Ravenspell Book 2: The Wizard of Ooze (2 page)

Chapter 2

THE ENEMY WITHIN

It doesn’t take much to conquer the stupid, the lazy, and the weak.
But he who conquers himself is mighty indeed.

—LADY BLACKPOOL

“And with our army of slobber goblins, we’ll rule the universe!”

Far, far away, deep beneath the earth in a fiery cave, two enormous oily purple worms poked their heads up from an ancient, smelly dirt clod.

The larger of the worms, at twelve feet in length, was truly monstrous. He was named Sebaceous Ooze.

The smaller worm was called Fluke Gutcrawler.

And all around the cave were horrible, grotesque creatures. Some were shaped like muddy Pillsbury doughboys, while others looked like spiders or worms, and yet others took forms unlike any creature imaginable to the mind of man. “Slobber goblins,” Sebaceous called them. He had made them from ashes and the slime of his own body, and then had given them life. Now they formed the core of his army.

Sebaceous reared his dark head high in the air. He was a magic worm with tremendous powers, and he towered over the smaller worm. He had an asthmatic condition, made worse by the sulfurous fumes that roiled through the cave, and so he struggled for breath.

Suddenly, his deep voice echoed through the cavern. “Fluke, join me. I am your father, Fluke!”

Fluke Gutcrawler recoiled in horror. “Nooooo!” he wailed as if the words had been torn from his very soul.

“Look in your hearts, Fluke,” Sebaceous demanded. “All nine of them will tell you it’s true!”

“Noooo,” Fluke cried again. “You can’t be!”

“Search your feelings . . .”

“But—” Fluke objected, “worms don’t
have
fathers.” Fluke was young. His mind was hardly formed, but he knew that much, at least.

Sebaceous Ooze gasped and sputtered. “I am more than a father to you,” he roared. His deep voice silenced the younger worm. He rolled to his side, displaying a vicious red scar where he’d been sliced in two. “You were once nothing but my tail. I cut myself in half in order to give you life, and thus I claim you for my pains. Join me now. It is your destiny. And with our army of slobber goblins, we’ll rule the universe!”

“What if I don’t want to rule the universe?” Fluke wailed, cowering. “I mean, isn’t it enough for me to be a good son? Do I have to be a screwball tyrant, too?”

“Behold!” Sebaceous roared, pointing toward a side cavern with his snout, “Our slaves are already at work!”

Fluke Gutcrawler trembled in fear. Timidly, he stretched out his body, lengthening it until he could see around a corner, into a dim passageway.

The sight sent a shiver down the entire length of his gut.

Beyond the corner, the cave opened into the sides of a great pit. The walls of the pit rose far, far upward, until in the distance he could see a round opening that yawned wide to the sky.

All around the sides of the pit, a trail wound down like a spiral staircase.

The pit descended far below him, perhaps for a mile or more, until it disappeared in the blackness.

And all along the winding trail, creatures toiled. They were mice, tiny and brown, often with white tummies and paws. They were marching down, down into the pit, taking timid hops. Some had glassy eyes, as if they marched in their sleep. Others marched even though their flesh was rotting away and little white bones poked out. These last were zombies, mice that kept marching even in death.

And as they marched, the mice, both living and dead, sang:

Let us burrow, let us delve,

Digging deep like little elves.

Beneath the soil, ’neath the stones,

Beneath the world’s very bones.

Picking the ground, like a sore,

Till we reach earth’s molten core.

When we strike it, ash will rise,

Roaring like a cloud of flies.

“What are you doing?” Fluke shouted in horror, glaring at Sebaceous Ooze. “Why do you have an army of mice trying to dig a volcano?”

Sebaceous Ooze gasped and snoggered, then let out a deep, phlegmy laugh. “Bru-ha-ha, ho, ho, ho!” he said, sounding for the entire world like an evil Santa Claus.

* * *

At that very moment, back near Ben’s house, as the mice sat on the lawn plotting to take over the world, Latonia Pumpernickel peered between the cracks of her curtains through the back window.

She was looking for her cat, Domino. She’d heard the poor animal yowling miserably in the middle of the night, and now it seemed to have run off.

As she spotted the small gang of well-armed mice, she suddenly realized that her poor cat hadn’t just run off—it had been chased off!

“How bizarre!” she harrumphed. “An army of mice!”

She was eighty-nine years old, and she’d seen some curious things in her life, but this gang of bloodthirsty rodents was perhaps the strangest.

People said that she was crazy. Down in Mexico, she had once visited a town called Taco Feo. During a big afternoon hailstorm, Latonia had seen an angel fall out of the sky with a busted wing. The angel was a middle-aged woman, plump, with a big stomach. A lightning bolt had knocked her right out of the sky, singeing her feathers, which were brown and white with blue-green eyes on the end, like those on a peacock.

The village women in Mexico had nursed the angel back to health, feeding her tortillas and orchid nectar.

Once the angel flew off, it was said that she carried the townsfolk’s prayers back up to heaven, and the following year, all of the old women in the village turned young and beautiful, all of the bald men grew hair, and the town had the best crop of black beans ever!

When Latonia had first moved to Oregon, she’d gone around telling her neighbors about the angel. So of course, folks now whispered, “Latonia Pumpernickel is nuttier than a Snickers bar.”

And telling stories about an army of mice wouldn’t help her situation, Latonia knew.

But she had to do something. There was an army of mice outside. They might well have harmed her cat.

And then there’s that poor Ravenspell boy who lived next door, Latonia thought.

Ben had disappeared in the middle of the night, right after buying—
a mouse!

And now Ben’s parents were going crazy with worry, driving all around town looking for him.

Could it be that these evil vermin murdered the boy? Latonia wondered. Or maybe they kidnapped him. Maybe they’re forcing him to dig burrows for them, out in the woods!

Latonia imagined poor Ben, digging some vast tunnel with his dirty fingernails, surrounded by millions of mice, all of them armed with weapons.

They might even have Domino there, too!

This called for dramatic measures.

Latonia raced to her bedroom, dug beneath the pile of dirty clothes in her closet, and got the video camera.

I’m onto the greatest story in the history of the world, she realized. Mice have armed themselves and are banding together to fight. It has to be the greatest advance in the animal kingdom since, since, since . . . the invention of pogo sticks!

Chapter 3

WISHES

If you want to know what a critter is really like inside,

just offer to grant him a wish.

—RUFUS FLYCATCHER

She raised her paw and young Thorn came shooting out of the water, onto the bank.

As the rest of the mice ran off to continue their raid on the garbage can, poor Thorn threw himself at Amber’s knees and hugged them.

“I’m sorry that I drew the fleas to you,” Thorn said as tears formed in his eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I guess I should have run off into the woods and let them eat me. I should have died so that others could live. That would have been the noble thing to do.”

“There, there,” Amber said, stroking his fur. “It’s all right. The fleas are gone now.”

“I’m so stupid,” Thorn said. “I know I’m stupid. Everyone tells me so. ‘You’re dumber than bug dung,’ they all say. ‘You’re dumber than frog boogers.’”

“Just because others say it,” Lady Blackpool said sternly, “doesn’t mean that it’s true. You’re a kind mouse, and there is great wisdom in kindness.”

“No,” Amber said honestly, “he really
is
dumber than frog boogers.”

“Amber,” Thorn pleaded, “when you regain your powers, will you make me smart? I just want to be as smart as other mice.”

“Hmmm . . .” Amber said, looking to Ben. “Can I make him smarter?”

Lately Ben realized that she was leaving a lot of her thinking up to him. Ben considered for a minute. “Maybe he just needs a few more brain cells.”

Amber said, “Well, I don’t know what a brain cell is, but if it’s that easy,” she looked at Thorn, “sure, I’ll make you smart.”

“Hooray!” Thorn said, leaping in the air like a lunatic. He began to sing. “I’m going to be smaa-art! I’m going to be smaa-art. Amber is going to make me a geeenius!”

He picked up his needle spear and danced around Amber.

The other mice had returned to the garbage can on the other side of the fence. Ben heard one shout excitedly, “Did you hear that? Amber is giving out wishes!”

There was a great deal of eager whispering.

And in the distance, even softer than that, Ben heard his mother calling him. She’d been calling now for days, driving around the neighborhood, shouting his name. She’d been doing it ever since Amber turned him into a mouse.

She sounded mournful and lost.

It’s time that I go home, he thought.

Suddenly, Ben felt outraged. He turned on Amber and demanded, “You’re still going to turn me back into a human, aren’t you?”

“Why, why,” she stammered, “of course!”

“Good,” he said. “We had a deal. But every time you cast a spell, it drains you of a little more power, making it harder to turn me back into a human.”

Amber stopped and peered at him, as if surprised at the fierceness in his voice.

Ben’s mom fell silent, but Ben could still hear the mice on the far side of the fence talking in animated whispers. He fully expected the whole herd to come ask Amber for something, but instead there was a sudden ruckus—cries of terror from the mice, and hissing from some horrible creature.

Amber, Ben, Lady Blackpool, and Thorn all raced under the fence and reached the garbage can just in time to see their little army circling the old tarantula that lived under Ben’s house.

One young mouse lay at its feet. It rubbed at a bleeding shoulder, and Ben could see that it had been bitten. Now the rest of the mice had surrounded the tarantula, poking their little spears at its eyes and belly. The ugly creature was so frightened that all eight of its hairy legs shook.

“Get away from here,” one mouse shouted. “And stay away.”

Amber must have realized that the mice meant business and would kill the vile beast if she didn’t intervene. She warned the tarantula, “Get out of here, now—for your own good. Keep walking for three days, and when you find a new home, remember: the mice of the world are under my protection. Nothing that looks like a mouse is on the menu!”

The tarantula crept away dejectedly. Several mice followed at its heels, prodding with their needle spears.

“Well,” Amber said, “that wasn’t hard. First we got rid of Domino the cat, and now the tarantula. We’ll have the world cleaned up in no time.”

Lady Blackpool, who had stopped to preen, gave Amber a long look. “Are you really sure you want to try that?” Lady Blackpool asked again.

“Yes,” Amber said. She was low on magical power, Ben realized, but Amber was sure.

“Well, taking over the world is a lot of work,” Lady Blackpool said. “You’ll need your strength—your magical strength, that is. Perhaps tomorrow you should take a little trip, just wander around up in the woods, so that Ben gets plenty of mage dust on him.”

It seemed like a good plan. No one was really sure where magic came from, but Lady Blackpool had told Ben that it was like dust that could cling to some animals’ fur. Some places were more magical than others, of course, and Ben would be able to replenish his magic more easily if he found one of those places, which Lady Blackpool poetically called “magic gardens.”

By walking around, Ben would be able to “recharge his batteries,” so to speak.

In the garbage can, the mice found some German chocolate cake and a slice of old pizza, and made a small feast of it.

Afterward, Amber, Ben, and Lady Blackpool all scurried through Ben’s old backyard, under the tall grass and dry thistles, into the shadow of some huge fir trees, hopping on a carpet of fir needles, passing fir cones that looked as big as buses.

Just beyond a patch of yellow mushrooms was the opening to their burrow.

Amber was just about to go in when a pair of small birds—a tiny black-and-white wren and his gray mate—flew down to the base of a fir tree, their powerful little talons clinging to the bark. They were both shaking nervously.

The male bird asked, “Is it true, oh great wizardly mouse, that you are granting wishes to those in need?”

Great, Ben thought, now we have to save the birds of the world, too.

“Uh, maybe,” Amber answered.

“The reason I ask,” the handsome male bird chirped, “is that our nest tipped over in the high winds two nights ago. All of our eggs fell out and broke, and my wife here—well, both of us really, are heartbroken.”

The female bird held off a few inches, and she just chirped sadly.

“What do you want from me?” Amber asked.

“Would you be so kind as to fix our eggs?” he asked.

Ben felt fear rise up into his throat. Of course Amber would want to heal the eggs. But how much magic power would it use? Would she be able to heal them and still take care of Ben’s little problem?

To his relief, Lady Blackpool advised, “Fixing eggs is almost impossible. There were living creatures inside, and Amber would have to bring them back to life. She won’t be able to do that kind of magic until she has some further training—if ever.” The words hung in the air for a moment, and Amber looked from Lady Blackpool to the wrens.

It seemed as if she was torn between her desire to help and the difficulty of the task.

Amber won’t try it, will she? Ben wondered. Right now he objected to everyone’s wishes, he realized. He wanted Amber to keep her promise to him.

But am I doing it because they have dumb wishes, Ben wondered, or because I’m selfish?

“I’m sorry,” Amber told the wrens. “I really would help you if I could.”

The birds peered at each other sadly.

“It’s still early in the spring,” Lady Blackpool told the wrens. “Go build another nest, lower in the trees this time. Secure it well, and it is my wish that your young will grow up safely.”

The birds didn’t seem to like the advice, especially since it would require work on their part. They turned their beaks up at Lady Blackpool but bowed their heads to Amber.

“Thank you,” the male bird said. “You are a kind mouse, and I know that you’ll be nice to birds when you take over the world.” They flitted away.

“Well,” Lady Blackpool asked Amber at the mouth of the burrow, “how does it feel to be famous?”

“It’s all right, I suppose,” Amber answered in a tired voice.

“Me,” Lady Blackpool said, “I was never much of a glory hound. Never wanted fame. Back home, I used to just keep to myself, hide out in my little burrow by day, come up and hunt for slugs and bugs at night. I even worked at building a nasty reputation, just to keep the beggars away.”

“They’re not beggars,” Amber said. “They just . . . want things. Like those birds—I really felt sorry for them. I wanted to help. I really did.”

“They beg,” Lady Blackpool said, “and that makes them
beggars.
”

Am I a beggar? Ben wondered.

No, he decided. I worked for Amber. I helped her free the mice from the pet shop. I’ve earned the right to be turned back into a human again.

But then he thought about how little he had really done, and Ben despaired. He hadn’t done much to help Amber, not much at all. He mainly just stood around while she drained magic power from him.

Amber looked forlornly down at an acorn. The forest was quiet, though songbirds could be heard at the woods’ edge. The sun was rising, and the clouds overhead had gone golden.

“The beggars will only grow bolder,” Lady Blackpool warned Amber. “There’s a whole world full of them—weepy possums, angry gnats, vain butterflies, and frightened minnows. All of them will hunt you down and beg you to fix something. As your fame grows—especially if you take over the world—you’ll someday find an army of beggars surrounding the mouth of your burrow. You’ll never have peace. They’ll be hounding you day and night, until you’re just sick of it.”

“But . . . but I have to take over the world,” Amber said. “I already promised the other mice. And they were so happy about it!”

“I think,” Lady Blackpool said, “that there are some promises that you shouldn’t keep.”

“I said that I’m going to do it,” Amber said, “and I will. I’m going to make the world a safe place for mice.”

“I see,” Lady Blackpool said. “Turn it into sort of a
club
—just for mice.”

“A Mouse Club,” Amber squeaked with delight. “I like the sound of that!”

“But aren’t you forgetting something?” Ben asked.

“What?” Amber said.

“Your promise to me,” he reminded her. Amber had seemed to forget again. It was almost as if she were trying to forget. “It’s not so terrible being a mouse,” Ben confessed, “but I really don’t want to stay one forever—especially since mice age so fast. Each week for a human is a year to a mouse. Every week I stay a mouse, I lose a whole year off of my life!”

Amber’s eyes welled up with tears. Ben knew that she didn’t want to let him go. He was too handsome as a mouse. Just the thought of losing him made her weepy. He feared that she had a really bad crush on him, like Becky Simms back in the second grade.

Becky had been so crazy about him, she used to beg for his used bubble gum. Becky had told one of her girlfriends that “chewing anything that has been on Ben’s lips would sort of be like kissing him.”

“I will turn you back into a human,” Amber promised, “as soon as I get enough power. And I won’t cast any useless spells until then.”

Ben heaved a huge sigh of relief. Lady Blackpool had said that Amber needed to rest for two more days.

In two more days I’ll be human again, Ben thought.

Ben hadn’t really admitted it to himself, but he really was afraid that he’d get eaten by an owl or swallowed by a snake or something. Every moment that he stayed a mouse was fraught with peril.

I only hope that I can make it for two more days, Ben thought.

“Help! Help!” someone cried. Ben whirled to see several mice racing toward them, hopping and running, carrying their spears in their mouths.

“Thorn is in trouble!” a mouse shouted, turning to lead the way.

Amber, Ben, and Lady Blackpool raced to help, hopping through fern beds, leaping over rock piles. Ben was faster than the other mice. They were common house mice, but Ben was a Pacific jumping mouse, and he could leap over tall ferns in a single bound, while the other mice had to scurry and scoot and climb through.

To Ben’s surprise, the mouse led him to the drainage ditch at the edge of the woods, three houses down the street from Ben’s place.

A group of mice had already gathered; they peered into the rushing waters with great concern.

“He fell in here,” one mouse shouted in terror.

Ben peered down. The drainage ditch had seemed like a little thing when he was a human, something that he could jump across, a good place to hunt for bullfrogs and salamanders.

But to a mouse, it looked like a raging torrent. Water thundered through the channel, swirled along between rocks and cattails. It was far too wide for a common house mouse to jump, though Ben suspected that he could make it.

“Where did Thorn go?” Amber cried.

One mouse shouted, “He suddenly began wandering in a daze, and then he headed this way, and jumped into the water. He went under, and he hasn’t come back up!”

Ben considered leaping into the water, diving down to look for Thorn, but he couldn’t tell where the young mouse might be. The current could have carried him far downstream by now.