Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face and the Quest for the Magic Porcupine Page 3
She scanned the page. “To catch the badgers,” she told them, “you must first fulfill a quest.”
CHAPTER 8
IN WHICH
OUR HEROES LEARN OF THEIR QUEST
Let me guess,” said Stinkbomb. “Is it a quest for a Magic Porcupine?”
“It is,” Miss Butterworth agreed, looking up from the copy of STINKBOMB AND KETCHUP-FACE AND THE QUEST FOR THE MAGIC PORCUPINE.
“I say!” said King Toothbrush Weasel. “However did you know that?”
“To stop the badgers from doing their evil and wicked doings,” Miss Butterworth continued, “you must find the legendary Magic Porcupine of Stupidity.”
“Stupidity?” asked Ketchup-Face.
“Yes, Stupidity,” said Miss Butterworth. “It’s a tiny village where the Magic Porcupine lives.”
“Oh,” said Ketchup-Face. “That’s a silly name.”
“No, it isn’t,” said King Toothbrush Weasel. “Asillyname is in the other direction.”
“Never mind that,” said Stinkbomb, who was eager to get on with the story. “How do we get to Stupidity?”
Miss Butterworth thought for a moment, and then she wasn’t there anymore.
“How does she do that?” asked King Toothbrush Weasel, looking around.
A moment later, just as mysteriously and silently, she returned with another book.
“Ha!” said Malcolm the Cat smugly, twitching his tail out of the way.
King Toothbrush Weasel, curious about the book, edged closer to Miss Butterworth.
“OW!” said Malcolm the Cat.
“Oh, sorry,” said King Toothbrush Weasel, looking down and taking his foot off Malcolm the Cat’s tail.
Miss Butterworth held up the book. It was called Great Destinations for Holidays, Weekend Breaks, and Perilous Quests in Great Kerfuffle. Turning to the “Perilous Quests” section, she found the entry on Stupidity.
“The road to Stupidity is a long and hard one,” she read. “You must first cross the Valley of Despair—a terrible, desolate place filled with deadly snakes—and then climb the treacherous Mountains of Doom. That done, you must make your way across the dreadful Swamp of Misery, where so many brave adventurers have perished, and if you survive thus far, you must finally face the fiery Volcano of Death, which is also a bit nasty.”
Stinkbomb thought about this. The idea of crossing the Valley of Despair, climbing the Mountains of Doom, making his way across the Swamp of Misery, and facing the Volcano of Death certainly sounded interesting, but he wasn’t sure he would actually like it.
“Do we have to do all that?” he asked.
“Well,” Miss Butterworth said, “you could take the Number 36 bus instead. It goes the other way, so you wouldn’t have to cross the Valley of Despair, climb the Mountains of Doom, make your way across the Swamp of Misery, and face the Volcano of Death, although you would have to endure the Traffic Lights of Waiting a Crazy Long Time.”
“Um . . . I think we’ll take the bus,” Stinkbomb said, and Ketchup-Face agreed. “Could we have some money for the tickets?” he asked King Toothbrush Weasel.
None of them noticed that, while this conversation was going on, the mysterious stranger in a raincoat had crept closer to them. He was a big mysterious stranger in a raincoat with a big badge that said
As soon as he heard the bit about taking the Number 36 bus he turned and hurried out of the library, going as quietly as he could so as not to draw attention to himself, and pausing only to knock over the wastepaper basket.
CHAPTER 9
IN WHICH
WE VISIT THE LIBRARY ROOF, AND THE CAUSE OF THE MYSTERIOUS RAIN IS REVEALED
Outside, the mysterious stranger in a raincoat hurried up the fire escape to the library roof, where he found Harry the Badger and all the other badgers refilling their giant pump-action water guns from a big barrel of extremely dirty river water.
“Hello, Rolf the Badger,” said Harry the Badger, pumping his water gun really hard and then squirting happily away. All the other Badgers squirted, too, covering the village in a horrible, inky-splattery, thick wet rain that left dark splotches on the ground and smelled faintly of bananas.
The mysterious stranger in a raincoat took off his raincoat and was indeed Rolf the Badger.
“Hello, Harry the Badger,” he said. “What’re you doing that for?”
“It’s an evil and wicked doing,” Harry the Badger explained.
“Oh, okay,” said Rolf the Badger. “Can I have a turn with your water gun?”
Harry the Badger thought about this for a moment. “Nope,” he said, squirting some more. “What’d you find out?”
“Well,” said Rolf the Badger, “apparently there’s this Magic Porcupine in Stupidity that can stop badgers.”
“Grrr!” growled Harry the Badger.
“And those kids are going to go on the Number 36 bus and find it.”
“Grrrrrrr!” growled Harry the Badger.
“Then they’re going to bring it back.”
“Grrrrrrrrrrrr!”
growled Harry the Badger.
“And then it’ll stop us doing our evil and wicked doings.”
“Oink!”
growled Harry the Badger. “Sorry, I mean:
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!”
“Now can I have a go with your water gun?”
“No!” said Harry the Badger, putting it down. “We’ve got to stop those kids from bringing the Magic Porcupine back to Loose Pebbles. How did you say they were getting there?”
“On the Number 36 bus,” said Rolf the Badger, still eyeing Harry the Badger’s water gun enviously.
“Aha!” Harry the Badger said, looking at his watch, and then remembering that he was a badger and didn’t have one. “What time is it?”
Rolf the Badger sniffed the air and looked at the sky. Animals have senses that we humans don’t have, and can find out lots of things by sniffing the air and looking at the sky. After a moment, he sniffed again, and said, “Gosh! Did you know that Caracas is the capital of Venezuela?”
“Oooh, is it?” said the other badgers, and they all began sniffing the air and looking at the sky.
“Never mind that!” Harry the Badger snarled. “What time is it?”
For a moment there was no sound but the sound of sniffing badgers. And then one of them said, “Um . . . it’s about five to Chapter Ten.”
“Perfect!” said Harry the Badger. “The Number 36 bus doesn’t leave till Chapter Eleven. We’ve just got time! Come on!”
“Hang on a minute,” said Rolf the Badger. “I’ve just realized what that big barrel of river water reminds me of.” And he knocked it over. They watched as its filthy contents poured out and into the street below.
“Hey!” said Harry the Badger. “Who put those banana skins in there?”
CHAPTER 10
IN WHICH
OUR HEROES SAY GOOD-BYE TO THEIR FRIENDS
Aminute or two later, and an entire library nearer the ground, Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face stood in the village square saying good-bye to their friends. Or, rather, Ketchup-Face was saying good-bye. Stinkbomb had already said it, like this:
“Bye.”
Ketchup-Face, however, had a strong sense of the dramatic, and felt that bye didn’t quite cover it when you were off on a quest to save the entire kingdom from evil and wickedness.
“Good-bye, Starlight, my noble steed!”
she said to the little shopping cart, trying to throw her arms around it and then giving it a kiss instead.
The little shopping cart blushed. “Good luck,” it said shyly.
“And good-bye, Miss Butterworth, protector of the library!” she continued, throwing her arms affectionately around the Ninja Librarian.
Miss Butterworth bowed solemnly. “Be noble, and strong,” s
he said, “and you will succeed in your quest. Take this with you.” She pressed something into Ketchup-Face’s hand. “Use it wisely.”
“Thank you!” Ketchup-Face gasped, looking at the small, flat object. “Is it a magic talisman to ward off evil and wickedness?”
“No,” said Miss Butterworth. “It is a library card. The mobile library stops in Stupidity most days, and I thought you might like something to read on your way back.”
“Oh,” said Ketchup-Face. “Thank you.” She threw her arms around Malcolm the Cat, gave him a kiss on the nose, and said, “Good-bye, sweet little cat.”
Malcolm the Cat stared unblinkingly at her until she began to feel uncomfortable.
Then she turned to King Toothbrush Weasel, and didn’t throw her arms around him. In fact, she took a step back.
“OW,” said Malcolm the Cat.
“Oh, sorry,” said Ketchup-Face, looking down and taking her foot off Malcolm the Cat’s tail.
Then she looked up at King Toothbrush Weasel. He was dripping wet and smelled faintly of bananas, because as he had left the library a few minutes earlier, an enormous raindrop—about the size of a barrelful—had fallen on him.
“Well . . . bye,” she said.
“Come on,” said Stinkbomb. “The bus’ll be going in a minute!”
They both gave a little wave and made their way quickly over to the bus stop where the Number 36 bus was sitting, its engine chugging away merrily.
CHAPTER 11
IN WHICH
OUR HEROES CATCH THE NUMBER 36 BUS, AND IT ALMOST LEAVES
Two children to Stupidity, please!” Stinkbomb said.
“Why, certainly, young gentleman!” said the driver cheerily. “Welcome aboard! I’m Mr. Jolly, the bus driver! Can I check that it is the Number 36 you want, and not the 36A?”
“Er . . . what’s the difference?” asked Stinkbomb.
“Well,” said Mr. Jolly with a jovial wink, “they both go to Stupidity, but the Number 36A takes the scenic route through the Valley of Despair, over the Mountains of Doom, across the Swamp of Misery, and past the Volcano of Death, while the 36—that’s this one—goes the direct route via the Traffic Lights of Waiting a Crazy Long Time.”
“Oh, okay,” said Stinkbomb. “Yes, it’s definitely the 36 we want.”
“Righty-ho,” said Mr. Jolly, a merry twinkle in his eye. “Very wise, if you ask me. I probably shouldn’t say this, but Mr. Creepy, who drives the 36A, he’s a bit . . . well . . .”
“Creepy?” suggested Ketchup-Face.
“Oh, no!” said Mr. Jolly in surprise. “No, I wouldn’t say that. I was going to say ‘nervous.’ What made you think he’d be creepy?”
“Well,” said Ketchup-Face slowly, “you’re called Mr. Jolly . . .”
“That I am!” agreed Mr. Jolly happily.
“. . . and you are jolly.”
“That’s true!” Mr. Jolly exclaimed. “That’s a very good point indeed!”
“So I just thought,” Ketchup-Face continued, “that if a bus driver called Mr. Jolly is jolly, then maybe a bus driver called Mr. Creepy would be creepy.”
Mr. Jolly sat back in his seat and scratched his chin. “I never thought of that!” he said. “Fancy me being so jolly when my name is Jolly! What a coincidence, eh? And now that I think about it,” he added confidentially, “there is something creepy about Mr. Creepy.” He scratched his chin some more. “And he’s not really nervous at all. I was mixing him up with the chap who drives the Number 35A. What’s his name again? Oh, yes: Mr. Nervous.” A look of delighted surprise came over his face. “And come to think of it—he is nervous! Deary me!” And he burst into a guffaw of hearty laughter that shook the whole bus. “Well,” he said, wiping the tears of merriment from his eyes and looking at his watch, “better get going. It’s nearly the end of the chapter. Take your seats, young lady and young gentleman.”
He was just putting the bus into gear when, from outside, there came a great shout of,
“STOP!!! WAIT!!!”
And they turned to see a crowd of raccoons racing across the square toward them.
CHAPTER 12
IN WHICH
SOME RACCOONS CATCH THE NUMBER 36 BUS
As the bus doors hissed open again, the raccoons swarmed aboard.
“Lots of raccoons to Stupidity, please,” said one of the raccoons.
“How many raccoons, exactly?” asked Mr. Jolly. The raccoons looked at one another, and shrugged. “Dunno,” one of them said. “We don’t do math. We’re raccoons.”
Mr. Jolly beamed. “Well, young Master Raccoon,” he said, “how’s about you give me fifty cents each, then? Be quick about it—we’re running late! We should have left over a page ago.”
There was a lot of scuffling and mumbling about change, but finally the raccoons all had their tickets and took their seats, and the bus was on its way.
Everyone was very excited to be on the bus—especially Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face, who had never been on a bus by themselves before because it was the sort of thing they were only allowed to do in stories.
It wasn’t long, though, before Stinkbomb began to grow suspicious.
“You know,” he murmured to his sister, “there’s something odd about those raccoons.”
“Really?” whispered Ketchup-Face. “Do you think maybe they’re not raccoons at all?”
“It’s possible,” Stinkbomb said.
“Shall we find out?”
“Okay,” said Stinkbomb, “but we’ll have to be clever about it. We don’t want them to know that we suspect anything.”
Ketchup-Face nodded wisely. “Leave it to me,” she told him, and she turned around and said to the raccoon in the seat behind her, “Excuse me, but are you really raccoons?”
The raccoon jumped guiltily. “Oh, yes,” it said. “We’re definitely raccoons. We’re very raccoony indeed. Never been raccoonier. Isn’t that right, Rolf the Raccoon?”
“That’s right,” agreed Rolf the Raccoon, a big raccoon with a big badge that said “We’re raccoons all right. Aren’t we, Harry the Raccoon?”
“Yes,” agreed Harry the Raccoon, taking a sip of tea from a mug marked World's Best Raccoon. “We’re extremely raccoony. Aren’t we, Stewart the Raccoon?”
Just as Stewart the Raccoon was opening his mouth to answer, Harry the Raccoon passed him a note that said:
Stewart the Raccoon read it slowly three times and then said, “Er, we’re raccoons.” He turned the note over. On the other side, it said:
“Er, we’re not badgers,” he added.
“Oh, good,” said Ketchup-Face, reassured.
But Stinkbomb was still suspicious. “Aren’t raccoons supposed to have long, ringed tails?” he asked.
“We do have long, ringed tails,” said Harry the Raccoon. “Look!” And he opened a bag he was carrying and let Stinkbomb and Ketchup-Face look inside. It was full of long, ringed tails.
“Aren’t those supposed to be on your bottoms?” asked Ketchup-Face curiously.
“Not when you’re running for a bus,” said Harry the Raccoon. “You might trip over them.”
Ketchup-Face nodded wisely, but Stinkbomb was still not satisfied. “Are you absolutely sure you’re raccoons?” he said.
“Absolutely,” said Harry the Raccoon. “We’ve even got black masks on our faces.”
“Yes . . . but they seem to be held on with elastic,” said Stinkbomb thoughtfully.
“So?” said Harry the Raccoon rudely, but not too rudely, because he didn’t want anyone to realize he was really a bad guy.
Just then, Ketchup-Face pointed out of the window, and said, “What’s that?”
Stinkbomb looked. “It’s the river,” he said. “You know, the River Yuk. The big one that flows all the way from Stupidity to Loose Pebbles.”
“What’s it for?”
Ketchup-Face asked.
“I don’t think it’s for anything,” Stinkbomb said. “Though if it was cleaner I suppose you could swim in it, or fish in it.”
“And you could fill barrels from it,” suggested Stewart the Raccoon.
All the other raccoons glared at him and made shushing signs with their eyebrows.
“Er . . . if you wanted to,” Stewart the Raccoon added. “But I don’t want to. I don’t like barrels. Or garbage cans. I’m a raccoon.”
Then there was silence on the bus, as it trundled on toward Stupidity.
And then they reached the Traffic Lights of Waiting a Crazy Long Time.
CHAPTER 13
IN WHICH
WE WAIT FOR A RATHER LONG TIME AT THE TRAFFIC LIGHTS OF WAITING A CRAZY LONG TIME
Right,” said Mr. Jolly in a slightly less jolly voice. “This is where we wait for a crazy long time.”
And they did.
CHAPTER 14
IN WHICH
WE ARE STILL WAITING AT THE TRAFFIC LIGHTS OF WAITING A CRAZY LONG TIME
It got very boring.
CHAPTER 15
IN WHICH
WE ARE STILL WAITING AT THE TRAFFIC LIGHTS OF WAITING A CRAZY LONG TIME
Very, very boring.
CHAPTERS 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46 AND 47