Horns & Wrinkles (2 page)

Duke staggered around atop the bridge, wailing and boo-hooing as if a man-eating lion had jumped him, not that I've ever heard of lions around here. Good thing the wagon wheel bridge was so old, it had been closed to traffic, or a car would have creamed him for sure. Glancing away from my cousin, I found that the old lady had put on reading glasses and was gazing into my eyes as if I were a crystal ball.

"Do you see something?" I asked.

"River, mostly," she said, kind of distracted-like. "Some crickets."

"Is that good?" I crossed my eyes for a look myself.

"Hard to say."

The old lady gazed harder, leaning so far forward that it felt as though she might fall right inside me.

"There, there." She patted my arm kindly. "Everyone around here has a little of the river in them. And crickets aren't anything to worry about, you know. Unless they're white, of course. Then you'd have to keep an eye on them. But that boy up there, the one who mistook you for a warthog, now he's another matter. He requires a bit of worrying, I'd say. I can't put my finger on it, but there's something not quite straight about that one."

Just then Duke cut loose with a whoop ten times worse than when I'd thought a lion had him. Looking up, I saw that now
he
was being dangled over the edge of the bridge. I did a double take, thinking maybe some river trolls had nabbed him. Of course I'd never seen a river troll, only heard of them, so I couldn't be sure that I'd recognize one right away. But after a bit I could see that the pair holding Duke were only boys, about high school size. The way they were cackling, you could tell that hanging my cousin off the bridge was going to be the high point of their day.

"You big baby," one of them said, sneering.

The one talking had small mean eyes and curly blond hair that poked out like thistles. His partner had large mean eyes and straight blond hair that sat on his head like a shingle. They had split Duke's legs between them, one apiece, and were shaking him up and down while grinning like crocodiles. They'd unzipped his jacket pockets, so a steady stream of trinkets was raining on the river.

"Please, please, please," Duke blubbered.

"Whose bridge is this?" the curly blond demanded.

"Yours," Duke wailed. "Yours!"

"So who said you could use it?" the straight-haired blond asked.

"No one," Duke whimpered.

"And another thing," the curly blond went on, "we're the only ones who hang kids off this bridge."

"It won't happen again," Duke promised. "Never. I swear."

"I don't trust him," the curly blond said.

"Look at the way he's covering his face," the straight-haired blond agreed.

"Something's happened to my nose," Duke whined.

"Like what?"

"A bee sting," Duke said. "I think."

"Is he sassing us?" the straight-haired blond wanted to know.

"I'm not," Duke promised.

"Move your hands, then."

"We're not asking again either."

Duke lifted his hands away.

Even from down below I could tell that something bad had happened to my cousin's face. Something had squeezed his nose and darkened it and made it look like a coat hook.

"Ugh," grunted the curly blond, "I can't stand to hold him."

"I'd hate to meet that bee." The straight-haired blond snickered.

"Don't drop me," Duke begged. "I'll do whatever you want. Anything at all. I'll ... I'll ... I'll be your complete and ever-lasting toad."

"You're too ugly to be a toad."

"Way too ugly."

"But I can't swim-m-m-m-m-m."

They dropped him, then leaned over to see if he'd been lying about not being able to swim. Their pink mouths gaped like two baby crows who have just pushed a brother out of the nest.

A stone couldn't have fallen any straighter than Duke did. Headfirst all the way. There wasn't any dandelion fluff to his two-and-a-half-second fall. After splashdown, he disappeared under the old brown waters without a gurgle. At the most there were a few bubbles and a tiny whirlpool no bigger than a dinner plate. Up on the bridge, the two bullies gave each other a high five, sailed the cap Duke had been wearing—my cap—over the river, and took off. Unlike Duke, the cap landed in the rowboat, right at my feet. The old lady dusted its brim and handed it to me, saying, "Yours, I believe."

When Duke finally surfaced, I discovered I'd been holding my breath right along with him. We both sucked down huge lungfuls of air, though Duke gulped considerably louder. Right away he started beating the river with what seemed like six arms and legs. The brown water turned a frothy white, but he couldn't persuade it to let him stay on top.

"Better than I expected," the old lady said, impressed. "There may be some hope for him after all. Don't get me wrong. I'm not promising anything big, but he didn't give up without a fight. That usually counts for something."

Rolling up her right sleeve, the old lady leaned over the side of the rowboat and plunged her arm into the water. After a moment she hauled a waterlogged Duke out of the river by his belt, draping him over the side of the boat.

He coughed, gagged, and retched up enough river water to float a toy boat inside the rowboat. But he was alive. Mostly.

"That'll teach them," Duke coughed.

"Your cousin's a dilly," the old lady commented.

"Quiet, you," Duke threatened.

He lifted his head enough for me to see that his nose had grown a couple of inches. Its color and shape didn't look quite right either. It was darker, more pointed.

"For the record," I told Duke, "she just saved your life."

"Don't give me that," he snapped.

He snatched at my cap but his hand never got above his shoulder. Without warning, his nose shot out another inch, making him yelp and grab for it instead. From up close I could see that his nose didn't look like a coat hook at all. It looked like a horn, a baby rhinoceros horn, all gray-black and rough and curved upward.

"This is all
your
fault," he swore through his fingers.

By then the boat had drifted up against the riverbank, so Duke slogged ashore. Water ran out of his pockets. River weed clung to his cuffs. The current was so swift near shore that he had to lean forward to make any headway. When almost out of the water, he slipped on the muddy bottom, falling flat on his face. That made him bellow.

"You'll pay for this!" he cried as he crawled off through the brush. Coughing and sputtering, he added, "If it's the last thing I ever do, I'll get you. Don't think I won't. You'll..."

When we couldn't see him anymore and could hear him only occasionally, I asked the old lady, "Did you do that to his nose?"

"Wasn't me." She sounded envious of whoever had. "Most likely it was rock trolls. They've got a potion they sprinkle on the river around this time of the month, when the moon's almost new and the nights are blackest. All thorns and mold, the potion is. They're awfully proud of it."

Well, Duke had been in the river, so that part fit. But I'd fallen in too and didn't have anything growing on my nose, at least not that I could feel.

"Don't worry." The old lady chuckled as I patted my nose. "The potion only works on bullies."

"I've never heard of it," I said.

"You're probably not old enough, but believe me, your cousin shouldn't stick around to see if it's true. Rock trolls do collect bullies. It's a well-known fact."

"What would they want with a bully?" I asked.

"Oh, they probably line them up on shelves to admire," she said, turning kind of vague.

"Sounds like nonsense to me."

"That's because you're not a rock troll." She grew sterner. "If you were, you'd feel right at home with things like horns and hooves and what have you."

"But Duke can't go home with that thing on his face," I pointed out. "His parents will have a fit."

"That's a pity. It's certainly not safe for him around here."

"Isn't there anything he can do?" I was a little worried despite myself.

"Only one thing is tried and true. If he can manage one genuine act of kindness, the horn goes away. But it has to be a totally unselfish act. Nothing halfway."

"I don't think he's got it in him. Isn't there something easier?"

"Sorry." The old lady tsked, shaking her head no. "It's that or nothing."

A ripple beside the boat signaled that the muskrat had rejoined us. The orange tennis shoe was still in its mouth.

"So
there
you are," the old lady scolded.

Reaching down, she took the tennis shoe and pulled a folded paper from inside it. She unfolded the paper and read it with a frown.

"I'm afraid I'll have to be going." She tucked the paper into an apron pocket.

"So soon?"

"It's a big river," she said. "Awfully big. But you should be okay now."

"It's not me I'm worried about."

"Your cousin? Well, just remember this: if he gives you any trouble, a good stomp on the toe usually works wonders with a bully. Aim for the big one."

"That's not exactly what I was worrying about."

"Oh, well, fixing that nose is up to him."

She shooed me away with a wave of her hand, and I stepped off the front of the boat without even getting my shoes wet. When I turned to ask how she knew Duke was my cousin, her rowboat was gliding across the side channel that the wagon wheel bridge spanned. She wasn't using oars or a motor or anything I could see to make the boat move. She was going against the current too.

"Thank you," I called out.

"Too early for that," she answered with a wave.

"If you see a turtle named Lottie, would you please send her home?"

"I'll keep an eye out," she promised.

I pushed through twenty feet of willow saplings before Duke jumped me, though for once he didn't lay a finger on me. This time he went with words.

"It's all your fault!" he thundered.

His face was pressed as close to mine as he could get without poking me with his horn. His eyes were steady, the way they got when he'd made up his mind to take something that didn't belong to him.

"Maybe we should just head home," I suggested, holding my ground, "before something else happens."

"Are you crazy?" he half shouted. "I can't go home like this! They'll ground me for years."

He might have been exaggerating, though not by miles. Lately, his parents were strict as ants. They'd tried everything else with him, until as a last resort they'd turned to discipline.

"It's not that bad," I said, hoping to calm him.

Lowering his voice, Duke whispered, "What does it look like?"

"Well," I stalled, "a nose. A big nose."

"That's gray?" he exploded. "And pointed?"

"I've seen worse."

"Where?"

"I forget," I said. "So what do you want me to do?"

"Bring me a few supplies."

"Like what?"

"Tent, sleeping bag, slingshot, canteen, bug spray, food, matches, rain poncho, ax, fishing pole, knife, extra food, sweets, and loan me a few bucks."