William Wright and the Dragon's Treasure

by Uriah Szilagyi

  Chapter 3: Worm Pie

  William had awoken extra early that morning, partially from the excitement of the next day but also because his plan required it. With everyone still asleep, he crept out of his bedroom and into the kitchen. Once inside, he took what appeared to be a chocolate bar from one of the cupboards and then hurried back to his room. This was the first step of the plan he had written the night before. The other steps would be implemented during the fieldtrip.

  The morning’s breakfast went smoothly with both Miss Peebottom absent and the Twins keeping their distance. Miss Peebottom had been released from hospital late the previous night and hadn’t been seen outside her room since. This gave William the hope that Mr Boil might arrange for another teacher to take them on the fieldtrip.

  After breakfast, Mr Boil ordered the students to head out to Harsly’s jail like entrance and line-up along the footpath. Once there, they were to wait for the bus to arrive. The students were lucky and didn’t have to wait long.

  “All aboard,” called out the bus driver, after coming to a stop in front of the students and opening the doors.

  “You heard the man, get on!” barked Mr Boil.

  The students quickly filed into the rickety bus.

  Before the bus had arrived, Mr Boil warned the students not to talk to the bus driver, Mr Wilder, whether he was driving or not. It seemed a bit extreme, but maybe is was for the better, as Mr Wilder was one of the most edgy looking individuals William had ever seen. He had more tattoos than teeth and a vicious looking clean shaven head. William felt sure that there would be some sort of conflict between Mr Boil and Mr Wilder today on the bus trip. It was just a matter of time.

  After William had climbed aboard, he noticed the Twins sitting in the back row watching him and giggling stupidly to each other. William managed to find a seat at the front of the bus, just behind Mr Wilder. As William sat down, the Twins quickly got up, forcefully removed two students sitting behind him and sat down in their places.

  “How’s it going there, William?” asked Trevor, half a smile visible between his flabby cheeks.

  “Aren’t you going to wedgie me or something after what happened at the library?” questioned William, knowing full well of their dumb plan.

  “Naaah, that’s all in the past. We want to be your friends, isn’t that right Albert?”

  Albert looked up with his small piggy eyes and agreed, “Yeah, we’re your friends now.”

  The Twins kept this apparently friendly discussion up with William until being silenced by Mr Boil.

  “Shut up you two,” he said sharply. “I don’t want any talking. What do you think this trip is meant to be, fun?”

  With Miss Peebottom running late, Mr Wilder began getting more and more agitated. He had a deadline to meet.

  “If we don’t get going now, we’ll be late,” he said to Mr Boil, his lip twitching slightly.

  “Let’s wait one more minute,” replied Mr Boil, peering out of the window and up towards the school. “Miss Peebottom should be here any second now.”

  “OK, one more minute, but that’s it!” snapped Mr Wilder.

  The minute ticked pass.

  “It doesn’t look like Miss Peebottom will be coming,” remarked Mr Wilder, reaching over to close the bus doors.

  Suddenly, Miss Peebottom ran up the steps, wearing a large bandage wrapped around her head. It was there to cover the bump she had suffered the day before.

  “Thought I wasn’t going to make it, eh?” she said coldly to Mr Wilder, before taking a seat.

  “Err, yeah,” he answered, while mumbling something under his breath.

  “OK, that’s everybody then, let’s get going!” ordered Mr Boil.

  Mr Wilder started the bus’s rattly engine, released the handbrake and took off towards the museum at a dangerously high-speed.

  Screeeeech!

  The bus slid sideways around a corner, just barely missing another vehicle, and roared down a backstreet.

  “Are you crazy or something?” shouted Mr Boil fearfully. “You could’ve killed us back there.”

  Mr Wilder laughed. “You think you could actually trick me?”

  “I don’t know what you’re going on about?” said Mr Boil, his knuckles as white as snow from grasping the rails.

  “Trying to make me fail the contract I signed,” replied Mr Wilder. “Well, it won’t work. I saw right through your stalling tactic with Miss Peebottom.” He punched the accelerator pedal to the floor. “We’ll make it to the museum … one way or another.”

  Screaming like a madwoman, Miss Peebottom jumped from her seat and started scratching at the windows. All sanity had left her. The brave war hero, Mr Boil, followed suit and began rocking back and forth in his seat.

  “I-I-I promise,” he begged Mr Wilder, “you’ll still get paid even if you don’t get us to the museum by ten “o’clock. Please, just stop the bus.”

  With the squeal of tyres and the smell of burning rubber, everybody was flung forward in their seats. The bus had stopped.

  “We have arrived at our destination. Please, exit the vehicle in an orderly fashion,” announced Mr Wilder, and he opened the bus’s doors.

  Mr Boil instantly jumped from his seat and ran out of the bus screaming, followed by a frazzled Miss Peebottom and queasy looking Twins. It seemed the trip had played havoc with their donut filled stomachs. The rest of the students, including William, thought the trip was better than the best roller coaster ride. They got off the bus with smiles that stretched from ear to ear.

  Mr Wilder peeked his head out from between the bus’s doors and called out to Mr Boil, “I’ll be back to pick you up at two “o’clock.”

  This didn’t go down too well with Mr Boil, who after a little lay down had managed to pull himself together.

  “No way am I getting back on that bus!” he replied doggedly.

  “Hey, I completed my part of the contract,” shouted Mr Wilder. “You never added a clause which dealt with my driving style. You still need to pay me.”

  Mr Boil instantly backed down. He knew Mr Wilder was right, but not only that, he felt intimidated by him.

  “You’ll still get paid,” replied Mr Boil, “but don’t bother coming back. We won’t be here waiting for you.”

  With that announcement, the students sighed. They were looking forward to the return trip.

  Mr Boil glared at the students.

  “What’d you think this is, some sort of theatre? Get going to the museum, or I’ll put you all on detention!”

  The students quickly filed into the museum, leaving Mr Boil to continue his discussion with Mr Wilder. William, on the other hand, headed over to where he last saw the Twins running.

  “Where’s Miss Peebottom?” he asked the Twins, finding them behind a large tree, puking up half-digested donuts.

  Looking worse for wear, Trevor lifted his head up and answered, “Uhhh, me stomach. Miss Peebottom … yeah, I saw her. She ran into the museum.”

  “Well, come on fellas, let’s go,” said William, slapping Trevor and Albert on the back. “Buddies always stick together, isn’t that right?”

  Trevor grinned. “Yeah … buddies.”

  Upon entering the art museum, William spotted Miss Peebottom being attended to by one of the museum’s staff members. Miss Peebottom looked completely out of it and was gibbering something about life and death. Before William had a chance to ask the staff member where he and the Twins were to go, a toffee-nosed woman wearing a beret and garish pink rimmed glasses ran over to them.

  “Are you three part of Miss Peebottom’s group?” she asked quickly.

  “Yes, we --”

  “Oh, that’s good,” she interrupted rudely. “Well, since your teacher is a little ill, I’ll be taking you and your little class friends around the museum today. Follow me, then.”

  The woman hurried off, leading William and the Twins down a number of art filled hallways. Finally, they arrived at where the rest of the Harsly students
were waiting, a large room full of sculptures.

  “We’re here,” she announced to William and the Twins. “Hurry up and file in with your friends.” She looked towards the students. “If anyone has any questions, just put up your hand and ask me.”

  A student quickly poked up their hand.

  “You haven’t told us your name,” said the student. “How do we address you?”

  “You may address me as Madam Nooty,” she replied, pronouncing her name like it was some sort of exotic French cuisine. “Now, file into a line, and we’ll head off to view some of the fine portraits done by Fredrick Crackerpot.”

  Along the way to see the portraits, they walked back through a series of hallways and past the main entrance. In the main entrance, there was none other than Mr Boil. He looked extremely cross and was ranting on a public phone.

  “Yes, I want a taxi,” William overheard Mr Boil shouting, “and I want it now, understood?”

  It seemed that Mr Boil was trying to get back to school, probably to arrange for a new bus driver to pick up the students and Miss Peebottom later on.

  With the sound of Mr Boil’s rants disappearing behind them, the students continued on through the museum. Abruptly, Madam Nooty stopped and stared up at a painting.

  “Ahh, look at the shear brilliance of this painting,” she said, awestruck. “The mind of this painter is surely something of magnificence.”

  She then noticed Albert scratching his head and took it instantly as a sign of confusion. In reality, Albert was probably just suffering a case of nits.

  “You, over in the back there,” she called out, looking directly at Albert.

  “Me?” answered Albert, still scratching his head.

  “Yes you. Tell me what this painting says to you. How does it make you feel?”

  After a minute or two of staring at the picture, which was just a blank canvas with a few circles painted randomly around it, Albert looked back towards Madam Nooty and asked dumbly, “What was the question again?”

  “I’ll try and rephrase it,” she replied. “This painting, what do you think the artist was feeling when he painted it?”

  The rest of the students stood silent. If they dared to giggle, they knew they’d be guaranteed a wedgie later. With the deafening sound of silence, Albert looked up at the picture, not knowing what to say. Soon, however, the silence was broken. Albert’s stomach hadn’t been fed for at least ten minutes, and it let everyone know with a loud grumble.

  “I’m hungry,” said Albert, rubbing his big round belly.

  Madam Nooty stared up at the picture and then back towards the students, wide-eyed.

  “I have never heard a more profound expression than that to describe what this artist was feeling,” she began excitedly. “The shear minimalism of unfilled circles expresses an empty feeling, a feeling of hunger.” She winked at Albert. “It looks like someone here understands the deeper side of art, eh?”

  Albert stood dumbfounded and picked his nose.

  “Talking about hunger,” remarked Trevor, a smirk on his face, “how about we have lunch?”

  “How does that sound with everybody?” Madam Nooty asked the students.

  The students looked over to Trevor and saw him cracking his knuckles in an all too clear way.

  “Yes, yes, let’s have lunch,” they replied fearfully.

  “Excellent, follow me,” said Madam Nooty, and she led the students off towards the museum’s cafeteria.

  As close friends would, William and the Twins sat together for lunch. Once seated, William pulled his lunch box from his bag and opened it. Inside, there was what all the students were given for the field trip: one small rotten apple, a single boiled sprout and a bread sandwich, which was nothing more than three bread slices slapped together. In the Twins’ lunch boxes, however, it was a completely different story. They had acquired a range of different treats from Mrs Dumpling’s private stash for themselves like lollies, donuts and chocolate bars.

  “You don’t have to eat that rubbish anymore,” said Trevor, and he pulled out a tasty looking pie. “Here, take this as a sign of our good friendship.”

  “Thanks, guys. What type of pie is it?” asked William, with full knowledge of the worms that filled it.

  Albert began giggling stupidly. He soon stopped when Trevor kicked him in the shins.

  “Errr, ahhh, that’s a surprise!” answered Trevor, an immense smile on his face.

  While the Twins watched on with baited breath, William slowly drew the pie up to lips and made the gesture that he was about to take a big bite.

  “Hang on,” said William abruptly, placing the pie back down on the table and reaching for his bag, “I can’t eat your delicious looking pie without giving something in return.”

  “Naaah, don’t worry about us,” said Trevor impatiently, as William rummaged through his bag. “You go ahead and take a bite of the pie.”

  “I couldn’t do that without first giving you this,” answered William, and he pulled out what looked like a chocolate bar from his bag. “Receive and give alike, isn’t that right?”

  Albert greedily snatched the bar from William and started devouring it.

  “Hey, give me some of that!” said Trevor, grabbing the remainder of the bar from Albert’s hands.

  Eagerly, Trevor scoffed the rest of the bar down. What he and Albert didn’t know, though, was that the bar wasn’t just your everyday sweet. It was one of Mrs Dumpling’s chocolate laxative bars, which William had pinched from the school’s kitchen that morning. William knew the laxative would take a couple of minutes to kick in and now needed to bide his time.

  “So, how was the chocolate?” asked William.

  “Mmmm, good,” grunted Albert, licking the empty packet.

  Trevor looked suspiciously at William.

  “Why haven’t you taken a bite from your pie, yet?” he asked.

  “I really like tomato sauce on my pies. You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?”

  “Nah,” replied Trevor.

  “Well, I’ll just go and see if one of the cafeteria ladies could spare some,” said William, and he got out of his seat.

  As William headed away from the Twins, he looked back over his shoulder and saw them huddled together whispering.

  “I just need to buy a little more time for the laxatives to work. Once it does, they’ll be more concerned with the closest toilet than me,” he thought, on the return trip to the table.

  Upon sitting down, William noticed Trevor eyeing him distrustfully.

  “I’ll just squeeze this sauce onto the pie. Then I’ll dig right in,” announced William, trying to make it sound like he was looking forward to eating the pie.

  William slowly dribbled the sauce around the pie, taking care to rub it right to the edges.

  “It doesn’t look like the laxatives are going to work,” worried William, emptying the last drops of sauce onto the pie. “Maybe the Twins are so fat, they need multiple bars.”

  Trevor grinned. “That looks like the last of it. Dig in, William.”

  Desperate to stall them a little longer, William quickly tried to start a conversation.

  “Hey, did I ever tell you two about the time … Mr Boil kicked a chair?”

  “No,” said Albert, dumbly interested. “Tell us about --”

  “Yes, tell us about it after you take a bite of your pie,” interrupted Trevor, eyeing Albert crossly.

  “You sure? It’s really interesting.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” snapped Trevor.

  The little time that was bought from William’s stalling tactic worked! Albert, who had eaten a larger portion of the laxative bar, abruptly lurched forward, holding his stomach.

  “I don’t feel too good,” he moaned, shuffling around in his chair. “I need to --”

  With his stomach grumbling violently, Albert burst from his seat and raced out of the cafeteria towards the boys’ toilets.

  “What was that about?” panicked Trevor.
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  Before William could answer him, the laxative bar had worked its magic.

  “Oooooh, me gut,” groaned Trevor, quickly rising for his chair and supporting himself with both hands on the table. “It doesn’t feel right.”

  Trevor looked unsteadily at the table. Suddenly, something caught his attention, the empty laxative bar. He grabbed it and focused attentively on the small writing on the back. As Trevor attempted to read it, William looked at the bar and discovered that the writing he had tried to mask with a coloured marker was visible. It must have been wiped off by Albert’s frenzied licking.

  William looked on with a smile as Trevor read out the bar’s directions.

  “Eat -- one -- bar -- for -- instant -- relief -- of -- constipation!”

  William laughed. “That’s right. You just ate one of Mrs Dumpling’s laxative bars. I knew all along about your dumb plan to get me to eat that worm filled pie.”

  “You’re gonna suffer for that, bookworm!” roared Trevor, and he lunged across the table to grab him.

  Quickly, William ducked to one side.

  “You’re going to have to be faster than that,” said William cheekily.

  With the students in the cafeteria looking on and Madam Nooty out checking on Miss Peebottom, Trevor rolled off the table and lunged for William’s neck. William was caught off guard and fell backwards over a chair.

  “I’ve got you now,” said Trevor, bearing down on William like a deranged hippo.

  Just as William thought he was done for, Trevor stopped dead in his tracks.

  “O-oh,” winced Trevor, his stomach letting out a huge grumble.

  “What’s wrong, baby need to go potty?” beamed William, getting back to his feet.

  “This ain’t over, bookworm,” growled Trevor, as another worrying grumble reverberated from his stomach.

  William was going to reply with another clever remark, but before he could, Trevor had taken off at full waddle towards the toilets. As soon as he had left, William was given a huge round of applause from the other students in his school. The applause only stopped when Madam Nooty walked into the cafeteria.

  “Has everyone filled their tummies?” she asked.

  The students nodded.

  “Good. File into a line. We still have much to see.” She glanced at William. “Where are your two little friends?”

  “They had a little indigestion,” he answered. “It seems they ate too much chocolate.”

  With the students all lined up, the trip through the art museum was back on. As they made their way through the museum, Madam Nooty regularly stopped and praised the works on the walls.

  “Oh, isn’t this artist talented,” she would say. “See how they express so much by only adding a few drops of paint.”

  By the time it was two “o’clock, William had seen more dribbles of paint than on an art class’s floor. With the tour at its end, Madam Nooty led the students out of the museum and to the front gates, where Miss Peebottom stood waiting for them.

  “I hope each of you has learnt to appreciate fine art a little more,” said Madam Nooty to the students, handing them over to Miss Peebottom.

  Miss Peebottom pointed sharply at William.

  “Did that one give you any trouble?” she questioned Madam Nooty.

  “No,” replied Madam Nooty, “he was very well behaved.”

  “Well, you can’t trust him,” said Miss Peebottom, “he’s a weaselly one.”

  Miss Peebottom then did a quick head count.

  “Two are missing. Where are they?” she shouted at the students.

  Just as William was going to put up his hand, the Twins staggered out of the museum. William expected them to start laying into him right then and there. Instead, they kept their distance. He noticed how terrible they looked and guessed the potency of the laxative bar had physically exhausted them.

  Being satisfied that everybody was accounted for, Miss Peebottom swiftly ushered the students onto the waiting bus.

  “Get going,” she barked at them, “or I’ll put you all on detention.”

  The trip back to the museum was slow and boring. Vehicles would constantly beep their horns in protest of the driver’s dawdling nature to look both ways eight or ten times before pulling out into traffic. It seemed Mr Boil had taken special care to brief the driver to take it slow.

  As the bus came to a stop in the school’s driveway, William noticed Mr Boil standing at the front gates. He had wild-eyes and clenched fists!

  “I hope this doesn’t have anything to do with me,” fretted William.

  But it would.