Beware! It's Friday the 13th (3 page)

TWEEEEEEEEET! A whistle sounded.

“Egad!” cried Angus. “Uncle Mordred?”

“Whoopie!” Janice cried out. “Dragon Whackers was never this wacky!”

“Neither was Princess Prep,” muttered Gwen. “Ever.”

“Today,” boomed Mordred, “is Friday the 13th. Unlucky day! Unlucky day! Oh, woe!”

Lobelia joined Class I at the foot of the castle steps. When she saw her brother, she dabbed at her eyes with her hanky. “Oh, this is the worst he’s ever been!”

“Is he ill?” asked Wiglaf.

“Yes,” sniffled Lobelia. “Mordie has triskaidekaphobia.”

“Does—does it run in our family, Auntie?” asked Angus.

“Is it catching?” asked Erica.

“’Tis the plague!” cried Torblad.

“No, it’s not the plague,” snapped Lobelia. “Triskaidekaphobia only means ‘fear of Friday the 13th.’ And Mordie’s got a whopper of a case. Just look at him!”

“Unlucky day!” cried Mordred over and over. “Unlucky day!”

Lobelia shouted, “Mordie, stop!”

“Unlucky da—huh?” Mordred stared at Lobelia. “A wicked dragon is headed to my school, sister!” he cried. “Unlucky us!”

“Oh, piffle, Mordie!” said Lobelia. “You know how to turn bad luck to good!”

“I do?” Mordred seemed puzzled.

“Of course you do,” said Lobelia. “All it takes is a few good-luck charms!”

“Ah, yes!” cried Mordred. “I am wearing good-luck charms. See? I have on my lucky bonnet. My lucky booties. My lucky wrestling suit.”

“So that’s what it is,” said Erica.

“Around my neck,” Mordred went on, “I’m wearing an eel—a lucky fish known to ward off evil! Ward off evil! Ward off—”

“Mordie!” yelled Lobelia. “Button it up!”

Mordred blinked. “Students!” he cried. “I have prepared for such an unlucky day!” He picked up a box at his feet. “In here, I have a lucky bonnet for each of you!”

“Hooray!” cried Torblad again.

“He’s joking, right?” asked Gwen.

“I fear not,” Lobelia said, and she began to weep in earnest.

On Mordred’s orders, Frypot began handing out the lucky bonnets.

Wiglaf felt foolish as he tied his on. Yet if it would help to keep the wicked dragon away from Brother Dave, he would wear his lucky bonnet forever!

“One for you,” said Frypot. He offered a bonnet to Princess Gwen.

“No, thank you,” said Gwen.

“Not a choice, really,” said Frypot. “On with it.”

Gwen folded her arms across her chest.

“What’s wrong, Gwen?” Erica said, putting on a lacy white cap. “Don’t you think these bonnets are
fabulous
?”

Gwen grabbed a bonnet from Frypot. She put it on but did not tie the laces.

“You!” Mordred pointed to Torblad and Baldrick. “Go to the stable. Get horseshoes. Lucky horseshoes! Nail them to the castle.”

The lads ran off.

“Nephew!” Mordred yelled. “You and Wiglaf. Go empty Frypot’s eel traps. Get an eel for everyone!” He handed them a sack.

“You mean
we
have to—” Angus began.

“Go!” bellowed Mordred. “Lasses! Go to the field and find four-leaf clovers.”

“Such are very rare, sir,” said Erica.

“Find them!” Mordred bellowed. “Pin them on your lucky bonnets, on your uniforms. That will keep the dragon away. What are you waiting for? Go! Go! GO!”

“
U
ncle Mordred always gives me the worst jobs!” wailed Angus as they hurried to the moat.

“Me too,” said Wiglaf. “Angus, why would a dragon want to track down Brother Dave? He is a very kind monk. I’m sure he has never harmed any dragon.”

Angus only shrugged. “Grab that rope,” he said. “One, two, three—pull!”

The lads spent hours hauling up wooden traps filled with writhing black eels. After they emptied the last one, they trudged back to the castle yard, dragging their sack of eels behind them.

Baldrick and Torblad were busy nailing lucky horseshoes all along the castle wall.

The lads dragged their fishy cargo past the lasses, who were already back from the clover field.

“Zounds!” said Wiglaf. “Look how many four-leaf clovers the lasses found. They have them pinned all over their bonnets and uniforms!”

“Erica isn’t wearing any,” said Angus.

Wiglaf saw that this was true. They hurried over to her.

“What is wrong?” Wiglaf asked.

“You see every lass wearing four-leaf clovers,” Erica said. “Yet we found none.”

“None?” said Wiglaf, confused.

“Nah,” said Janice, who, for once, wasn’t chewing gum. “But Gwen had a clever idea. She’s cool.”

Wiglaf took a closer look at Janice’s clovers.

“Why, these are three-leaf clovers!” he exclaimed. “An extra leaf is stuck on with…gum?”

“Right!” Janice grinned. “I had to chew every piece in my pockets to get enough to stick all these clovers together.”

“We had to do something, Wiglaf,” said Gwen. “Or we would have been crawling around that field all day. And I don’t
do
that.”

“It’s cheating,” said Erica. “Isn’t it, Wiggie?”

“I suppose it is,” Wiglaf said.

“See, Gwen?” said Erica.

“But it is clever,” Wiglaf went on. “If Mordred sees many,
many
lucky clovers, perchance he will not make us wear eels.”

“No eels!” everyone around cheered.

Gwen gave Wiglaf a Princess Smile.

Erica gave him a Princess Dirty Look and stomped off.

Gwen wrinkled her nose. “Poor Erica. Is she always in such a bad mood?”

“No,” Wiglaf muttered. He felt awful! Now Erica was mad at him.

He and Angus trudged over to Frypot. They handed him their sack of eels. Then they ran to join the others at the castle steps.

“Look, Headmaster!” Gwen called to Mordred, who was giving Torblad yet another horseshoe to hang up. “We are covered in lucky four-leaf clovers!”

“May they bring us luck!” Mordred cried.

“With so many lucky clovers, we don’t need to wear eels, right?” said Gwen.

“Eels!” cried Mordred. “I’d forgotten all about them. Frypot? Give out the eels!”

“Nice going, Gwen,” muttered Erica.

Frypot reached into the sack and grabbed an eel. It thrashed wildly as he looped it around Torblad’s neck. Torblad burst into tears.

Frypot started toward Gwen with an eel.

“No, thanks,” said Gwen. She flashed Frypot a Princess Smile.

“Take it.” Frypot held out the eel to her.

“Frypot?” she whispered. “What would it cost me not to wear an eel?”

“I didn’t hear that,” said Frypot. “Look, here’s a little fellow.” He put the eel around her neck.

Gwen looked sick to her stomach.

Frypot gave Wiglaf the next eel. It slapped Wiglaf’s cheek with its tail.
Smack!

“Now I’ll show you the lucky walk,” said Mordred. He bent forward. He began taking baby steps. He thrust his arms out, first one, then the other. He turned his head to the left, then right, left, right, left. He looked to Wiglaf like a badly wounded duck.

Angus groaned. “I can’t believe I’m related to him,” he said.

“Follow me!” Mordred called.

Wiglaf lined up behind Mordred with the others. He bent over and began taking baby steps. He stuck out one arm. Then the other. He turned his head from side to side. It wasn’t easy. Especially with the eel smacking his face.

“Good, good,” said Mordred. “Walk this way for the rest of the day, and good luck is sure to follow. Now stop!”

Everyone did, gladly.

“As you walk, you must sing the lucky song,” said Mordred. “I shall teach it to you.” He burst into song:

The song went on and on. It had many lucky verses.

“Chime in!” Mordred cried, starting the song over again.

Softly, the students began to sing:

“Keep singing the lucky song!” said Mordred. “Don’t stop! That way, no bad luck can come our way. No dragon can come to DSA. We are lucky! We are safe!”

Wiglaf glanced up. He saw that the horseshoe Torblad had put up over the castle door was hanging by a single nail.

“Sir!” cried Wiglaf. “The horseshoe—”

“No talking, boy!” said Mordred. “Sing!”

The horseshoe swung dangerously above the headmaster’s head.

“Lucky you!”
Wiglaf sang.
“Lucky horseshoe!”

The nail popped out of the wall.

Mordred sang:
“Lucky cow! Lucky—”

The horseshoe fell, hitting the headmaster on his not-so-lucky bonnet.

“MOOOOOooooo…”
he sang as his violet eyes crossed, and he fell to the ground, senseless.

“
M
ordie!” screamed Lobelia. She whipped off his bonnet. The bump on his forehead was quickly swelling to the size of a goose egg.

“Coach Plungett! Sir Mort!” Lobelia called. “Get Mordred to the couch in his office. Stay with him until he comes to.”

Sir Mort, in full armor, clanked over to Mordred with Coach Plungett. Groaning and grunting, they picked up the hefty headmaster and carried him into the castle.

Lobelia turned to face the students. “Until Mordred wakes up, I am in charge,” she said. “And I say stop singing. Stop doing the lucky walk. And lose the eels.”

“HOORAY!” everyone cheered.

Wiglaf led the way to the drawbridge, where they all flung their eels into the moat. They also flung in their lucky bonnets—all but Torblad. They cheered as everything sank down into the slimy moat ooze.

Just then, Wiglaf caught sight of Brother Dave crossing the drawbridge. He had a traveling sack slung over his shoulder.

“Brother Dave!” Wiglaf called out to him. “Wait!”

Brother Dave stopped. Everyone on the bridge gathered around him.

“Where are you going, Bro?” asked Janice.

“I go to meeteth Snagglefahng in the Dark Forest and surrendereth to him,” said Brother Dave. “Then he needeth not come to DSA. Farewell, my fond lads and lasses!”

“Wait, please,” said Erica. “You must tell us—why is Snagglefahng coming after you?”

“’Tis a long story,” said Brother Dave.

“Tell us, Bro!” cried Janice.

Brother Dave sighed. “All right,” he said. “There is time enough. Cometh thou up to the library and hear my sad tale.”

The lads huffed and puffed as they ran up the 427 steps to the library. The lasses huffed and puffed and jingled. Soon everyone was sitting down for the story hour Brother Dave had long dreamed of.

The monk went behind the checkout desk. He sat down on a big rock, as his order forbade him to sit on anything comfortable. He held up a book:
The World’s 100 Wickedest Dragons
by Sir Heshure Nosalot. He turned its parchment pages, stopping at a picture of a terrible dragon. Smoke poured from a horn on its head. Its eyes were small and mean. Its thin lips were pulled back in a fang-filled grin. Under the portrait it said:
World’s 97th Wickedest Dragon: Snagglefahng.

“He is scary!” Wiglaf squeaked. His stomach flip-flopped as he stared at the dragon’s long, twisted fangs.

On the facing page, Sir Nosalot had written what he knew about Snagglefahng, and he knew a lot.