The Ghost of Sir Herbert Dungeonstone (6 page)

“Oh, yes, sir,” said Wiglaf. “The world is full of gold.”

“Full of gold,” Mordred repeated dreamily.

“Lots of gold!” cried Wiglaf. “Bags of it!”

“Let me take this one small bear from you, Uncle,” said Angus.

“Yes, let ’im!” said Dungeonstone.

“All...all right,” said Mordred. “Take it.”

Angus reached for the bear. But Mordred kept it hugged firmly to his chest.

“I need some help,” said Angus.

“I know!” said Wiglaf. “The Duke of Doublechin torture! It worked in the Cave of Doom.”

“Forgive us, sir,” said Erica.

With that, Angus, Wiglaf, and Erica pounced on Mordred and began tickling. “Whoo-hoo-hoo!” cried Mordred. “Stop!”

But they kept on, tickling his tummy, under his chin, even his armpits.

“Ho ho! Have mercy!” cried Mordred.

“Let go, Mordie!” said Lobelia. She began tickling him, too.

Wiglaf pulled off Mordred’s boots and tickled his feet.

“Whooo!” cried Mordred. And at last his gold-ringed fingers let go of the bear.

“Got it!” cried Lobelia, holding up the bear in one hand.

“No, no,” Mordred whimpered. Tears ran down his cheeks.

“Me gold!” cried Dungeonstone. He swooped over and snatched the bear out of Lobelia’s hands. He shook it. Inside, it jingled. “Now I have robbed the robber that robbed us robbers! Now I can rest forever peaceful in me tomb!”

“Excuse me, sir,” said Wiglaf. “What will you do with the gold?”

“Do?” Dungeonstone shrugged. “I only wanted what was mine. Fair’s fair, even if I was a highwayman and robber. As a ghost, I have no use for gold. On me way back to me grave, I’ll dump the gold into the sea.”

“Into the...” Mordred began. THUNK!

He fell to the ground in a faint.

“Farewell! Farewell!” cried the greedy ghost. Then Herbert Dungeonstone vanished, but his laughter echoed throughout DSA long after he was gone.

 

 

 

 

“
O
hhhh!” A groan sounded.

“It’s Janice!” said Erica. “She’s coming to!”

The three ran into Mordred’s bedroom.

“Janice?” said Wiglaf. “Are you all right?”

Janice sat up. She rubbed the bump on her head. “This is nothing,” she said. “I’ve gotten far worse knocks jousting.”

“Do you want help packing?” Erica asked.

Janice frowned. “Packing?”

“I know you will not stay at DSA,” said Erica.

“Not after all that’s happened,” added Wiglaf.

“Are you joking, lads?” said Janice. “My old school was boring compared to this.”

“Yay!” said Wiglaf.

“That’s reason to celebrate,” said Angus.

“Let’s go back to the dorm room. Can you walk, Janice?” asked Erica.

“Walk?” said Janice, springing out of bed. “I’ll race you to the dorm!”

Janice won.

Angus came in last, for he was carrying his large goodie box. Back in the dorm room, he shouted, “Stash for everyone!”

“Is DSA always this exciting?” asked Janice. She had parked her gum behind her ear and was munching on a gold chocolate coin.

“Sort of,” Wiglaf told her.

“So what’s up next, guys?” asked Janice.

Erica leaned forward and whispered a secret into Janice’s ear.

“You
are
?” said Janice. “All right!”

Erica grinned. “Now, I have a job for the four of us.” Keeping her voice low, she said, “We shall wait until everyone is asleep. Then we shall sneak down to the tool shop and get hammers and chisels...”

“Welcome to Founders Day breakfast!” called Lady Lobelia as the students straggled into the dining hall late that morning. “Come in, pupils. Have a bite to eat before the Founders Day Clean-up-the-Castle Relay Game begins!”

Once more, a black cloth had been draped over the school sign. But this time, Wiglaf did not wonder why. He knew.

Mordred sat at the headmaster’s table. His violet eyes were bright red from crying.

When everyone was seated, Erica popped up. “Mordred, sir!” she said. “I have a Founders Day surprise for you.”

Mordred only blew his nose: HONK!

“Janice Smotherbottom,” Erica went on, “is not the first lass at DSA.”

Mordred blinked. He waved his hankie at her to go on.

Erica whipped off her DSA helmet, and two long braids of brown hair fell down her back.

Gasps sounded throughout the dining hall.

“I, sir, am not Eric,” said Erica. “I am Erica von Royale. A lass.”

Janice and Wiglaf ran over to the black-cloth draped sign. They yanked on the cloth, and down it fell. Now the sign read:

DRAGON SLAYERS’ ACADEMY FOR LADS AND LASSES.

Mordred still looked stunned. Then he suddenly leaped up.

“YES!” he shouted. “DSA for Lads and Lasses! I’ll admit girls to DSA. Lots of girls! Double the students! Double the tuition! Oh, why didn’t I think of this years ago? It’s brilliant! I am going to make a bloody fortune!” He grinned out at his students. “Frypot!” he shouted. “Don’t serve that week-old eel, after all. Break out the cheese and sausages!”

The room grew still. You could have heard a pin drop.

Frypot stuck his head out of the kitchen. “Are you feeling all right, sir?”

“It’s Founders Day, Frypot!” cried Mordred. “Bring it, I say. All of it! And pop open a jug of cider.” He grinned. “Double the tuition! Oh, we have much to celebrate!”

Wiglaf, Angus, Erica, and Janice Smotherbottom clinked their cider cups together and shouted, “Let’s hear it for DSA!”

 

Sir Herbert and Sir Ichabod founded Dragon Slayers’ Academy on a simple principle still held dear today: Any lad—no matter how weak, yellow-bellied, lazy, pigeon-toed, smelly, or unwilling—can be transformed into a fearless dragon slayer who goes for the gold. After four years at DSA, lads will finally be of some worth to their parents, as well as a source of great wealth to this distinguished academy.
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Mordred graduated from Dragon Bludgeon High, second in his class. The other student, Lionel Flyzwattar, went on to become headmaster of Dragon Stabbers’ Prep. Mordred spent years as part-time, semi-substitute student teacher at Dragon Whackers’ Alternative School, all the while pursuing his passion for mud wrestling. Inspired by how filthy rich Flyzwattar had become by running a school, Mordred founded Dragon Slayers’ Academy in CMLXXIV, and has served as headmaster ever since.