97 Ways to Train a Dragon

Table of Contents

 

 

 

For my pal, Jane O‘Connor

-K. McM.

Text copyright © 2003 by Kate McMullan. Illustrations copyright © 2003 by Bill Basso. All

rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. Published simultaneously in Canada. S.A.

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

 

McMullan, Kate.
97 ways to train a dragon by Kate McMullan ; illustrated by Bill Basso.
p. cm.—( Dragon Slayers' Academy ; 9)
Summary: After a mysterious egg hatches into a baby dragon, Wiglaf and his roommate
Angus decide to keep it.
[1. Dragons-Fiction. 2. Schools-Fiction.] 1. Title: Ninety-seven ways to train a dragon. II.
Basso, Bill, ill. III. Title.
PZ7.M2295Aae 2003
[Fic]-dc22
2003017965

 

 

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-14209-7

KLMNOPQRST

Chapter I

Wiglaf and Angus raced down the hall- way of Dragon Slayers' Academy. The boys did not want to be late for Dr. Pluck's Dragon Science class. It wasn't because they liked Dragon Science. It was because Dr. Pluck was a spitter. When he said the letter “p,” he sprayed the first three rows. So pupils who came late ended up in the Spit Zone.

“Slow down, Wiggie!” Angus panted.

“You don't want to get showered, do you?” Wiglaf put on some speed.

All of a sudden-SPLAT! Wiglaf landed facedown on the cold stone floor.

Angus bent over him. “Are you all right?”

“I-I think so.” Wiglaf sat up.

“You fell on that crack. Or maybe one of those.” Angus pointed to several. “When my uncle decided to start a school, he bought this old castle for next to nothing because it was falling apart.” He pulled Wiglaf to his feet. “I wish he'd at least fix the floors. But that would cost money. And Uncle Mordred hates to part with any of his gold.”

By the time the boys walked into the classroom, the only empty seats were in the first three rows. Bragwort, who would do anything to get on a good side of a teacher, sat in the third row. Wiglaf and Angus were about to join him, when Wiglaf caught sight of his friend Erica. She was waving madly.

“Angus!” Wiglaf said. “Erica's saved us seats in the back!”

The two hurried toward her. Erica was always on time for class. It was one reason she won the Future Dragon Slayer of the Month Medal every month. She had also earned nearly every badge offered at DSA. All Wiglaf had was the Dish Washing Badge. Angus had no badges at all. Mordred often said, “If only
all
you boys were like Eric!”

That always made Wiglaf smile. For if all the boys were like Eric, DSA would be a girls' school! How surprised the headmaster would be to learn that Eric was really Princess Erica. Wiglaf and Angus were the only DSA students who knew her true identity.

Wiglaf and Angus slid into the empty seats by Erica.

“Thanks!” they whispered.

Harley Marley sat in the last row, behind Wiglaf. He burped loudly in Wiglaf's ear. Normally Wiglaf wouldn't have taken a seat in front of the school bully. But Wiglaf thought he would rather be burped at than spat upon.

“Pupils! Pupils!” Dr. Pluck rapped his pointer on his desk. “Today we will study dragon young—or piplings, as they are called. Please, take a peep at this picture.” He pointed to a chart. Wiglaf saw what looked like a bird's nest with pink and purple eggs.

“A dragon prepares a nest by digging a pit and putting pine needles in a pile,” said Dr. Pluck. “Then she produces three eggs. Plop! Plop! Plop!” He pointed to the chart. “The eggs are as plump as pumpkins. Some have pink
spots
and
purple speckles.
Some have
pink
or
purple polka
dots. Dragon
piplings peck
out of the eggs.
Pop! Pop! Pop!”
He flipped over his chart to show three newly hatched piplings. They were covered in green egg slime.

Everyone in the class cried, “Ewwwww! ”

“I think they're sort of cute,” Wiglaf whispered to Angus.

“You would,” Angus whispered back.

“Boy
piplings
have
pink
ears. Girl
piplings'
ears are
purple. Piplings
go ‘Peep
peep peep!' Piplings purr. Piplings
are playful.”

Wiglaf listened while Dr. P sprayed on and on about baby dragons. There were three piplings in every litter. And when a baby dragon opened its eyes, it was love at first sight ... whoever the pipling saw first (usually the mama dragon) was who it loved best.

Dr. Pluck flipped the chart to show a cleaned-up pipling. It had bright yellow eyes with cherry-red centers, and a little crest on its head. Wiglaf wished he could pick it up.

“Never pick up a pipling!” warned Dr. Pluck. “The first thing a dragon mama teaches her
piplings
is how to
peck, pinch, punch,
and
puff
fire. And
pipling poo poo? Pew!”

“Sir?” Bragwort called. “Can we do extra-credit reports on piplings?”

“Perhaps,”
said Dr. Pluck. “Now-”

“Atten-tion!”
boomed a voice. Headmaster Mordred swept into the room. His red velvet cloak billowed behind him.

“Studying piplings—are you, Pluck?” said Mordred. “Well, lads! I have some serious news! Sometime before St. Globule's Day, School Inspectors will make a surprise visit to Dragon Slayers' Academy. If this school isn't up to snuff, they will CLOSE ME DOWN!” His booming voice caused the badly cracked ceiling to quiver.

“Look out, sir!” cried Wiglaf as a huge chunk of stone came crashing down, barely missing the headmaster's head.

“Zounds!” cried Mordred, leaping out of the way. He glared up at the hole in the ceiling. “Somebody ought to get that fixed!” He brushed dust from his cloak. “Anyway, I've come to say that all classes are canceled!”

Several boys started to cheer.

“I've canceled classes so you Class I boys can participate in the very first DSA Scrub-a-Thon!”

“Yea!” cried Harley Marley, who wasn't paying attention.

“The Class II and III boys are in charge of fixing and patching,” Mordred said. “You Class I lads get to clean, sweep, mop, dust, wash, scrape, scour, polish, shine, and scrub
everything!”
said Mordred. “DSA will pass inspection!”

All the pupils groaned. Even Erica.

“And if you see anyone goofing off?” Mordred added. “Come and whisper in my ear. Enough little whispers, and you know what you'll earn?”

“The Tattle-Tale Badge,” called Bragwort.

“Yes!” said Mordred. “A beautiful yellow badge it is, too.”

Wiglaf didn't want the Tattle Tale Badge. It was one of the few badges that Erica did not have stitched to her tunic.

“Now, lads, here is a new badge,” Mordred held up a black patch with pink letters: D.P. “I need volunteers for a very special assignment.”

Wiglaf and Angus slid down in their seats. They knew better than to take a “special assignment” from Mordred.

“I need boys,” Mordred continued, “to pick up all the junk that I dumped—er, I mean, that someone dumped from the DSA castle to the banks of Swamp River!”

Wiglaf and Angus slunk so far down that they were practically on the floor.

“Whoever I pick must be back at DSA by breakfast time,” Mordred added. “That way they can join in the scrubbing with everybody else.”

“I'll go!” called Erica.

“Not you, Eric,” Mordred said. “I have a special scrubbing job for you.” His plum-colored eyes bounced from boy to boy. Wiglaf did not allow himself to breathe.

Just then Wiglaf felt a tickle on the back of his neck. Behind him, Harley Marley snickered. Wiglaf tried to brush whatever it was away. It felt ... furry. Yikes! It was a hairy spider! The spider clamped its jaws down on Wiglaf's finger.

“YAAAAAAA!” shrieked Wiglaf. He jumped up, shaking his hand to rid it of the spider. The thing was the size of a guinea pig!

“Ah ha!” Mordred called. “A volunteer!” He pointed at Wiglaf, who had finally managed to shake off the spider.

Harley Marley snorted with laughter.

“Wiglaf and who else?” Mordred's eyes lit on the boy sitting next to Wiglaf. “Nephew!” he cried. “All you do around here is eat my food! You need exercise!”

“No, uncle!” Angus begged. “Not that!”

The headmaster grinned. “And you shall get it running to Swamp River tomorrow morning, picking up trash! Get your trash bags in the gatehouse at IV:00 a.m.! Nephew! You and Wiglaf are the very first members of Dawn Patrol!”

Chapter 2

Wiglaf opened one eye. He squinted at Erica's glow-in-the-dark hourglass perched on the ledge. Quarter to IV.

“Angus?” Wiglaf said. “Are you awake?”

“No,” Angus groaned. “I'm sound asleep having a horrible nightmare that I'm out in the freezing cold picking up trash!”

Wiglaf stayed under his blanket as he pulled on his tunic. Once Angus was dressed, his pockets filled with snacks, the boys tiptoed out of the DSA castle. By the gate house, they found a stack of burlap bags. They picked them up, pushed open the big wooden DSA gates, and walked over the creaky drawbridge into the moonlit night.

Wiglaf took a breath of night air. “Ugh!” he said, nearly choking. “What reeks?”

“Frypot must have thrown out more leftovers,” said Angus.

Frypot, the DSA cook, served leftovers night after night. Only when a Fried Eel Casserole or Jellied Eel Surprise began to turn green and foam around the edges did he finally toss it out the kitchen window onto his garbage heap.

The boys walked quickly to escape the ghastly smell. On and on they trudged. The sky was turning pink by the time they reached the Swamp River. It was light enough for Wiglaf to see that the riverbank was littered with candle stubs, old boots, rusted armor parts, chicken bones, and too many empty mead bottles to count.

“I need a rest,” said Angus.

“We haven't even started yet,” said Wiglaf.

Angus sat on a rock and closed his eyes.

Wiglaf grabbed a bag. He began walking and tossing in trash. Soon his bag was bulging.

“One bag filled,” Wiglaf reported to Angus.

“Good work!” said Angus.

Wiglaf sighed and started off in the other direction. Then, without warning, he skidded on something slippery. His feet slid out from under him, and he fell off a small ledge. Plop! He landed on something soft. Slowly, he sat up. He shook his head. He wasn't hurt. But he was sitting in a puddle of nasty green slime!

“Angus!” Wiglaf called. “Help!”

Angus lumbered over. He peered down at Wiglaf.

“Get me out of here, Angus,” said Wiglaf. He held up a slimy green hand.

Angus drew back. “Ooh, yuck!” Then he frowned. “Wiggie, you're sitting in a nest.”