Revenge of the Dragon Lady (4 page)

Wiglaf backed away from the miserable headmaster. As he did, he saw a newspaper on Mordred’s desk. The headline made Wiglaf’s eyes widen in horror.

Wiglaf’s hand shook as he picked up
The Medieval Times.
Angus looked over his shoulder. Together they read:

Wiglaf gulped. He was more scared than he had ever been in his life. Now he almost wished Lobelia had turned him into a toad. At least he would be alive!

W
iglaf didn’t sleep a wink that night. On Thursday morning, he got up, thinking,
This could be the last day of my life!

Well, he’d do his best to make it a good one.

Wiglaf put on his hero outfit and stuck his sword in his belt. He went to breakfast and ate some scrambled eel. Then he headed for Dragon Science Class with his friends.

“Ba—could be bats,” Angus told Wiglaf as they walked. “Vampire bats are pretty scary.”

“Maybe it’s bandits,” Erica put in.

“But Seetha has no gold for bandits to take,” Angus said. “Hey! Maybe it’s baked beans.”

Wiglaf scratched his neck. The mangy wolf pelt was giving him a nasty rash. He was hardly even listening to Angus and Erica who went on and on about every ba—word under the sun. He knew his friends were only trying to help. But what was the use? Guessing Seetha’s secret weakness was impossible!

The three walked into science class.

“Looky! Looky!” Torblad yelled. “Here comes Mr. Puffy Pants!”

Wiglaf tried to look as if he didn’t care. All day yesterday, boys had teased him. They said the wolf pelt looked like road kill. They said his helmet had cow horns on it. Every time he went by, they yelled out,
“Moooo
!
”
But Mr. Puffy Pants. That was even worse!

So much for having a good day.

“Button it up, Torblad!” Erica yelled back. “You
wish
you had puffy pants like Wiglaf’s!”

The Dragon Science teacher, tall, thin Dr. Pluck, stood at the front of the room.

“
P
lease sto
p
,
p
u
p
ils!” Dr. Pluck sputtered.

Dr. Pluck’s lips were badly chapped because he always spit when he said the letter p. DSA students made sure they came to Dr. Pluck’s class early. They all wanted to get seats in the back rows to keep from getting sprayed.

Wiglaf, Erica, and Angus had not come early. So they took the only empty seats—in the first row.

“
P
lease
p
ay attention,
p
u
p
ils,” Dr. Pluck sputtered. He pulled down a large chart of a dragon. All its body parts were labeled. Dr. Pluck put his pointer on the dragon’s belly. “The
p
lump
p
art here is the
p
aunch,” he told the class. “Its scientific name is the
p
i
pp
i-hi
pp
o-
p
a
pp
a-
p
ee
p
us.”

Erica’s hand shot up. “Can you spell that for us, sir?”

“With pleasure,” said Dr. Pluck. “
P
-i-
p
-
p
-”

Wiglaf didn’t care about spelling right then. He didn’t care about parts of a dragon. He didn’t even care that Dr. Pluck was spraying him with spit. He stared at the dragon chart. But all he could see was the face of Seetha from Brother Dave’s book.

“The
p
i
pp
i-hi
pp
o-
p
a
pp
a-
p
ee
p
us,” Dr. Pluck went on, “is
p
acked with
p
artly digested pieces of food. Possibly part of a possum. Or a pigeon.
P
lunge a s
p
ear into the dragon’s
p
i
pp
i-hi
pp
o-
p
a
pp
a-
p
ee
p
us—”

Dr. Pluck showered the class with facts. But Wiglaf was thinking of only one fact. Seetha was coming tomorrow!

Angus would never guess her secret weakness. Erica talked big. But talk was easy. She didn’t stand a chance against the dragon. And Lobelia’s hero outfit? What a joke! Seetha would see right through his clothes. And then she would know that, under the wolf pelt, he was anything but a hero.

Was there no one to help him?

“In a dragon’s
p
i
pp
i-hi
pp
o-
p
a
pp
a-
p
ee
p
us,” Dr. Pluck was spraying, “might be a
p
ortion of a
p
ig or a—”

Wiglaf suddenly heard Dr. Pluck’s words. Pig. Pig. PIG! Yes! Daisy might help him! True, she was a pig. But she was wiser than most people he knew. And, ever since the wizard Zelnoc had put a spell on her, Daisy could speak Pig Latin. Maybe she could tell him how to save himself. Even if she couldn’t, Wiglaf wanted to see her. One last time.

So, after Dragon Science, Wiglaf cut Scrubbing. He headed for the henhouse.

“Daisy?” Wiglaf called softly. He didn’t want to bother the hens. “Where are you?”

Wiglaf heard the patter of feet on the dirt floor. His pig dashed from her bed. She let out a scream.

Hens fluttered and squawked.

“It’s me, Daisy!” Wiglaf exclaimed.

“Iglaf-Way?” Daisy said, backing up.

“Of course it’s me.” Wiglaf took off the ram’s-horn helmet. “See?” Once Daisy and the hens got used to his hero look, Wiglaf sat down with his pig. Daisy snuggled up to Wiglaf and listened as he told her about Gorzil’s mother.

“Eetha-Say?” Daisy gasped. “E-thay east-bay om-fray e-thay east-yay?”

“Yes. The Beast from the East.” Wiglaf nodded sadly. “Her secret weakness begins with ba—. But that is all I know.”

In a shaky voice Daisy said, “Acon-bay?”

“Maybe bacon
is
her weakness,” Wiglaf said. “But I will never let Seetha get you, Daisy!” He planted a kiss on her snout. “The dragon will be here at noon tomorrow. What shall I do?”

“All-cay Elnoc-Zay,” the pig answered.

“The wizard?” Wiglaf said. “But Zelnoc’s spells always turn out wrong. He said so himself. He was in for repairs when we met him.”

“En-thay oo-whay?” Daisy asked.

“Who, indeed?” Wiglaf thought for a while. “All right, Daisy,” he said at last. “I shall call Zelnoc. For even a broken wizard is better than no wizard at all.”

I
n those days, everyone knew how to call a wizard. All Wiglaf had to do was say Zelnoc’s name backwards three times.

Wiglaf wrote on the dirt floor of the henhouse with his finger: Z E L N O C.

Then he wrote it backwards: C O N L E Z.

“Conlez, Conlez, Conlez,” Wiglaf chanted.

Suddenly, a tiny bit of smoke appeared. It grew into a smoky, blue pillar. Out of the smoke stepped Zelnoc. He had on a pointed hat and a blue robe covered with stars.

“Bats and blisters!” Zelnoc yelled. “Am I called to a henhouse?” He turned to Wiglaf. “Who are you? Wait! Don’t tell me. It’s coming to me now. You tried to pull me out of Wizards’ Bog. It’s Wigwam, right?”

“Wiglaf, sir. Thank you for coming.”

“You think I had a choice?” Zelnoc shook his head. “No such thing. When we wizards are called, we show up. Have to. It’s Wizard Rule #598.”

Now Daisy spoke. “Ello-hay, izard-way.”

“Hello, pig! Where in the world did you learn to speak Pig Latin? Oh, I remember. My spell went wrong.” Zelnoc sighed. “My spells always do. Well, what can I do for you, Wiglump? Tell me quickly! I want to get back to the Wizards’ Convention. Zizmor the Amazing was just starting a demonstration. Oh, what that wizard can do with a few newts’ eyes and a drop of bat’s blood! And you should see his new wizard’s staff. It’s a ten-speed model! It casts any spell in half the time.”

“I could use a fast spell,” Wiglaf said. “For tomorrow, the dragon Seetha is coming to kill me.”

“Seetha?” Zelnoc drew back from Wiglaf. “The Pest from the West?”

“No,” said Wiglaf. “The Beast from the East.”

“Humph,” Zelnoc said. “Never heard of that one.”

“Well, she’s coming to get me,” Wiglaf told the wizard. “I’m scared to death! That’s why I called you. Can you cast a spell to help me?”

Zelnoc scratched his ear. “A courage spell would fix you up. But can I remember one?”

Zelnoc thought for a minute. Then he snapped his fingers. “Got it! Quick, Wigloaf! Let me say it over you before I forget.”

Zelnoc pushed up his sleeves. He stretched out his arms toward Wiglaf. He waggled his fingers.

“Just loosening myself up a bit,” the wizard said. “All right. Count to three for me, pig.”

“One-yay,” said Daisy. “Oo-tway. Ee-thray!”

Zelnoc began to chant:

“Excuse me, sir?” Wiglaf broke in.

“Never stop a wizard midspell!” Zelnoc yelled. “Never!”

“But are you sure that’s how a
courage
spell starts?” Wiglaf asked.

Zelnoc thought for a moment. “It doesn’t sound right, does it?” He tapped his head with his finger. “Oh, courage spell? Where are you? Ah! There you are! Count again, pig!”

Daisy did: “One-yay. Oo-tway. Ee-thray!”

Zelnoc put one hand on his hip. He bent his other arm and stuck it out to the side. Then he began to sing:

“Op-stay, izard-way!” Daisy yelled.

“Sir!” Wiglaf cried. “That can not be it either!”

“Oh, toads and warts!” Zelnoc exclaimed. “I’ll call Zizmor. He’ll get it right.”

Zelnoc shut his eyes and chanted:
“Romziz, Romziz, Romziz
!
”

Nothing happened.

He tried again.
“Romziz, Romziz, Romziz
!
”

Again, nothing happened.

“Slugs and leeches!” Zelnoc roared. He threw his pointed hat to the ground. He began jumping up and down on it, shouting over and over,
“Romziz
!
Romziz! Romziz!”

POOF! Smoke filled the henhouse. Red smoke. Yellow smoke. Bright purple smoke.

The hens sprang from their nests. They raced out of the henhouse, clucking loudly.

“Un-ray, Iglaf-Way!” Daisy yelled.

But Wiglaf stood where he was. He watched in amazement as the smoke swirled into great columns. Out of each column stepped a wizard wearing a gown the color of the smoke. Some two dozen wizards appeared in all. They looked around, muttering.

“Zelnoc?” Wiglaf whispered. “Are these friends of yours?”

“Oh, my stars!” Zelnoc exclaimed. “I’ve called the whole convention!”

A very tall red-robed wizard with bright red eyes pounded his staff on the floor. The other wizards quieted.

“Did you call me?” the red wizard asked Wiglaf.

“Why...no, sir,” Wiglaf said. “You see, Zelnoc thought—”

“Zelnoc!” The red wizard whirled around. “You! I should have known!”

“Sorry, Amazing One,” Zelnoc said. He picked up his crumpled hat and stuck it on his head. “I only meant to call you, Ziz. Just you.”

Zizmor the Amazing snorted. “Well, what did you want?”

“Tomorrow, this poor boy must fight Seetha,” Zelnoc said. He pushed Wiglaf forward.