Wheel of Misfortune (6 page)

Wiglaf grinned. Clearly the other schools did not have Scrubbing Class. He had never liked it much himself. But now it was coming in handy!

BONG! BONG! went Otto’s gong.

“It’s the double bonus!” cried Harkbert.

“DSA, for 1,000 points, what is the toughest kind of grease to clean off a skillet?”

Wiglaf hit the bell.

“Grease from wild boar sausages!” he said.

“Correct!” cried Harkbert.

“Go, DSA!” shouted Brother Dave. “Thou art back in the game!”

“Right you are, Brother,” said Harkbert. “We have here a scholar who knows his dishwashing. We shall break for lunch now,” he added. “Our score at this time is: KNC: 1,780 DSP: 90 KRU: 30 DSA: 980.”

Everyone clapped. Brother Dave clapped so hard that his glasses fell off. The crowd began leaving the gym for lunch.

Wiglaf smiled. He hardly dared believe it. Brother Dave was right. DSA was back in the game.

Suddenly a large shadow fell over the DSA team.

On the stage before them stood Mordred. He scowled at the DSA team. His face was red with rage.

“What’s this on the scoreboard?” growled the greedy headmaster. “DSA is in
second
place?”

“But, sir, we—” Erica began.

“Silence!” boomed Mordred. “I suggest you get ahead of KNC. And I mean right away! Or you’ll spend the rest of your lives rotting away in my dungeon!”

M
ordred glared at the DSA team.

“We...we must go to lunch now, Uncle Mordred,” Angus said.

“Lunch?” Mordred boomed. “I forbid you even to
think
about lunch at a time like this!”

“We are hungry, Uncle,” Angus said. “For we have not had—”

“Enough!” Mordred yelled.

“That’s right,” whimpered Angus.

“Forget about lunch! You stay here and practice for the next round,” Mordred said.

“Who?” said Bragwort.

“All of you,” Mordred replied. “Go on. Practice!”

“But there is no way to practice, sir,” Erica said.

“For we do not know what the questions will be,” Wiglaf added.

Mordred stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Would it help if I got copies of the questions for you?” he asked.

“But, sir!” said Erica. “That would be cheating. And no DSA student would ever stoop that low.”

“Oh, cheating, schmeating,” said Mordred. “What we want here is the gold. Stay put,” he added. “I shall see what I can do.”

So saying, the DSA headmaster hurried away. “Ohhh,” groaned Angus. “If I do not get something to eat soon, I shall perish.”

“Do not perish yet,” Erica advised. “For we are making a comeback in the tournament.”

“Who?” said Bragwort.

“Us,” said Erica before she caught herself.

“I’m going to the cafeteria,” Angus said. He stood up.

“But Mordred said to stay here,” Erica said.

“Mordred, schmordred,” said Angus. “I need lunch.”

“Too late for that,” said Wiglaf. “Look. The fans are already coming back.”

And so they were. The other teams took their places on the stage. Wiglaf glanced at the scoreboard. DSA was not too far behind KNC. If their luck held...If Bragwort could be kept quiet... No, he thought to himself.
No if’s. If meant nothing.

Sir Verm walked to center stage. “We come now to the last part of our tournament,” he said. “We have a new set of categories on our wheel. And remember, our prize money doubles in this last round.”

Once more the KNC Headmaster turned the stage over to Harkbert.

“It has come to my attention,” Harkbert said, “that there has been some holding back of an eager bell ringer on the DSA team.”

Wiglaf saw Chauncy’s sly grin. It wasn’t hard to guess who had tattled to Harkbert.

“I’ll call a foul if I see any more of that,” said Harkbert.

Wiglaf’s heart sank. Bragwort was fast. If no one held him back, he would ring the bell. And their winning streak would quickly end.

“Knights!” cried Harkbert. “The wheel! DSA, your spin.”

Wiglaf walked over to the wheel. He gave it a spin. He watched as the arrow came to rest on FUN WITH WORDS.

Wiglaf sat down again.

“For twenty points,” said Harkbert, “name a pronoun.

Easy!
thought Wiglaf. He reached for the bell. But he was not fast enough.

Bragwort got there first. DING!

Oh no!
Erica, Wiglaf, and Angus looked at each other in horror. But there was nothing they could do.

“Who!” he cried.

“Correct,” said Harkbert. Wiglaf gasped with relief. “For forty points, name a word that rhymes with
shoe.”

Bragwort hit the bell again.

“Who!” he cried.

“Right again,” said Harkbert.

Wiglaf was stunned. Bragwort was actually winning points for them.

“For sixty points, what word sounds very like the call of a barn owl?”

“Who!” screeched Bragwort.

“Go for the gold, boy!” shouted Mordred.

“For eighty points,” said Harkbert, “fill in the blank in this sentence. A
sentry
most often says: ‘___goes there?”’

“Who!” cried Bragwort.

“Yes,” said Harkbert. “And now, for one hundred points, say the word that comes next when a jokester says, ‘Knock, knock!’”

“WHO!” cried Bragwort.

“Correct,” said Harkbert.

“That’s the way, Bragwort!” Mordred cried.

Wiglaf glanced at the scoreboard as the page added Bragwort’s 300 points. DSA now had 1,280. Bragwort had come through for the team!

BONG! BONG! BONG!

“There goes the gong for the Triple Bonus!” said Harkbert. “Every team will write down their answer to this bonus question.”

Otto began passing out the parchment and quills to the team captains.

“Triple bonus questions are questions that have puzzled scholars for ages,” said Harkbert. “You shall have three minutes to discuss the matter with your teammates and write down an answer. If you answer correctly, you triple your score. If you choose not to answer, your score stays the same. But if your answer is wrong, you lose all your points.” Harkbert turned to the fans. “Let’s cheer our scholars on, folks!”

The fans went wild, cheering and clapping.

Wiglaf heard Mordred’s voice boom out above the others, “Get it right, DSA—or else!”

But the last words Wiglaf heard before the crowd quieted came from Brother Dave.

“I have faith in thee, lads!” the monk cried.

Harkbert picked up a rolled parchment from a tray. Slowly, he opened it.

Otto began beating on his drum.

“Here is the Triple Bonus Question,” Harkbert said. His voice was hardly more than a whisper. He met the gaze of each young scholar. Then he lowered his eyes and read aloud the Triple Bonus Question: “How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?”

W
iglaf scratched his head. He knew nothing about woodchucks. He knew even less about chucking wood. This was one tough question!

Harkbert picked up an hourglass. He turned it upside down. Grains of sand began sliding from the top of the glass to the bottom.

Otto began playing a bouncy tune on his horn.

Wiglaf, Angus, and Erica put their heads together.

“Come on, Bragwort,” Erica whispered.

“Who?” said Bragwort.

“You!” Erica grabbed his arm and pulled him over to them.

“Anybody know anything about woodchucks?” asked Erica.

No one said a word.

Not even Bragwort.

“I have a second cousin named Chuck,” said Angus. “And I saw a woodchuck once,” he added. “But he wasn’t chucking wood.”

“If a woodchuck could chuck wood,” Wiglaf murmured, repeating the lines to himself. And suddenly he broke into a smile. “If a woodchuck could chuck wood!” he whispered. “‘If!’ It’s just as Brother Dave said.
If
means nothing.
If
a woodchuck could chuck wood doesn’t mean that a woodchuck does chuck wood.”

“Wiggie’s right,” said Erica. “So the answer is...”

“None,” Erica, Wiglaf, and Angus whispered at the same time.

“Okay, Bragwort,” Erica said. “You’re our team captain.”

“Who?” said Bragwort.

“You!” said Erica. “So you have to write down the answer. None.”

Bragwort picked up the quill and started writing.

Before long, Otto’s tune ended:

Dit
dit
dit dit do do do!

“The sand has run out of the glass,” said Harkbert. “Time’s up! DSP? Do you have an answer?”

200 held up their parchment. It said,
Woodchucks, also known as “groundhogs,” are members of the rodent family and are capable of chucking an absolutely enormous quantity of wood because of the way their teeth are...

200 shrugged. “We ran out of time, sir,” he said.

“I see.” Harkbert nodded. “That is not correct. KRU?”

Lance held up the KRU parchment. It said, A
woodchuck chucks until a woodchuck upchucks!

At this, the audience cracked up. It took some time for Harkbert to quiet everyone.

“That is not correct, KRU,” said Harkbert. “KNC? Your answer, please.”

Chauncy held up the KNC parchment. It said
12 Big Trees.

“I’m sorry, KNC,” said Harkbert. “That is not correct, either.”

Everyone in the gym gasped. Was KNC going to lose all their points?

Wiglaf’s heart began to pound with excitement. If DSA got it right, they would win a huge pot of gold for Mordred. And honor and glory for their team!

Wiglaf tried not to smile. Now was their turn to shine! He glanced over at the parchment in Bragwort’s hand. He gasped!

Bragwort had written
Who who who
all over the parchment.

Wiglaf shook his head at Bragwort.

But Bragwort pressed his lips together. He looked very stubborn.

“DSA?” said Harkbert. “What is your answer?”

It was too late to change Bragwort’s answer now.

Bragwort raised the parchment.

Quickly, Wiglaf grabbed the parchment and flipped it over.

Bragwort held up the parchment. But he was showing Harkbert its backside. And that side was blank.

“You seem to be holding up a parchment with nothing on it,” said Harkbert.

“Who?” said Bragwort.

“You,” said Harkbert.

“That is our answer, sir,” Wiglaf said. “Nothing.”

Harkbert raised his eyebrows. “So...that is your answer?”

“Yes, sir,” said Wiglaf. “The parchment is blank because the answer is none.”

“You better be right, boy!” Mordred yelled.

Harkbert smiled. “And you
are
right, DSA!” he said. “You have answered the Triple Bonus Question correctly! Your score of 1,280 is tripled, giving you a grand total of 3,840 points. As every other team lost all its points, DSA is the big winner of this year’s All-Schools Brain-Power Tournament!”

Mordred and Brother Dave leaped to their feet, cheering and clapping. A few polite fans from the other schools clapped, too.

“The trophy!” cried Mordred, running up onto the stage. Tears of joy spilled down his cheeks. “Bring on the trophy! And don’t forget to fill it with—” he consulted a parchment on which he had been taking notes, “—three thousand eight hundred forty golden coins!”

Now the red knight and the white knight appeared. They were pulling a cart that held a trophy the size of which Wiglaf had never seen. And spilling out of the enormous trophy were oodles and oodles of shiny gold coins.

“Oooooh!” cried Mordred when he saw the winnings. “Mine! All mine!” Then his violet eyes rolled up into his head, and the DSA headmaster fainted dead away. The red knight and the white knight grabbed him by the ankles. They dragged him off to the side of the stage.

Sir Verm stood beside the gold-filled trophy on the stage. He waited for the crowd to quiet down. “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen,” Sir Verm said at last. “And thank you, Harkbert.”

Harkbert bowed. Everyone clapped as the famous host flung his cape over one shoulder. They kept clapping as he bowed again and walked slowly off the stage.

“This has been a tournament to remember,” said Sir Verm glumly. “For the first time ever, Knights Noble Conservatory lost. And I can tell you, it won’t happen again. Er...I mean, it was an amazing upset.”

Mordred groaned and sat up. “DSA won the tournament,” he said as he got to his feet. He stumbled toward the trophy and threw his arms around it, crying, “Mine! All mine!”

Sir Verm stepped back from the gold-crazed headmaster.

“This solid-gold trophy will go home with the Dragon Slayers’ Academy team for one year,” Sir Verm continued.

“All mine,” Mordred was muttering. “One... year?” He straightened up. “What are you talking about, one year?”

“This is a traveling trophy, sir,” the KNC headmaster said. “You will have it in your DSA trophy case for a year. Then you must bring it back for next year’s tournament.”

Mordred’s face fell. “Oh, woe!” he cried. “But...but...but the golden coins. They belong to me. All to me. Do they not?”

“That is correct,” said Sir Verm. “All three thousand eight hundred and forty of them.”

“Ah!” said Mordred. “That’s not so bad then.”

Sir Verm made a little speech then. He said it was probably good for KNC to lose once every hundred years. He said next year they’d be back on top again. There was one more round of applause. Then the fans stood up and filed out of the gym.

Brother Dave hurried up onto the stage. He hugged each member of the DSA team.

“I never doubted for a moment that thou wouldst win!” he told them.