Class Trip to the Cave of Doom

Table of Contents

 

 

 

 

 

Text copyright © 1998, 2003 by Kate McMullan. Illustrations copyright
©
1998, 2003 by Bill Basso.

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

 

 

McMullan, K.H.

Class trip to the cave of doom/ by K.H. McMullan; illustrated by Bill Basso. p. cm.—(Dragon Slayers’ Academy 3)

Summary: Wiglaf joins the other students of Dragon Slayers’ Academy in searching the Dark Forest for the Cave of Doom, which supposedly contains the gold of the dead dragon Seetha.

[1. Dragons—Fiction. 2. Buried treasure—Fiction. 3. Caves—Fiction. 4. Schools—Fiction.] I. Basso, Bill, ill.
II.
Title. III. Series: McMullan. K.H. Dragon Slayers’ Academy 3.

PZ7.M4789cl 1998

[Fic]-dc21

98-35524
CIP
AC

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-14204-2

LMNOPQRST

 

 

C
link! Clink! Clink!
Mordred, the headmaster of Dragon Slayers’ Academy, banged his spoon on his glass.
Clink! Clink! Clink!

“Boys!” Mordred’s loud voice filled the DSA dining hall. “I have a surprise for you!”

Egad!
thought Wiglaf.
What now?
Mordred’s last surprise had been a scrubbing party. Wiglaf had been up half the night, working on the stew pot.

“Maybe Uncle Mordred caught the boys who threw his boots into the moat,” Angus whispered to Wiglaf. Angus was the headmaster’s nephew. But Wiglaf didn’t hold that against him. “Or maybe,” Angus went on, “he found out who dropped Sir Mort’s false teeth into the cider jug.”

“Shh, Angus!” said Erica, who was also Wiglaf’s friend. “We’re supposed to be—”

“QUIIIIIET!” Mordred roared.

A hush fell over the dining hall.

“That’s better.” The headmaster smiled. His gold tooth shone in the torchlight. “Now, as you know, Wiglaf has killed two dragons.”

Wiglaf gasped. Could it be? Was Mordred at last going to honor him as a hero?

“But tell me, boys,” Mordred continued. “Did Wiglaf bring back any dragon gold for
me?”

“Nooooooo!” the DSA students cried.

Wiglaf slid down in his seat. He should have known! Mordred was only picking on him—again.

Wiglaf was sick of being picked on. Back home, his twelve brothers picked on him all the time. They called him Runt, because he was small for his age. They made fun of his carrot-colored hair and his pet pig, Daisy. They teased him about his tender-hearted ways.

Wiglaf had hoped that things would be better at school. He had come to DSA to learn to be a hero. And he
had
killed two dragons. A young one named Gorzil and his mother, Seetha. But the truth was, Wiglaf had killed them by accident. He could never have cut off their heads. Or poked his sword into their guts. The very thought of blood made Wiglaf sick to his stomach. Still, he
had
killed them. That should count for something. And he was the only boy at DSA ever to kill
any
dragon. But Mordred didn’t care about dead dragons. All he cared about was getting his hands on their gold.

“Wiglaf brought me no gold,” Mordred moaned softly. “No gold.” Then his violet eyes lit up. “But rumors are flying!” he exclaimed. “Villagers in Ratswhiskers say that before Seetha died, she hid all her gold in a cave in the Dark Forest.”

Erica jumped up. “Let
me
go to that cave, sir!” she cried. “I shall bring you Seetha’s gold!”

Wiglaf smiled. Erica was so gung ho about dragon slaying. Mordred did not let girls into his school. So Erica cut her straight brown hair and dressed as a boy so she could go to DSA. Everyone there called her Eric. Only Wiglaf knew that she was really Erica. Princess Erica, as a matter of fact.

“You
shall
go, Eric,” Mordred roared. “
All
of you are going on a class trip to the Dark Forest! That is my surprise! All of you are going to hunt for Seetha’s gold!”

“Hooray!” Erica cried.

A few others cheered. But not Wiglaf. The Dark Forest was not exactly a vacation spot. It was dark, for one thing. And very scary.

“You shall meet in the castle yard tomorrow morning,” Mordred continued. “Then you shall march into the Dark Forest. And the boy who finds Seetha’s gold...” Mordred rubbed his hands together. “...will get a great big
prize
!”

“Hooray!” everyone cheered this time.

“Wiggie!” Erica called over the cheering. “I am sure to find Seetha’s gold, so you and Angus stick with me. That way, you can share the prize!”

Wiglaf nodded. If only the prize were some of Seetha’s gold. Then he could pay the seven pennies he still owed DSA for his tuition. He could send some money to his greedy family back in Pinwick. And maybe—just maybe—if he found Seetha’s gold, Mordred would stop picking on him.

 

 

“J
ump, boys! Higher!” Coach Plungett, the DSA slaying teacher, called early the next morning. His brown pageboy wig blew in the breeze as he counted jumping jacks. “Ninety-one ! Ninety-two! Exercise will make you manly men, like me!”

Wiglaf had never done so many jumping jacks. His arms were ready to drop off.

But Coach kept counting. “One hundred three!” he cried. “Jumping is a manly way to warm up on a chilly morning!”

The boys had stumbled into the castle yard before sunup. Coach Plungett put them into groups. Coach was the leader of the Bloodhounds. Wiglaf was a Bloodhound. Angus and Erica were Bloodhounds, too. So were the big Marley brothers: Barley, Charlie, Farley, and Harley.

Wiglaf looked over at the Marleys doing sloppy jumping jacks. He couldn’t tell one brother from another. They never said much. They were known for playing jokes. Wiglaf was pretty sure the Marleys had thrown Mordred’s boots into the moat.

“One hundred twenty!” Coach counted.

“I cannot...do any...more!” Wiglaf gasped.

“This is nothing,” yelled Erica. She was jumping next to him. “I once did six hundred jumping jacks. And I wasn’t even out of breath.”

Wiglaf could barely hear what Erica was saying. Her tool belt was clanking too loudly. She had sent away for it from the Sir Lancelot Fan Club catalog. All sorts of fine dragon-slaying equipment hung from the wide silver belt. A canteen. A collapsible goblet. A spyglass. A magnifying glass. A rope. A small copy of
The Sir Lancelot Handbook.
A mini-torch. A pack of dry sticks for starting fires. A spare sword. A lice comb. And a toothpick.

All Wiglaf had was a beat-up sword. His lucky rag was tied to the handle. But now, as he did his one hundred eighty-second jumping jack, he was just as glad not to be wearing a heavy tool belt.

“Where is Mordred anyway?” Erica asked.

“You know Uncle Mordred hates to get up before noon,” Angus answered.

Angus moved his arms up and down as Coach counted. But he kept his feet planted on the ground. Since Angus was Mordred’s nephew, Coach Plungett pretended not to notice.

“Two hundred!” Coach called. “Halt!”

Wiglaf stopped jumping. He thought halt was the most beautiful word he’d ever heard.

“Now hit the ground for two hundred push-ups!” Coach called.

Wiglaf groaned. Was Coach trying to slay them?

Luckily, at that moment, the castle door opened. Mordred stepped outside. He raised a megaphone to his mouth. He called, “Attennon/”

The boys snapped up straight and tall.

“Each group leader has a map of part of the Dark Forest,” Mordred went on. “Each map shows all the caves in that part. Look in every cave, boys. There’s gold in one of them!”

“The Bloodhounds shall find it!” Erica cried.

“Nay!” a boy called out. “The Bulldogs!”

“No! The Wolfhounds!” called another boy.

“Wrong!” another piped up. “The Poodles!”

“That’s the spirit, boys!” Mordred cried. He walked down the castle steps. Six skinny DSA student teachers hurried over to him. They carried a large throne-like chair with poles attached to its seat. The student teachers lowered the chair. Mordred sat down in it.

“They’re going to
carry
him?” Wiglaf exclaimed.

“You didn’t think Uncle Mordred would walk to the Dark Forest, did you?” Angus asked.

“No monkeying around,” Mordred called. “I’ll come check on you from my camp.” He gave a signal. Four student teachers picked up his chair. The others picked up his camping gear. Wiglaf saw that it included pillows, thick blankets, and red pajamas with feet.

Tweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!
Mordred gave a blast on his silver whistle. They were off!

Coach led the Bloodhounds across the castle yard. Everyone carried a heavy pack. The big Marley brothers carried theirs with ease. Wiglaf staggered under his as he marched over the DSA drawbridge.

Wiglaf looked down into the castle moat. How well he remembered Seetha splashing in its waters before she went down for the last time. The secret of where she hid her dragon gold had gone down with her. Now, he was off to hunt for that gold. And, by St. George, he was going to find it!

The Bloodhounds marched up Huntsman’s Path. They marched through Vulture Valley. They marched around Leech Lake. And across Swamp River Ridge.

“Halt!” Coach ordered at last.

Wiglaf stopped. There was that lovely word halt again. He gladly dropped his pack to the ground.

Coach took out his map. He looked at it for a long time. “We are now in the south part of the Dark Forest,” he said. Then he frowned. He turned the map upside down. “Or are we in the north part?”

Wiglaf and Angus looked over Coach’s shoulder.

“Zounds!” Wiglaf cried. “There must be a hundred caves on that map!”

“We’ll be marching around here forever!” Angus said. “Let’s give up and go home.”

“Bloodhounds never give up!” Erica cried.

“That’s the way, Eric!” Coach said. “All right, Bloodhounds. On your feet.”

The Bloodhounds picked up their packs. They started off. The Marleys marched behind Wiglaf. They began a contest to see which one of them could burp the loudest. Wiglaf thought they all should get first prize.