A Wedding for Wiglaf? (4 page)

Wiglaf tried to think. Belcheena must have sent this letter before she received the second one. Yes, that was it. Surely Mordred would soon get a second letter from Belcheena. And this one would say she was not coming after all.

“We must hurry!” Mordred said over the jeering boys. “We can’t have Belcheena backing out of the deal when she lays eyes on you, Wiglaf. Come!” He grabbed Wiglaf’s arm. “We must get you to Lobelia right away! She’ll teach you manners. Show you how to eat with a knife, the way proper folks do. She’ll show you how to bow. And most important, how to kiss the princess’s hand.”

The last thing Wiglaf heard as Mordred dragged him from the dining hall was boys making loud, juicy kissing sounds.

“
S
ister!” Mordred cried. He flung Wiglaf into Lobelia’s chamber. “Teach this riffraff some manners. And quickly! Belcheena is coming tomorrow. We can’t have her refusing to marry the boy because he acts like a peasant.”

“Tomorrow!” Lobelia gasped. “We don’t have a moment to lose! Kneel down, Wiglaf. For you must kneel when you first speak to the princess.”

Wiglaf fell to his knees.

“Start by praising Belcheena,” Lobelia said. “Tell her she has lovely eyes and hair and lips. Make your bride-to-be feel beautiful!”

“Uh...beautiful Belcheena,” Wiglaf began. “You have hair. And...uh, teeth...”

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes!” Mordred cried. “Like this!” The big man dropped to his knees. He clasped his hands together. He blinked his violet eyes. “Oh, my lovely billionairess...er, I mean, princess!” he said. “Your hair shines like pure gold in the sunlight. Your eyes are as blue as sapphires! Your teeth are as bright as freshly minted coins!”

Wiglaf tried again. “Oh, Princess, your skin is as soft...as...as a sheep’s belly.”

“Not a sheep’s belly!” Mordred bellowed.

“A sheep’s belly
is
very soft,” Wiglaf said.

“But not terribly romantic,” Lobelia pointed out. “Say soft as a cloud.”

After the praising lesson, Lobelia sat Wiglaf down. He practiced keeping his elbows off the table. He practiced drinking from a goblet without slurping. All the while, Lobelia read to him from
Medieval Manners: Do’s and Don‘t’s.

“‘Don’t spit in your plate during dinner,’” she read. “‘Wait until the meal is finished. Don’t pick your teeth with your knife—always use the point of your sword. Don’t blow your nose on the hem of the tablecloth. Use your sleeve.”’

Lobelia kept at it all morning. She dismissed Wiglaf for lunch, telling him to practice his manners in the dining hall. Wiglaf’s head spun with do’s and don‘t’s as he carried his tray to the Class I table.

“Wiglaf!” Erica exclaimed as he sat down. “I have good news!”

“What?” Wiglaf’s heart leapt with hope. “Has Yorick returned with an answer from Belcheena?”

“No. But my order from
The Sir Lancelot Catalog
came!” Erica announced.

Wiglaf’s heart sank. “That’s nice,” he managed.

“Here,” Erica said. “I want you to have this.” She pressed a ring into his hand. It had a milky blue stone. “It’s a Sir Lancelot almost-magic foretelling ring,” she explained. “When the stone is blue, all is well. But if it turns orange and starts blinking, it means
danger, danger, danger!”

Wiglaf slipped the ring onto the first finger of his left hand. The stone’s blue glow comforted him somehow. He thanked Erica.

“After lunch, let’s go find Yorick,” Angus suggested. “Maybe he has brought back Belcheena’s reply. And surely that will be good news.”

They found Yorick outside the henhouse. He was gathering feathers for his pigeon disguise.

“Yorick!” Wiglaf called. “Did you give Princess Belcheena the letter?”

“Uh...thieves set upon me!” Yorick cried.

“Didn’t you squat down on the side of the road and pretend to be a rock?” Angus asked.

“Of course I did!” Yorick said. “But the thieves thought I
was
a rock. So they sat on me! I let out a cry. And the next thing I knew, they were robbing me! Took my penny, they did. So here.” Yorick pulled the letter from his tunic and gave it to Wiglaf. “I knew you wouldn’t want me delivering it without my proper pay.”

Wiglaf groaned. Here was his last chance to keep Belcheena from coming to DSA—ruined! He crumpled the letter into a ball.

Erica patted Wiglaf on the back. “Don’t worry, Wiggie,” she said. “Look. Your ring is still blue. There is no danger. Everything will turn out all right. Come! Let us be off to Slaying Class. Sir Mort is teaching us today.”

“I shall be there in a minute,” Wiglaf told his friends. “First I must go see Daisy.”

Wiglaf walked to the henhouse.

“Daisy?” he called. “Are you here, girl?”

Daisy came trotting out to meet Wiglaf.

“Ello-hay, Iggie-way!” she exclaimed.

Wiglaf knelt down. He put his arms around his pig and hugged her.

“I can’t stay long, Daisy,” he said. “But I had to see you. For alas! Mordred is trying to make me get mar...mar...” No sound came out. But he managed to mouth the word.

Daisy gasped. “Arried-may?”

Wiglaf nodded. Then he poured his heart out to his pig. “I even tried to get out of it by saying that you must be in the wedding,” Wiglaf added.

“Eally-ray?” Daisy said brightly.

Wiglaf nodded. “But Lobelia liked the idea! She wants you to be the flower pig!”

“I-yay ould-way ove-lay o-tay!” Daisy said.

“No, no!” Wiglaf cried. “I don’t want to get mar... I want things to stay just as they are!”

“Illy-say oy-bay!” Daisy exclaimed. “I-yay ove-lay eddings-way!”

Wiglaf moaned. Daisy didn’t seem to understand. He had counted on his wise pig to help him. He had never guessed that Daisy was so very fond of weddings.

“E-may, a-yay ower-flay ig-pay!” Daisy burbled happily. “Is-thay is-yay e-thay appiest-hay ay-day of-yay y-may ife-lay!”

“I must go to Slaying, Daisy.” Wiglaf stood up. He rubbed his pig on her head. Then he stumbled from the henhouse in a daze.

Slaying Class went badly for Wiglaf that afternoon. He was late, for one thing. And he never had gotten the homework from Torblad. Sir Mort called on him to name three spots on a dragon where a dragon slayer could strike a fatal blow. But he could not name even one. The old knight looked very disappointed.

When at last class ended, Wiglaf ran over to Angus and Erica.

“I have an idea,” he whispered to them. “For getting out of getting mar...mar... For getting out of this mess. I shall call Zelnoc!”

“That crazy wizard?” Angus asked. “The one who messed up Daisy’s speech spell?”

“He’s not very good,” Wiglaf admitted. “But he is a wizard. Surely he must have some magic that can help me.”

“We have a break before Alchemy Class,” Erica said. “Let us summon this enchanter \ now.”

“I know a secret part of the dungeon,” Angus added. “No one ever goes there.”

“Perfect,” Wiglaf said. “Let’s go there now. For my time is running out!”

W
iglaf, Angus, and Erica ran down the stone stairway to the dungeon. Angus led them to a damp room way at the back. A tiny window near the ceiling let in the only light.

Wiglaf closed his eyes. He chanted Zelnoc’s name backwards three times: “Conlez, Conlez, Conlez.”

A faint breeze tickled Wiglaf’s cheek. He opened his eyes. A puff of smoke was rising from the floor. The puff grew and grew until the room was filled with thick black smoke.

Wiglaf’s eyes began to water.

Angus and Erica started coughing.

Then suddenly, out of the smoke, leapt a white rabbit. It was followed by another. And another. Before long, dozens of the furry creatures were hopping around the dungeon.

“Zelnoc?” Wiglaf called. “Are you here?”

“Of course I am!” boomed a voice inside the smoke. “I was summoned, was I not?”

With that, the smoke lifted. And there stood a wizard. He wore a dark blue pointed hat and robe, dotted with silver stars.

“Whoa!” Angus said. He and Erica backed up.

Zelnoc stepped forward, tripping over a rabbit.

“Blasted bunnies!” he cursed. “How was I to know that saying
Bibbity Babbit
summoned rabbits? I thought I was doing a wart removal chant. So, it’s you, is it, Weglip?”

“Yes, sir.” Wiglaf began to worry. He had forgotten how mixed up Zelnoc’s spells could get. “These are my friends, Eric and Angus.”

“Charmed,” Zelnoc said. “Do either of you know a spell for getting rid of rabbits?”

Erica and Angus shook their heads.

“I didn’t think so,” Zelnoc said miserably. He turned to Wiglaf. “So, what’ll it be this time, Wigloaf? Another courage spell?”

“No, sir,” Wiglaf said. “I need a spell so I won’t have to get mar...mar...”

“Married,” Angus put in. “My Uncle Mordred is arranging for him to marry Princess Belcheena.”

“A princess, eh?” Zelnoc exclaimed. “Good work, my boy! Princesses don’t usually go for you peasant types.”

“I don’t want her to go for me,” Wiglaf exclaimed. “I called you to get me out of it!”

“No problem,” Zelnoc said. “I’ll brew you an anti-love potion. Belcheena takes a few sips of it and—zowie! The first person she lays eyes on, she shall hate with all her might.”

“That sounds perfect!” Wiglaf said. “And I shall make certain that person is
me!”

“Tell me, wizard,” Erica said. “What do you put into such a potion?”

“A pinch of pepper, six hairs from a skunk tail, a lump of lumpen pudding,” Zelnoc said. “I can’t tell the whole recipe, of course. That would be breaking Wizard Rule #457. But it’s a doozie.”

“When can I have it?” Wiglaf asked.

“Let me think....” The wizard tapped his fingers on his chin. “Two weeks from today.”

“Alas!” Wiglaf cried. “Then I am doomed!”

“The wedding is to take place next Saturday,” Angus explained.

“Why didn’t you say it was a rush job?” asked Zelnoc. “Nothing is impossible! We wizards always have a trick up our sleeves!”

To prove his point, Zelnoc reached up his sleeve. He pulled out...a rabbit.

“Egad!” he cried as the bunny jumped from his hand. “I’m having a really bad hare day!”

“Is there nothing else you can do for Wiglaf, sir?” asked Erica.

“There is always something else,” Zelnoc said. “I’ll give Waglom a smelling spell. It’s like perfume—with a kick. Let me see.... Ah! I know! Whiff of Loathing. That’s the ticket. One sniff, and bingo! Belcheena will detest you forever! Or at least until the spell wears off. Never fear! I shall bring it soon. Now, I must get back to my tower and figure out how to get rid of these rabbits.”

“Oh, thank you, sir!” Wiglaf said, as, once more, the dungeon filled with smoke.

“Farewell, Wugloom!” Zelnoc called. “Come, bunnies! Hop to it!”

The rabbits jumped into the smoke with Zelnoc. Then, one and all, they disappeared.

Wiglaf ran happily up the dungeon stairs after Erica and Angus. Summoning Zelnoc had been a good idea after all! At the top of the stairs, they bumped into Mordred.

“Wiglaf!” the headmaster boomed. “I’ve been looking for you.” He sniffed. “Do I smell smoke?”

“Frypot must have burned the lumpen pudding again,” Angus said quickly.

“Ah, yes,” Mordred said. “Come, Wiglaf! Lobelia is waiting!”

“But sir!” Wiglaf said. “I have to go to Alchemy Class.”

“Classes are canceled,” Mordred said. “Except for Scrubbing. Eric and Angus, you missed the sign-up. So you’ll have to scrub the privy. Wiglaf, you go to Lobelia’s. She’s waiting to give you a makeover.”

“A...what?” Wiglaf said.

“Lobelia wants you to look your best when you meet Belcheena tomorrow,” Mordred said. “So go!”

Wiglaf hurried down the hallway. To his horror, he saw that the stone in his ring was turning orange. It started blinking:
danger, danger, danger!
His heart pounded. This was not a good sign.

“Wiglaf!” Lobelia exclaimed as she waved him into her chamber. “I found the most charming drawing of Prince Putroc in
Royal Lads Magazine.
Just feast your eyes on his hair!” Lobelia held up the drawing. Prince Putroc’s hair hung down on his forehead in ringlet curls. “You, Wiglaf, will look royal when I’ve curled your hair.”

“My
hair?” Wiglaf cried. No wonder his ring had been blinking! “No! Please! That picture is...awful!”

“Trust me on this, Wiglaf,” Lobelia said. “Those curls are
you!
But we have a few other things to take care of first. Sit on that stool.”

Wiglaf sat. Lobelia began spreading foul-smelling green goo all over his face.

“This clay is from Dead Fish Swamp. It does wonders for the skin. There.” She stepped back to see if she had missed any spots.

Wiglaf felt the clay hardening.

“Now tilt your head back,” Lobelia said.