“Well, it turns out I shouldn’t have sold those sneakers to you after all,” said Devis. “Whoopsie.”
“How did you even find me?” said Lisa.
Albiorix nudged his way forward. “It was actually pretty neat. We used the name on your email address to search social media until we found a match. Then we combed through your friends list to figure out who your parents were, and from there it was a simple matter to look up your home address. Computers truly are a wonder!”
“That is . . . incredibly creepy,” said Lisa.
“Yes, I did realize that as I was saying it,” said Albiorix. “Sorry.”
“Anyway,” said Devis, “I’m afraid I’m going to need to refund your cash and retrieve that pair of sneakers.”
“What if I don’t want to?” said the girl. She pointed to her feet. She was currently wearing the sneakers Devis had sold her. “I like them.”
“Then I’m afraid we must appeal to the angels of your better nature, Lisa Laporte,” said Vela. “Our dear friend has been wrongfully accused of the theft of those very shoes, and we need them to prove his innocence.”
Albiorix nodded solemnly. “She means me.”
“So who’s the real thief?” said the girl.
“This little scamp, of course!” said Thromdurr, tousling Devis’s hair.
“But obviously I have seen the error of my et cetera and learned a valuable et cetera,” said Devis. “It will never happen again, probably. Anyway here’s your thirty-five bucks back.” He waved a handful of money.
“I don’t know,” said Lisa. “I . . . think I’m going to keep them.”
“Why?” asked Sorrowshade. “They are extremely unflattering.”
Lisa frowned. “They are?”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” said Sorrowshade, “but those sneakers make you look like you’ve got two misshapen yams on the ends of your legs.”
Lisa stared at the adventurers for several seconds. “If I give you the sneakers back, will all of you just . . . leave?”
“Absolutely,” said Devis.
And so she did, in exchange for a thirty-five-dollar refund. And the brave heroes of Bríandalör continued their winding journey across the town of Hibbettsfield, tracking down all the stolen items that Devis the thief had listed and sold online. For some people they used flattery. Others required guilt. A few needed a bit of cajoling.
Though it took them several hours, they had at last recovered the items from twelve of the thirteen lockers. This brought them at last to what would prove to be their greatest challenge yet. They stood at the West End Shopping Center on Cleveland Street. There, between Ronnie’s Sporting Goods and an Aeon Wireless mobile phone store, was Pan-Galactic Comics and Collectibles.
“Doesn’t much look like a house,” said Sorrowshade.
Albiorix shrugged. “This is the only address I could find for Waldo Franks.”
Devis peeked through the window. “Yep. That’s the guy, all right.”
A bell jingled as the adventurers walked through the door. Inside was a dimly lit store filled, wall-to-wall, with action figures, comic books, and games. A faint musty smell hung in the air. Behind the counter, a man fed two turtles in a glass tank. There were no customers.
“Welcome to Pan-Galactic Comics and Collectibles,” said Waldo Franks without turning around. “Can I help you? Or are you just here to get your thumbprints on things?”
“Why, hello again, friend,” said Devis, leaning on the counter and flashing his flashiest smile. “I believe you can help us.”
“You’re not getting it back,” said Franks as he continued to shake the box of turtle flakes into the terrarium.
“How did you—I mean, I don’t even know what you’re—I mean you don’t know what I’m . . . hmm,” said Devis, who rarely found himself caught off guard.
Waldo Franks turned around. “Yesterday you sold me an Agent Helios, Marksman of G.U.N.N. (Limited Edition Gray Battlesuit) action figure for two hundred and fifty dollars,” he said, pointing to a high shelf behind the counter. On it was a glass case marked NOT FOR SALE. EVER; inside was the toy he’d purchased from Devis. “For said figure, I substantially underpaid. Your fault for not doing your research.” said Franks. “Anyway, I assume you’re here because you’re upset about the transaction.”
“Er,” said Devis.
The adventurers looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed.
Vela cleared her throat. “If I may—”
“No. You may not,” said Franks. “As far as I’m concerned, that sale is final and I won’t part for that action figure for any price.”
“Friend, is this not a store?” said Thromdurr.
“It is a store, and I am happy to sell you any number of the lesser action figures I have available,” said Franks, waving dismissively at his other toys. “But the Agent Helios, Marksman of G.U.N.N. (Limited Edition Gray Battlesuit) action figure behind the counter happens to be priceless. You see, it has an incredibly rare misprint: the second N on the reverse of the jumpsuit is backward. According to the price guide there are only fifty-seven of these in existence. And as of yesterday, I possess one of them.”
The Bríandalörians failed to see how poor craftsmanship ought to increase value of something, which only made the situation more baffling.
“It is but a toy made of plastic,” said Thromdurr.
“Perhaps to an uncultured barbarian such as yourself,” said Waldo.
Thromdurr blinked. “How in the name of the Sky Bear did you know that I’m—”
“But to me it represents pure, unadulterated bliss,” said Waldo, breathing a deep sigh of contentment. “That misprinted Agent Helios, Marksman of G.U.N.N. (Limited Edition Gray Battlesuit) action figure will be my legacy.”
“Then I’m afraid we must appeal to the angels of your better nature, Waldo Franks,” said Vela.
“Sorry, I don’t have any of those in stock,” said Franks with a shrug. “Now, if you’re not buying anything, skedaddle.”
“Please excuse us for a moment,” said Vela.
Franks ignored her. He had already turned back around to the tank and was scratching one of the turtles beneath its scaly chin.
The five adventurers regrouped on the sidewalk outside.
“For a man who surrounds himself with whimsical children’s toys, he sure is crabby,” said Vela.
Sorrowshade shrugged. “I kind of liked his attitude.”
“Albiorix,” said Vela, “is there anything about him in the Homerooms & Hall Passes books?”
“Good thinking,” said Albiorix. “Let’s see.” The wizard unslung his heavy pack and then began to sift through his books.
“Look, I’m just going to say it. There happens to be a very simple solution here,” said Devis. “We wait till Waldo here closes up shop. Then I sneak back in and pinch the action figure and whatever comics or games you guys happen to want—”
“Absolutely not,” said Vela. “Your thieving has brought enough trouble. We must persuade him to accept the money you took from him in return for the toy because it is the right thing to do.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” said Albiorix, who had The Hibbettsfield Handbook open to the entry for Pan-Galactic Comics and Collectibles. “According to his stats, Waldo Franks has a 17 Willpower. We’ll never talk him into doing something he doesn’t want to do.”
“Plus, and I probably should have mentioned this, I don’t actually have the money he paid me, per se,” said Devis. “I used it to buy my fancy new phone.” Devis held it up. On-screen was a picture of another hedgehog, this time sitting in a bowl of spaghetti with the words “THAT’S A SPIKY MEATBALL.”
Vela sighed. “Well, no money to exchange certainly complicates things. But still, there must be some way to resolve this situation. We finally have a quest, and we must not fail. Albiorix, what else does his entry say?”
“Hmm. He likes TV shows about spaceships and his pet turtles and . . . th
at’s pretty much it,” said Albiorix.
“Then we shall kidnap his beloved turtles and offer them in exchange for the toy!” said Thromdurr.
“I will not menace any innocent turtles,” said Vela.
“Then let’s cut right to the chase and menace him directly,” said Sorrowshade, cracking her knuckles.
“Again, no,” said Vela. “We can’t go around threatening everyone we don’t like. It’s not right.”
“Waldo Franks is a collector by nature,” said Albiorix, “So we’d have to offer him something rarer than that lame action figure.”
“Hang on!” said Vela. “We do have something rarer. And quite possibly lamer too!”
The bell jangled again as the five adventurers marched back into the store.
“Welcome to Pan-Galactic Comics and Games,” said Waldo Franks, squinting at them over steepled fingers. “Can I help you?”
“Waldo Franks,” said Vela. “What if I told you we can give you something more precious than your misprinted Agent Helios, Marksman of G.U.N.N. (Limited Edition Gray Battlesuit) action figure?”
“I would call you a liar, madam,” said Franks. “Because there is nothing more precious than my misprinted Agent Helios, Marksman of G.U.N.N. (Limited Edition Gray Battlesuit) action figure.”
“Do we all have to keep saying ‘Agent Helios, Marksman of G.U.N.N. (Limited Edition Gray Battlesuit) action figure’?” said Devis. “I feel like shortening that would be a real time-saver for this interaction.”
Vela ignored him. “Waldo Franks, we have a collectible so rare that it is the only one of its kind in the entire world.”
Franks squinted at her. He licked his lips. “I’ll admit,” he said, “you have piqued my curiosity.”
Vela placed a glittering ring on the counter and slid it across.
“A ring?” said Franks. “Big deal. There are millions of rings out there. Plus I don’t go in for jewelry. I like to keep my look clean, elegant.” He indicated his T-shirt, which depicted a drawing of a muscular superhero punching through a tank. “Stop wasting my time.”
Vela smiled. “This is not just any ring,” she said. “This is a Ring of Turtle Speech.”
Franks blinked. “That’s not even possible.”
“Is it not?” said Vela. “Observe.” She slipped the ring onto her finger and turned to the tank behind the counter. Then she began to make a series of strange quiet chirps and grunts, deep in her throat. One of the turtles cocked its head. Then it clicked back at her. Vela made another long series of turtle vocalizations. She paused and grunted once more. This time, both turtles gave a continuous modulated hiss. There was no mistaking it: the reptiles were laughing.
By now Waldo Franks’s jaw was hanging open.
Vela slipped the ring from her finger and placed it on the counter once more. “Now, I ask again,” she said. “Would you like to trade this Ring of Turtle Speech for the Agent Heli—”
“Toy,” said Devis. “Let’s just call it the toy.”
And so the five brave adventurers walked out of Pan-Galactic Comics and Collectibles bearing the object of their quest: a precious item of rare provenance and prohibitively long name. Behind them, they left a man overjoyed. Waldo Franks was finally able to share his thoughts and feelings with the only living creatures to which he felt any connection: his two eastern box turtles, Millie and Thad.
“Wow, I cannot believe we actually found somebody who wanted that Ring of Turtle Speech,” said Sorrowshade.
“I am curious, paladin,” said Thromdurr. “What did you say that those turtles found so humorous?”
“I asked them what turtles do when they score a great victory,” said Vela.
“Huh,” said Albiorix. “Well . . . what do turtles do when they score a great victory?”
“They shell-ebrate,” said Vela.
The other adventurers paused, dumbfounded.
“Vela told a joke,” said Devis, clutching his head for fear it might explode.
“But it was only for the turtles,” said Albiorix.
“I told you all I have a sense of humor,” said Vela. “And you know I never lie.”
With a rare grin, the paladin kept on walking.
In the real world, political authority comes from noble birth, or in rare cases because someone found a magic sword. But in middle school, class presidents are chosen democratically. This process involves homemade posters, wildly unrealistic promises, and capturing a plurality of the votes cast by the class. Though the title of class president is largely meaningless, it is still relentlessly sought by Overachievers, Nerds, Jocks, and Class Clowns alike.
—Excerpt from The Hall Master’s Guide
“AAAAGH! MY AGENT HELIOS, Marksman of G.U.N.N. (Limited Edition Gray Battlesuit) action figure!” cried Saul Graham. “It’s back! I can’t believe it. It’s finally back.” He grabbed the toy out of his locker and hugged it close.
All around, middle schoolers were shouting for joy as they discovered that items they thought were gone forever had been returned in the night.
“My brother’s tablet,” said Reuben Huang. “It’s here! It even has a full battery.”
“My shoes have been returned too,” said Sherri Rios. “Although it seems like somebody has been wearing them.” She crinkled her nose.
The five heroes watched with satisfaction. A wrong had been righted, and they were victorious. It was a feeling they hadn’t known since they’d left Bríandalör.
“What are you guys grinning about?” said June as she walked up to them in the hall.
“Oh, nothing,” said Albiorix, who tried and failed to suppress his smile.
“Seriously, what?” said June.
“Let us just say that justice reigns once more throughout the land,” said Vela.
“If I’m being honest, I’m probably not going to say that,” said June. “So you guys actually caught the locker thief?”
“Yep,” said Sorrowshade. “He was a shifty little creep.”
“Yet devilishly handsome,” said Devis, “with a singing voice like an angel. Many would question whether he was actually a villain at all—”
“Armando!”
Albiorix turned to see Mr. Driscoll standing a little ways down the hall. The custodian looked around and then waved the wizard over.
“I can see you did . . . what we talked about,” said Mr. Driscoll. He kept his voice low in case someone might be listening.
“Again, I was not responsible, Mr. Driscoll,” said Albiorix, “but I and my companions brought the matter to a swift and fair conclusion. Quest closed.”
“Quest?” said Mr. Driscoll.
“Never mind. Forget I said that,” said Albiorix. “Go, hockey!”
Mr. Driscoll sighed and gave a tight nod, which the wizard hoped meant that they were square. The custodian then continued on his way.
The party’s happy mood persisted through homeroom announcements, once more commandeered by Principal Greene—again sparing Vela the daunting task—to deliver the good news about the locker thefts. In English class, June’s tutelage paid off, and Ms. Levy even complimented Thromdurr on one of his pro-cat arguments (cats are good pets because they are unafraid to meet household vermin on the field of battle). In Computer Applications class, the adventurers approached their fake menus with gusto, and Mr. Gulazarian seemed impressed. In gym, the game was “kickball.” After learning the simple rules, the Bríandalörians excelled, thanks to their superior strength and coordination. The heroes were flying high, and it seemed like nothing could stop them now.
Then, like a bolt of fire from a soaring dragon, Algebra I struck again. Somehow the class made even less sense than it had on the previous day, and all their attempts to solve the “quadratic formula” were met with humiliating failure. Worse yet, Mr. Botello announced there would be a test the following Tuesday. This test would count for a fifth of their grade for the entire semester.
Once more demoralized, the four adventurers—minus Sorrowshade
, who was at the popular girls’ table—sat together in the cafeteria, each picking at the tuna sandwich or grilled cheese they had chosen.
“Wow, you guys look glum,” said June as she finished up a game of Oink Pop and sat down beside them. “Does justice no longer reign throughout the land?”
“It is this accursed algebra,” said Thromdurr, pounding the table. “We cannot hope to defeat it!”
“None of the math stuff you tried to teach us helped, June,” said Devis. “No offense, but . . . you really screwed up.”
“What?” said June. “I never said I was good at algebra! I hate algebra! I wish we could do art class all day! Or lunch!”
“Stinky, don’t be rude,” said Albiorix, elbowing Devis. “June, your tutelage in every other subject has been invaluable.”
“Yet still, we have no choice,” said Vela. “We must pass algebra.”
“Or what?” said June.
“Or we will cease to exist,” said Vela.
“Sounds rough,” said June. “I figure I can squeak by with a C, so hopefully that won’t happen to me.” She took a bite of her grilled cheese and then noticed the others were still staring at her.
“Sorry, guys. I don’t know what to tell you,” said June. “Maybe find a better math tutor?”
“Like who?” said Vela.
June shrugged. “That girl is always raising her hand in Mr. Botello’s class.”
At a nearby table sat Olivia Gorman, who was struggling to open a carton of milk.
“Yes!” said Albiorix, brightening. “Olivia Gorman is a Nerd.”
“Hey, c’mon,” said June. “Be nice.”
“No, no, no, it’s not an insult,” said Albiorix.
“It’s her character class, June,” said Devis.
“If I recall correctly, Olivia Gorman has a Math skill of +8,” said Albiorix. “Second only to Douglas in the entire class.”
“Douglas, who’s . . . failing?” said June.
“Yes, but not for long,” said Albiorix. “Olivia Gorman is the only one who has a shot at getting us to a passing grade. Valerie, you cohost the J. A. Dewar morning bulletin with her. Perhaps you could ask her to help us?”
Homerooms and Hall Passes Page 11
