“I’m not a monster!” screamed Grandmother. “You’re the monster!”
“But weasel-wolves aren’t mon—” began Wilbur.
“Yes they are!” screamed Grandmother. Little flecks of spit rained down as she yelled.
She posed dramatically, but this revelation fell rather flat.
“Well, yeah,” said Harriet. “That’s how it happens, isn’t it? Is anybody surprised?”
“Nope,” said Wilbur.
“Qwerk.”
“Wrrfl.”
“Well—well—now I’m stuck like this!” ranted the obviously-a-were-weasel. “Every full moon I turn into a monster!”
It was ironic, Wilbur thought, that Harriet would probably give her left arm for the chance to turn into a were-weasel, and here Grandmother seemed very upset about it. Possibly this said something about attitude.
“Look,” said Harriet. “Give us the key to the cage and turn yourself in and we don’t have to do this the hard way.”
“Grrrwwwooofff,” growled Grey, who clearly was hoping to do it the hard way.
“I worked too hard to build a successful small business to give up now!”
Harriet drew her sword.
Grey charged.
Most people would look frightened when a giant slavering were-hamster ran at them, teeth flashing. Grandmother just looked irritated.
“Red,” she said.
The hamster girl stepped fearlessly between Grey and her grandmother. Harriet expected her to try to hypnotize the were-hamster, which seemed very risky, given the speed at which Grey was traveling.
But instead, Red reached into the basket slung over her arm and pulled out a handful of . . . something.
She flung the handful directly into Grey’s face.
Glitter? thought Harriet. Sure, boys often act like they’re terrified of glitter, and it gets in everything, but it’s harmless; surely that wouldn’t stop a charging . . .
Grey let out a high-pitched yelp and folded up as if he’d struck a wall.
Ah.
Not glitter after all.
Silver.
CHAPTER 19
You threw silver on him!?” cried Harriet.
“Powdered silver,” said Grandmother. “And it costs a fortune too. This whole thing is really cutting into my bottom line.” She glared at Harriet, then over at Snuffle. “We’re going to have to sell that little one as a teacup weasel for ten times the price.”
Red looked up, her eyebrows drawing together. “But I don’t want you to sell him, Grandmother! He’s sweet!”
“Sorry, dear, but business comes first.”
“But—”
“Mumfrey!” shouted Harriet. “Protect Snuffle!”
“Qwerk!” cried Mumfrey, spreading his wings over the tiny weasel-wolf.
Red straightened from over the prone Grey and stared at Harriet.
“Gaaah!” Harriet squinted, trying to fight her way through the hypnotic stare.
“I don’t want to do this!” said Red.
“I don’t want you to do it, either!” said Harriet, staggering forward.
“I . . . I . . .”
“You know this isn’t right!” said Harriet. “Selling the weasel-wolves as pets! They have families and friends! You don’t put collars on people!”
Red buried her face in her hands, sniffling. Freed from the terrible hypnotic stare, Harriet nearly fell. She was seeing double, or maybe triple. There were at least three Reds, a couple of Mumfreys, and a whole bunch of Grandmothers holding Wilbur in the middle of the clearing.
“Wilbur!”
“No funny business, Princess!” snapped Grandmother. “Or I’m gonna bite your little friend here and turn him into a monster!”
“Aw, maaaan. . . .” said Harriet, stepping forward. “Wilbur! When you’re a were-weasel, you have to promise to make me one too!”
Harriet took another step forward. “C’mon, Wilbur, it’ll be great! We can spend the full moon being weasels!”
Grandmother’s enormous hairy eyebrows drew down. “What kind of weird princess are you?!”
“You’re nuts,” said Grandmother. “Look at me! You want to be like this?” She flung her arms open. Long, wiry hair hung out of the wrists and neck of the nightgown, and her cap was askew on her head. Wilbur dangled at the end of her clawed hand.
Harriet took two more steps forward. “You don’t look so bad,” she said. “I mean, the nightgown really is stupid but—YAAAAAAH!”
She pounced.
Harriet slammed into Grandmother’s shoulder first, knocking the old were-weasel to the floor. Wilbur yelped, but her grip had loosened. He tore himself free and scurried across the clearing.
Snuffle, clearly frightened by the commotion, dove behind him.
“Wrrf! Wrrf! Wrrrrffflle!”
“You said it. Probably,” said Wilbur.
Red drew closer, clutching her hood. “She won’t hurt Grandmother, will she?”
“Your grandmother’s supposed to be immortal except for silver weapons,” Wilbur pointed out.
“Yes, but she gets really cross when people try to fight her.”
There was a scream of rage from the center of the clearing. Apparently Grandmother was feeling rather cross right now.
Harriet dealt Grandmother a fearsome blow with her sword that would have stopped any lesser monster. Grandmother rolled over twice and jumped to her feet, looking none the worse for wear.
Harriet remembered that weasel-wolves were extremely tough. This had seemed more positive when she’d wanted to be one herself.
“I’m scared!” said Red, grabbing Wilbur’s hand.
“Wrrfl!” said Snuffle, grabbing Wilbur’s other hand.
He didn’t know whom to comfort first. “Do you think maybe you could hug each other?” he asked. “I feel like I should be helping Harriet.”
Wilbur carefully disentangled himself and put Snuffle’s paw in Red’s hand. The two looked at each other with wide eyes.
“You were the cute little one,” said Red. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Rwwffll-wfff!”
Wilbur didn’t speak Weasel, but he could venture a guess. “You kidnapped his packmates,” he said. “He was trying to find them.”
Across the clearing, Grandmother was driving Harriet back, step by step. Fighting a more-or-less invincible were-weasel by yourself was unexpectedly difficult when you didn’t have an also more-or-less invincible were-hamster helping you. Harriet blocked claws and teeth with her sword, but now it was Grandmother’s turn to drive her backward, inch by inch.
Her back hit the bars of the cage with the sleeping Shaggy Paw.
“You have to stop doing this!” yelled Harriet. “You’re kidnapping innocent weasel-wolves!”
“They aren’t innocent!” shouted Grandmother. “They’re monsters!”
“Wilbur!” she yelled. “Get everybody out of here!”
Wilbur looked at Red and Snuffle, who were apparently having a very deep heart-to-heart conversation despite the lack of a common language. He looked at Grey, who was unconscious, with wisps of smoke curling from his fur.
“. . . I won’t do it . . .” whispered Red in a very small voice.
“I don’t know how to get them out of here!” said Wilbur. “I can’t carry everybody!”
“You leave them right where they are!” snapped Grandmother. “I’m going to put a spiked collar on the big one and make him my personal guard-weasel! So he can keep the next meddling princess out of my business!”
She slashed her claws at Harriet. Harriet blocked one, ducked under the other—and felt her sword spin out of her hands and clatter to the ground.
Wilbur ran to Grey. “You’ve got to wake up!” he hissed, slapping silver dust out of the were-weasel’s fur.
It was like trying to clean a shag carpet with bones.
Grey groaned and rolled over, rubbing his eyes.
“. . . hurts . . .” he muttered.
“Harriet’s in trouble!”
“I’m not in trouble!” yelled Harriet, ducking under another claw-slash. “I’m—just—err—temporarily disadvantaged—”
Grandmother whacked her alongside the head and sent her flying. Harriet crashed down heavily beside Grey.
Grey looked up groggily. “Sorry. The silver . . .”
“S’okay . . .” said Harriet, sounding a bit slurred herself from the blow to the head. “When the room stops spinning, I’ll take care of it . . .”
Wilbur stood over Grey and Harriet. He had no weapons at all. Grandmother stalked toward him. Her nightgown had been shredded apart and she looked every inch the terrifying weasel-wolf.
If only he had a silver sword! Or a silver dagger, or even a silver paperweight! Something!
Harriet pushed herself up on her elbows. “Grey . . .” she said. “Grey, you gotta bite me . . .”
“Whuh . . . ?”
“Gotta . . . make me a were-weasel . . . so I can fight her . . .”
“Harriet, no!” said Wilbur.
“Can’t let her eat you . . .” said Harriet. “Or put a collar on . . . Grey . . .” She got to her knees. “Careful. She’s got a heckuva punch . . .”
Wilbur gulped. He couldn’t let Harriet become a were-weasel, could he? Even if she really wanted to be one?
Grandmother lifted her clawed hands to strike.
CHAPTER 20
What?” said Grandmother.
“What?” said Harriet.
“What?” said Wilbur.
“Wha . . . ?” said Grey.
“Wrrfl?” said Snuffle.
Red threw her hood back and faced her grandmother. “Snuffle and I were talking. This isn’t right.”
(“How were they talking?” whispered Harriet to Wilbur. Wilbur spread his hands helplessly and shook his head.)
“The weasel-wolves are scared of me,” said Red. “Because I’ve been catching them. I thought they were animals, but Snuffle says they’re people. I don’t like having people scared of me. And people—hamster people—are scared of the weasel-wolves, and I bet they don’t like it either.”
“Wrrfl!” agreed Snuffle. He was clearly terrified of Grandmother, but he wasn’t hiding anymore.
“And I’ve been hypnotizing the weasels for you,” said Red, “but—but I don’t want to do it anymore!”
She stamped her foot.
Harriet shook her head. “Never stamp your foot,” she muttered. “We’ve been over this. Grey, come on!”
“Huh?” Grey tried to focus his eyes. “Wha’ ’m I doin’?”
“Turning me into a were-weasel!”
“Harriet, no!” said Wilbur. “It’ll be awful!”
“Red, dear,” said Grandmother. “Can’t we talk about this later?”
“No! Not when you’re going to hurt Snuffle!” She stamped her foot again, perilously close to Harriet’s fingers. Harriet yanked them out of the way.
“Gah!” Grandmother rolled her eyes. “I know this isn’t your idea, Red. It’s these awful lying weasel-wolves!”
“Snuffle didn’t lie to me!”
“Wrrfl!”
“Come on, Grey . . .” Harriet held her arm in front of his face. “Come on! One bite!”
The were-hamster looked groggily at her arm. He opened his mouth in an enormous yawn and Harriet pushed forward.
“Don’t you use the stare on me, young lady! I’m your grandmother! I’m . . . all . . . you’ve . . . got . . . all . . . you’ve . . .”
She took a step forward, then another, then slid to her knees.
The sounds of Grandmother’s snores filled the clearing. But Grey was still groggy and confused. He tried to snap his teeth at Harriet, missed, and opened his mouth again.
Wilbur dove between them, knocking Harriet out of the way.
Grey’s jaws closed . . . half an inch from Wilbur’s hand. He looked blearily at the two hamsters. “Whrrrzzuh?”
“You are such a spoilsport, Wilbur,” muttered Harriet. “I mean, I appreciate you trying to take a bite for me, but c’mon.”
“If you still want to be a were-weasel when all of this is over, I won’t stop you,” said Wilbur. “But can we please get out of here first? Before you start shape-shifting all over the place?”
“Ugh. Fine. You sound like my mom.”
Wilbur shook his head and sighed.
“Wrrfl,” said Snuffle, and that seemed to say it all.
CHAPTER 21
By the time Harriet, Mumfrey, Red, Snuffle, Shaggy Paw, Grey, and Grandmother all arrived back at the castle, even Harriet was getting tired.
Red and Snuffle had become fast friends over the course of the walk back.
“I still have no idea how they’re talking to each other,” whispered Wilbur.
Grey shrugged. “The very young have ways of communicating,” he said.
“I am going to sleep for a week,” announced Wilbur as the castle came into sight.
“Qwerk!” said Mumfrey, which was Quail for “You think you’re tired!? I had to carry Grandmother and Shaggy Paw the whole way!”
Shaggy Paw had eventually woken up, once Harriet pried the silver collar off him, but he was still wobbly from the cage. It had just been easier to load him up on Mumfrey.
Harriet wasn’t looking forward to explaining the whole mess to her parents. Grown-ups could be very tiresome when you showed up with another adult hog-tied on top of a quail and often insisted on untying them before you could explain the situation.
She was a little surprised, therefore, to see that her father, the hamster king, was waiting for her outside the castle with a battalion of hamsters in armor.”
“The laundry room?
“She says that when the weasel-wolves eat her, it’ll be easier to clean up that way.”
Harriet sighed and began the princessly work of sorting it all out.
“You won’t do anything bad to Grandmother, will you?” asked Red as the guards bundled the sleeping were-weasel into a wagon and drove her away.
“No,” said Harriet. “I mean, she’ll have to pay for her crimes. Kidnapping or . . . err . . . poaching . . . or illegal wildlife trafficking . . . I don’t know. One of those. Some kind of crime. But after that, no.”
“. . . let’s not go nuts,” said Harriet.
Red nodded. “I’ve decided I’m going to help the weasel-wolves,” she said. “To make up for the bad stuff I did. Maybe if people knew that weasel-wolves mostly ate grasshoppers, they wouldn’t be so scared of them.”
“It might work,” said Wilbur. “No more biting.” He looked at Harriet. “And no more getting bitten . . .”
“I haven’t given up,” said Harriet. “I would make an awesome were-weasel.” She turned to Grey. “What are you going to do?”
“Grandmother sold a lot of were-weasels before we stopped her,” said Grey. “Somebody’s got to find them.” He rolled his shoulders. “Might as well be me.”
“You could probably use some help,” said Harriet. “Since once the moon’s down, you’ll need somebody to do the talking. The delicate negotiating. That stuff.”
Wilbur thought of Harriet doing delicate negotiating. He shuddered. “I’ll come too.”
“Adventure doesn’t sleep,” said Harriet.
“Yes, but this hamster does!”
“Fiiiine . . .”
“I hate to mention this,” said the hamster king, “but before you go anywhere, dear, there’s still a whole pack of weasel-wolves sleeping in the stables. And your mother in the laundry room.”
Harriet threw her hands in the air. “I don’t know how this kingdom
functions without me!”
“None of us do, dear,” said the hamster king, putting an arm around her shoulders.
They went into the castle, arm in arm, to sort everything out and rest up for the next big adventure.
THE END
HARRIET HAMSTER BONE IS A STAR!
“Move over, Babymouse, there’s a new rodent in town!”
—School Library Journal, starred review
“Harriet is her own hamster, but she takes her place proudly alongside both Danny Dragonbreath and Babymouse. Creatively fresh and feminist, with laughs on every single page.”
—Kirkus Reviews, starred review
“A book with all the makings of a hit. Readers will be laughing themselves silly.”
—Publishers Weekly, starred review
“A joy to read, and we can only hope that Harriet—long may she reign—will return in later installments.”
—Booklist, starred review
“as hilarious as it is fun. Make room on the shelves for this not so frilly princess.”
—School Library Journal, starred review
“Harriet is as delightful as ever. . . . As long as Vernon keeps Harriet’s adventures coming, fans new and old are bound to keep reading them.”
—Booklist
“This is vintage Vernon. Clever wordplay, wonderful character banter, and stinky humor make this outing another giant success.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Readers will have a ball with this hilarious, charming story.”
Little Red Rodent Hood Page 6
