The New Kid at School (6 page)

Wiglaf noticed that Gorzil’s bright orange eyes had faded. His scales were no longer a brilliant green. The dragon looked the way Wiglaf felt when he heard too many of Fergus’s knock-knocks: Sick.

Suddenly Wiglaf had a hunch. Could it be? His heart began to race with excitement.

“Knock! Knock!” Wiglaf said again.

“Who’s there?” Gorzil mumbled.

“Howard!” called Wiglaf.

“How—Howard who?” Gorzil asked weakly.

Wiglaf yelled, “Howard you like to hear another rotten joke?”

“Another? Uggghh!” The dragon gasped for air. He clutched at his scaly chest with his claws.

Quickly, Wiglaf struck again: “Knock! Knock!”

“Who...there?” Gorzil’s head was drooping now.

“Ivan!” Wiglaf shouted.

“Iv...whooo...?” Gorzil’s legs buckled under him. He hit the ground.

“Ivan to stay alive!” Wiglaf cried.

That did it. Gorzil’s chest heaved. His tail lashed one final time and was still. His tongue flopped out the side of his mouth and lay in a puddle of yellow drool. Then, with a thunderous poof, Gorzil’s body exploded into a cloud of dragon dust.

Eric hiked up his skirt and ran through the dust to Wiglaf’s side.

“By Lancelot’s lance!” he exclaimed. “Gorzil is dead!”

Then all at once, Wiglaf heard a wild roar. He turned to see hundreds of cheering villagers popping out from behind rocks and trees. Villagers who had come to watch them fight the dragon!

Joyfully, the villagers began rushing toward them. Wiglaf brushed the dragon dust from his tunic. He readied himself to be lifted up onto their shoulders. To be carried through Toenail, a hero!

“Out of me way!” a villager shouted gruffly, shoving past him. A stampede of villagers followed on his heels.

Wiglaf and Eric had to leap behind a boulder or be trampled as the whole crowd charged straight into the cave—straight for Gorzil’s hoard.

As the two dragon hunters stood staring, a flash lit the sky. Wiglaf looked up just in time to see Surekill tumble from the clouds-down into a clump of weeds.

“Nice try, Surekill,” said Wiglaf.

Did the villagers have to grab every last bit of Gorzil’s hoard?“ Eric grumbled.

By this time, Eric had fetched his sword, and Wiglaf and Eric had found Gawain and Zelda and switched clothes again. Eric told Zelda he was sorry about the burned spots on her dress. But she was so loaded with gold, she did not seem to mind at all.

Now Wiglaf and Eric were back on the path to DSA. This time Eric pulled the cart.

“I am all for taking from the rich and giving to the poor,” Eric went on. “But could not the villagers have left us a few gold coins? How shall we ever face Mordred empty-handed?”

“Gorzil stole from the villagers,” Wiglaf reminded him. “It seems only fair that they should get their gold back.”

“I suppose,” muttered Eric. And with a sigh he dragged the cart over a rocky patch of ground.

“Are you sure you want to pull the cart?” Wiglaf asked him.

“It is the least I can do,” Eric told Wiglaf. “For in truth, you did slay the mighty drag on.”

Wiglaf blushed on hearing Eric’s words. “I could never have done it without you, Eric,” he said. “It was a clever plan—and you surely fooled Gorzil into thinking you were a girl.”

For a moment, Eric was silent. Then he stopped and turned to Wiglaf. “There is something I should like to tell you,” he said gravely.

“Pray, tell,” Wiglaf answered.

“‘Tis a secret,” Eric warned him. “Will you swear to keep it?”

“I swear it on my sword,” Wiglaf promised. He lifted Surekill into the air.

“My real name,” Eric told him, “is Erica.”

“Egad!” Wiglaf exclaimed. “Your parents gave you a girl’s name?”

“No! I
am
a girl, you ninny. In fact, I am a princess. Princess Erica, daughter of Queen Barb and King Ken.”

Wiglaf’s mouth dropped open.

“I always longed for a life of adventure,” Erica explained. “When I saw the notice for Dragon Slayers’ Academy, I begged my parents to let me go. At last they agreed. But when I arrived at school, Frypot said Mordred would never admit a girl. It was good old Frypot’s plan to dress me as a boy. He keeps my secret. And in return, I empty his eel traps.”

“Zounds!” Wiglaf exclaimed. Then he added, “Forgive me, your highness.”

“None of that highness stuff!” the princess growled. She drew her silvery sword and waved it at Wiglaf. “You must call me only Eric! And do not slip up! No one at school must know my secret. Not until I get my Dragon Slayers’ Academy diploma. If you tell anyone, I shall make you very, very sorry!”

“I shall never say a word,” Wiglaf promised. “And if I do, you may tell my secret.”

“Your secret?” asked Erica.

“See this lucky rag tied to the hilt of my sword?” Wiglaf asked. “It is...uh...the last bit of my baby blanket.”

Erica smiled. “Indeed! That is not something that you would want to get around.” She gave a yank to the cart handle and started down the path again.

“Now,” Erica went on, “let us go over the story we shall tell back at DSA. Since we have no gold, we must make the most of our adventure.”

“A fine idea,” Wiglaf agreed.

“I think,” Erica began, “that we shall start by telling how I bravely lured Gorzil out of his cave. And how I scared him near to death when I brandished my silvery sword! Then, when he least expected it...”

As Eric—make that Erica—talked on, Wiglaf let his own thoughts wander. He had become a hero—just as the minstrel had said he would. And without spilling a single drop of blood!

Daisy would be so proud of me,
Wiglaf thought. And wouldn’t Fergus and Molwena and his twelve unwashed brothers be surprised when they learned that he was indeed Wiglaf of Pinwick, Dragon Slayer!

 

Sir Herbert and Sir Ichabod founded Dragon Slayers’ Academy on a simple principle still held dear today: Any lad—no matter how weak, yellow-bellied, lazy, pigeon-toed, smelly, or unwilling—can be transformed into a fearless dragon slayer who goes for the gold. After four years at DSA, lads will finally be of some worth to their parents, as well as a source of great wealth to this distinguished academy.
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Mordred graduated from Dragon Bludgeon High, second in his class. The other student, Lionel Flyzwattar, went on to become headmaster of Dragon Stabbers’ Prep. Mordred spent years as part-time, semi-substitute student teacher at Dragon Whackers’ Alternative School, all the while pursuing his passion for mud wrestling. Inspired by how filthy rich Flyzwattar had become by running a school, Mordred rounded Dragon Slayers’ Academy in CMLXXIV, and has served as headmaster ever since.