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Authors: Kate McMullan

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BOOK: Beware! It's Friday the 13th
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Brother Dave closed the book and said, “For years, I liveth in the monastery with my fellow Little Brothers of the Peanut Brittle. One dark night, we heareth the beating of wings. We looketh out our window. And there came a dragon most terrible flying down upon us.”
“But why would a dragon attack you and your Little Brothers?” asked Wiglaf.
“He cometh for our brittle,” said Brother Dave. “ ’Tis famous the world o’er,” he added. “And, except for my own poor batches, it is known to be most tasty.”
“What’s wrong with your brittle, Bro?” asked Janice.
“ ’Tis not fit to eat.” Brother Dave sighed and went on. “That very morning, I hath badly burned my batch of brittle. My Little Brothers hath placed it on the bottom of the brittle pile. The huge dragon flyeth down and roareth out,
‘I am Snagglefahng! Give me your brittle, and no one gets flamed!’ ”
“What a bully!” exclaimed Erica.
Brother Dave nodded. “The dragon filleth us all with fright. We cowereth in fear as he gobbleth up all our brittle.”
“Mmm, a brittle feast,” murmured Angus.
“Snagglefahng eateth his way through our brittle. At last he cometh down to my own poor batch. And when Snagglefahng chompeth down upon my brittle—
Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!
—he broketh off his four front fangs.”
“No kidding?” exclaimed Janice. “Your brittle was that hard?”
Brother Dave nodded sadly.
“You defanged Snagglefahng!” said Erica. “He can’t hurt anyone. You’re a hero, Brother Dave!”
“Oh, no,” said the monk. “For the dragon spouteth fire still. And his claws can rippeth the armor off a knight as easy as they peeleth a grape.”
“Brother Dave?” said Wiglaf. “How did Snagglefahng know it was
your
brittle that broketh—I mean, broke—off his fangs?”
“The dragon filleth up with rage,” the monk said. “He belloweth out, “‘Who baked that burnt, brick-hard brittle?’ ”
Gwen gasped. “And you confessed?”
Brother Dave nodded. “I cannot telleth a lie,” he said. “And I wanteth to protecteth the other Little Brothers.”
“Did he try to flame you, Brother Dave?” asked Erica. “Or rip you with his claws?”
“No,” said the monk. “He only pointeth a claw at me, and growleth that he wouldst be back one day to get his revenge. Then he picketh up his fangs and flyeth away.”
Brother Dave sighed and said, “And now I must goeth.”
“Hold it, Brother,” said Gwen. “Hold it.”
Chapter 7
G
wen pulled a magazine from her bag. “I think Snagglefahng is in this month’s issue of
WHO’S HOT.”
She flipped through it. “Look, here he is!”
Gwen held up the page for all to see.
“Yiketh!” cried Brother Dave.
Staring out from the page was one very scary dragon. His horn puffed coal black smoke. His eyes shot sparks. He sneered, showing four fang stumps. Under the portrait it said:
World’s #1 Wickedest: Snagglefahng
“He went from 97th wickedest to wickedest!” exclaimed Janice. “Way to go!”
Gwen turned the page, and they all read:
 
FLAMER OF THE MONTH: Snagglefahng!
Snagglefahng Suggarlump was born mean. But when he lost his four front fangs in a freak peanut-brittle accident, he became even meaner. Now he makes up for his lack of scary fangs by flaming first and asking questions later.
Lots of dragons have perfect front fangs. But Snagglefahng has suffered. He’s real! He’s had to flame and claw his way up to #1 Wicked. That’s why he’s our Flamer of the Month. Hey, Snaggy, hope you get the guy back—but good!
 
“Brother Dave!” said Wiglaf. “You cannot go to meet this wicked dragon!”
“Why not?” cried Torblad. “I say let him go! Then the dragon won’t come after us!”
“I shalt goeth,” said Brother Dave. “But I can stayeth a moment if any of thee wisheth to checketh out a book.”
“Oh, gosh!” exclaimed Gwen. She pulled a book from a shelf. “We have this in the palace library at Gargglethorp!” She held the cover face out:
Peanut Brittle Made the Old, Difficult Way with Hours of Standing over a Steaming Hot Cauldron, Stirring Ceaselessly and Sweating Like a Pig.
“Doest thou now?” Brother Dave beamed. “’Twas written by all the Little Brothers. I helpeth to letter it myself.”
“No kidding!” said Janice, leaning over the book.
“I kiddeth you not,” said Brother Dave. “My order selleth this book, as well as our brittle, to maketh our meager living.”
“My mother, the Queen, would never stand over a hot cauldron,” Erica said.
“Mine doesn’t either, silly,” said Gwen. “We have a palace brittle baker.”
Torblad gave a sudden shriek from where he sat, looking out the library window. All turned to see what ailed him.
“Look! In the sky!” Torblad wailed. “It’s the dragon! He’s coming! We’re doomed!”
Wiglaf ran to the window. Far to the west, he made out a small, dark shape flapping its wings against the sky, still many miles away. Was it truly Snagglefahng?
“I can’t believe it!” cried Janice. “First a ghost and now a dragon!”
“To arms!” cried Erica.
“To what?” said Gwen.
Erica rolled her eyes. “It means get your weapon! We must fight Snagglefahng.”
“But we have no weapons,” Gwen said.
The other princesses nodded.
“We are doomed!” cried Torblad, in case anyone had forgotten. “Doomed!”
“Back to the dorm!” Erica called. “We’ll get our swords. Then I’ll think of something for the lasses!”
Everyone raced down the 427 stairs from the library. Brother Dave hurried after them.
Back in the Class I dorm room, Wiglaf reached under his cot and pulled out his sword, Surekill. It had been a gift from the wizard Zelnoc. But could he use it? He hated the sight of blood. Even hearing of a bloody battle made him feel sick. Yet he had to help Brother Dave! He stuck Surekill into his belt.
He hurried over to Erica. She had changed into her old DSA uniform.
“How shall we fight this dragon?” he asked her as she stuck her silvery Sir Lancelot look-alike sword into its scabbard.
“Why don’t you go ask Gwen?” Erica snapped. “Maybe she’ll have a clever idea.”
“Come on, Erica,” he said, but she was still mad.
Erica called out, “To the Weapons Closet! Quickly! There’s not a minute to lose!”
As everyone thundered down the hallway, Lady Lobelia stuck her head out the headmaster’s office door.
“Shhhhh!” she said, putting a finger to her lips. “Don’t disturb Mordred. It will be better for everyone if he stays knocked out until Saturday the 14th.”
“A wicked dragon is on his way here, Lady Lobelia,” Erica said. “We must fight him!”
“St. Patsy’s petticoat!” exclaimed Lobelia, and she slammed the door shut.
Erica led the way to the Weapons Closet. She flung it open. “Give out swords, Wiggie,” she ordered.
Wiglaf took several. Erica had called him
Wiggie
! Maybe she had forgiven him for taking Gwen’s side earlier.
Wiglaf carried the swords to the castle yard. He gave them out to the princesses.
“How do you hold this thing?” Gwen asked Wiglaf. “Is there any way I can get a private lesson?”
“There is no time for a lesson, Gwen,” Wiglaf said. “Stick with me at the back of the charge. That way, you and the other princesses will not likely get hurt.”
“Stick with me, Gwennie!” Erica mimicked him. “I’ll save you!”
Wiglaf felt his face grow warm again. Perhaps Erica had not entirely forgiven him after all.
“Watch me, Gwen,” Erica said. “I shall be up front with Janice, leading the charge. Do what I do, and you shall soon get the hang of dragon slaying.”
“Of course I shall!” said Gwen fiercely. “I’ll take another one of those!” She grabbed a second sword from Wiglaf.
A flapping noise sounded overhead. The dragon was coming closer!
“I’ll show you what I learned at Dragon Whackers, Snagglefahng!” Janice cried. She warmed up for battle by swinging her lance wildly over her head.
“And I’ll show you what I learned in Knitting Class at Princess Prep!” shouted Gwen. She flashed the tips of her swords together with great skill. Wiglaf thought she looked quite fearsome.
Wiglaf stood between Angus and Baldrick, near the back of the formation. He glanced at Brother Dave. Brother Dave stood beside the castle wall, his hands folded. He looked very worried.
A whistling sound split the air. The dragon was flying in fast. Wiglaf saw a flash of green. A flash of yellow. Then—
THUMP!
The dragon landed in the yard.
Janice called, “CHARGE!”
Class I gave a battle cry: “Yahhhhhhhh!” Waving their swords, they ran toward the dragon. At the back of the charge, Wiglaf saw the dragon flap its wings and then fold them to its body.
Suddenly, Wiglaf put on a burst of speed. He raced to the front of the formation. He kept going until he was way ahead of the others.
“Stop!” Wiglaf cried as he ran. “Stop! Do not harm this dragon!”
Chapter 8
“
D
RAGON SLAYERS, CHAAARGE!” cried Janice.
The others kept running after her, waving their swords and lances in the air.
“Stop!” Wiglaf shouted, still running.
The dragon was hunkered down, its head hidden beneath its wing.
Wiglaf reached the dragon. He whirled around and stretched out his arms as he faced the oncoming mob. “I said STOP!”
Everyone stopped.
“Stand back, Wiglaf,” Janice said, “so I can lop off the dragon’s head!”
“Do not lop!” cried Wiglaf. “For this is not Snagglefahng. This is Worm!”
At the sound of his name, the dragon popped his head out from under his wing. He looked around with yellow eyes that had cherry red centers. He smiled and nuzzled Wiglaf.
“You
know
him, Wiglaf?” said Gwen.
“Worm!” cried Angus and Erica, rushing up to the dragon.
“
Wrrrm comme homme
,” said the dragon. He butted Wiglaf gently with his head.
“Hey, you can really talk now, Worm!” exclaimed Wiglaf.
Janice lowered her lance. “Oh, he’s a big baby. This is so cool!”
“He’s very cute,” said Gwen. “You saved his life, Wiglaf!”
Wiglaf hardly noticed Gwen. How happy he was to see his Worm!
Worm hopped over to Brother Dave.
“Brrrrrr!”
he burbled.
“Brrrr Daaaave!”
“Worm!” The little monk hugged the dragon. “Thou hath cometh home!”
Worm bounced back to Wiglaf.
“Mommmy!”
he purred.
“Wormmm mmmiss Mommmy!”
He rubbed his head on Wiglaf’s shoulder.
“He thinks you’re his mommy?” said Gwen. “That is so cute!”
Wiglaf smiled. He scratched the dragon behind his ears. Worm was a hundred times bigger than when he had hatched from his purple egg in the Class I dorm. But he would always be Wiglaf’s baby dragon. His little pipling.
“The newspaper must have been wrong!” cried Erica suddenly. “Snagglefahng isn’t flying to DSA. It was only Worm!”
“Hooray!” everyone cried.
“Good thing I kept on my lucky bonnet!” cried Torblad. “I kept Snagglefahng away!”
“I say we feast,” said Angus.
“Hooray!” everyone cried again. They ran toward the banquet table.
But Worm bounced toward them.
“Draaaagon come!”
he burbled.
“I know,” said Wiglaf happily as he got in line. “Our little dragon has come home.”
But Worm shook his head.
“No littttle. Bigggg draaagon. Bigggg!”
“Thou hath indeed grown big, Worm,” said Brother Dave.
“Nott Wrrrm, Brrrr,”
said Worm.
“Biggg draaaagon coming soooooon!”
A hush fell on the castle yard.
“Who’s coming, Worm?” said Wiglaf.
“Biiggg dragon!”
cried Worm.
“Baaaaaaad.”
He began bouncing toward the lads and lasses.
“Runnn! Hiiddde!”
“He’s telling us to run and hide!” exclaimed Wiglaf. “Do you think he means Snagglefahng is coming?”
“Who knows?” said Angus grumpily. He gave a last longing look at the banquet table. “You’d better not be playing one of your games, Worm.”
Brother Dave hurried over to Worm.
“Telleth me, Worm,” he said. “Art this dragon’s front fangs brokeneth off?”
“Faaaaangs brrrrken.”
Worm nodded his head.
“Commmming soooooooon.”
“Unlucky day!” cried Torblad. “We are doomed! Doomed!”
“Never fear! Your teachers are here!” cried the fully armored Sir Mort. He clanked his way down the castle steps.
“Lady Lobelia sent us,” said Coach Plungett, coming down the steps after Sir Mort. He, too, wore armor. “We have come to show you how to fight a wicked dra—”
BOOK: Beware! It's Friday the 13th
9.63Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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