  • • •

  “The woods are lovely, dark, and deep . . .” said Wilbur. They were walking single file through the woods in question. Shafts of early morning light cut through the trees around them. The weasel-wolves were all hanging back, but Wilbur no longer found their glowing eyes particularly alarming.

  It was probably because of Snuffle. Snuffle was the opposite of alarming. Wilbur, never the most physically imposing of hamsters, had a strong urge to hug Snuffle and tell him that everything was going to be okay.

  “This is no time for poetry, Wilbur,” said Harriet. “We gotta find Snuffle’s friend before they sell him.”

  “I’m still wondering how they’re moving the wagons,” said Wilbur. “No quail. No draft chickens. They’d have to be enormously strong. Or use magic, I guess.”

  “Unless they’re fairies,” mused Harriet. “Sometimes fairies do that thing where they go ‘poof!’ and there’s sparkly bits and then they’re somewhere else. It’s really annoying.”

  “Wrrf?” said Snuffle.

  “Makes your nose itch.”

  “Wrrf!”

  “Wrrfffl!?”

  “Yeah, it was pretty weird.

  “I wonder . . .” she said.

  “What?”

  “What if the grandmother’s pulling the wagon? Aren’t were-weasels supposed to be much stronger than usual?”

  “Although . . .” said Harriet thoughtfully, “you know, if Grey would turn me into a were-weasel, I’d be just as strong as she is . . .”

  Wilbur hastily changed the subject. “I don’t know why she’s so mad at weasels if she’s one herself. And then she’s turning around and selling them!”

  “Maybe she was selling them before and then one bit her,” said Harriet. “During the—what was it? The Changes?”

  Grey nodded. “That might do it. Although I don’t know why she hates us so much. She said we smelled bad!”

  “Hey, your drawing of me had stink-lines,” said Harriet, who had been meaning to bring that up for a while.

  “Of course it did,” said Grey. “You smell strong. Like a warrior!”

  Wilbur put his hand over his mouth and made a strangled noise.

  “I do?” said Harriet.

  “Definitely. You smell like defeated enemies. Well, and quail.”

  The noises coming from behind Wilbur’s hand were getting louder as he tried not to laugh in Harriet’s face.

  “Qwerk,” said Mumfrey, which was Quail for “I’ve never noticed it.”

  “Yes, but you’re a quail,” said Harriet. “Quail don’t have a very good sense of smell.” Mumfrey looked vaguely offended.

  “It’s a good thing,” Grey tried to assure her. “The lines were complimentary. Only a powerful warrior would have such stink-lines!”

  Wilbur lost it.

  Harriet leaned against a tree and waited for her friend to recover. It took a few minutes.

  “Are you quite done?” she asked finally.

  “Ah . . . ha . . . hee . . . heh-heh . . . I think so.” Wilbur wiped his eyes. “Sorry, Harriet . . .”

  “It’s fine,” said Harriet, who was feeling intensely torn between a desire to go shower and pride at her powerful warrior stink-lines.

  Meanwhile, Snuffle had been sniffing through the undergrowth. He came back to tug at Grey’s hand.

  “Snuffle says the trail keeps going,” said Grey. “And they’re moving slower now.”

  “Does he smell Shaggy Paw?”

  Snuffle screwed up his face. “Faintly, he thinks,” translated Grey. “He’s not sure.”

  “We might be able to catch up to them,” said Harriet, “if some people can stop giggling . . .”

  “I can walk and laugh at the same time,” said Wilbur.

  They hurried through the undergrowth after Snuffle. Snuffle had his nose down and was trotting along rapidly, making little “wrrf-wrrf-wrrf” noises to himself.

  He began to pick up speed. Harriet broke into a jog. If Snuffle went much faster, they’d have to stop and get on the quail in order to keep up with the little weasel-wolf.

  And then . . .

  “Wrrf . . . wrrf . . . GAAAAH!”

  CHAPTER 14

  Snuffle threw himself backward so violently that he did a full somersault and lay flat on the ground, sneezing thunderously. Grey stopped just as short. Harriet ran into his back. Wilbur ran into Harriet. Mumfrey threw out his wings to either side and managed to brake before he fell over the hamsters completely.

  “Aaahhhchooo!”

  “What happened?” asked Harriet.

  Harriet sniffed the air. Now that she was paying attention, she could smell something. It was a faint but unpleasant powdery perfume, the sort that her great-aunt Snizzy would wear. (Snizzy was extremely uptight and concerned with ladylike behavior, and Harriet would have disliked her anyway, but the fact that she always smelled like a hothouse full of dying flowers didn’t help.)

  “Why is there perfume in the woods?” asked Harriet.

  “They must have known we were following them,” said Grey grimly. “So they dumped out a bottle of perfume.” He held his paws over his nose. “Gnnnrggh. Oh, that’s nasty!”

  “You don’t like perfume, but you like warrior stink?” said Wilbur.

  “Don’t start,” warned Harriet. “And can you smell it?”

  Wilbur went over to where poor Snuffle had been and inhaled. “Okay, yeah . . . this is kind of nasty. But why dump out perfume? Wouldn’t that just make them easier to follow by smell?”

  “Snuffle won’t be following anybody for a bit,” said Grey glumly. “Poor guy got a full nose of it. It’s like . . . oh, like throwing sand in somebody’s eyes so they can’t see you.”

  Neither Snuffle nor Grey could get past the perfume bomb. Harriet tried to track by scent, but she couldn’t even smell the perfume after going about ten feet. Grey tried to help, got a whiff, and started sneezing violently.

  “Qwerk,” said Mumfrey, which was Quail for “Like you said about the sense of smell . . .”

  “I think we’ve been defeated for the moment,” said Wilbur.

  Harriet scowled, but she had to admit that he was right. Grey’s eyes and nose were streaming and they had to put poor Snuffle on Mumfrey’s back, since he could barely walk.

  When they were out of range of the scent, Wilbur pulled a box of tissues out of Hyacinth’s pack. Grey and Snuffle sat next to each other, wiping their noses and sneezing.

  “So what’s our next move?” asked Wilbur.

  Grey shook his head. “I don’t—achoo!—know. If I can’t track them
, I can’t fight them.”

  “We’ll have to catch the little girl in the act,” said Harriet. “Even if she throws perfume, Mumfrey and I will still be able to follow her.”

  “How are we going to do that?” asked Wilbur. “She obviously knows we’re trying to catch her. Won’t she be more careful this time?”

  Harriet tapped her nail against her teeth. “Probably. So we’re going to have to set a trap.”

  “A—achoo!—ahhhh-CHOO!—trap?”

  Harriet nodded. “But we’re going to need bait. She takes lone weasel-wolves, right? She didn’t try to go for the whole pack when we were together. So what we need is a weasel-wolf so helpless, so harmless, that this junior mastermind has to pounce.”

  She turned and looked and began to smile.

  “And she said that there was one weasel in the forest that her grandmother would let her keep as a pet . . .”

  “Wrrff?” said Snuffle.

  CHAPTER 15

  They had to wait until both the weasel-wolves had stopped sneezing, which took some doing. But finally their noses seemed to settle down. Harriet rolled to her feet. “All right. Let’s set the trap!”

  “Snuffle’s a little worried,” admitted Grey.

  “I won’t let that weird kid harm a hair on Snuffle’s head,” said Harriet. “My word as a warrior.”

  Grey woofed to Snuffle, who wrrgll’d back. “He says that if it’ll help get Shaggy Paw back, he’ll try to be brave.”

  “For this to work, Snuffle needs to be the only target,” said Harriet. “The rest of the pack needs to hide.”

  Grey frowned. “If I knew a place where they’d be safe, I wouldn’t have to worry about this kid weasel-napping them!”