The Shark-Headed Bear-Thing Read online

  “No!” snapped the troll. “That was just the first bit. Now you’ve got to play my second game.”

  “What second game?” asked Ben.

  “Fart … or Death!”

  “Oh, this is ridiculous,” said Paradise. She caught Ben by the sleeve. “Come on, we’re going.”

  “What? But you haven’t played Fart or Death yet,” the troll protested. “I’ll eat you if you don’t play.”

  “What, with those teeth?” Paradise said. “Fat chance. Come on, Ben.” She pulled him away from the troll in the direction of the forest.

  Wesley hung back, not quite sure what to do. The troll turned to him. “How about you? Fart or Death? It’s fun!”

  For a moment, Wesley appeared to consider this. “Well why not?” he said. “I think that would be a smashing way to pass the—LOOK! A BIG THING!” he cried, pointing off to his right. The troll’s head whipped round.

  “Where?” he asked, but by the time the word had left his lips, Wesley had legged it.

  Ben and Paradise were almost at the entrance to the woods by the time Wesley came running past them, puffing and panting, his robe hitched up past his knees.

  “Don’t go,” cried the troll as he lumbered along the path behind them. “One game. I’ll go easy on you.”

  There was a loud gurgling sound and the troll skidded to a stop. His ape-like hands clutched at his stomach and his eyes went wide. “Oh no,” he grimaced. “Not again,” and he dived headlong into a nearby bush. A moment later, a sound like damp thunder rumbled out from within the foliage.

  “Wow,” said Ben. “He’d definitely have beaten me at Fart or Death.”

  Holding their breath, Paradise and Ben pushed on after Wesley. They found him cowering behind a tree trunk. He screamed when Ben tapped him on the shoulder, and it was only by grabbing his robe that they stopped him running away again.

  “It’s us, Wesley,” Ben said.

  Wesley straightened up and brushed himself down. “Aha, yes. Of course it is. I knew that.” He peered back the way they’d come. “Is it gone?”

  Ben nodded. “Yep.”

  Wesley’s nose wrinkled. “What’s that smell?”

  “Trust me,” said Paradise. “You don’t want to know.”

  Ben shook Wesley’s hand. “I’m Benjamin Blank,” he said. “She’s Paradise Little.”

  Wesley snorted. “Ha! Good one.”

  Paradise’s eyes narrowed. “What’s so funny?”

  “Well, I mean, Little by name, little by nature. Look at you, you can’t be any more than … than…” He caught the dark look on Paradise’s face, then he coughed quietly. “What a lovely name. Wesley Chant, wizard, at your service.”

  “You’re a wizard?” Ben gasped.

  Wesley looked down at his red robes, with all the little moons and stars sewn on to it. “Of course I’m a wizard. Why else would I be dressed like this?”

  “For a bet?” Ben guessed.

  “No! I’m a wizard. I’ve got a hat and everything.” Wesley reached up and touched his head. “Where’s my hat gone?”

  “You didn’t have it when we met you,” Ben told him.

  Wesley’s shoulders slumped. “Wonderful,” he mumbled. “I can’t even keep my hat on.”

  “Maybe you can help us. We’re tracking a monster,” Ben told him.

  Wesley stared at them both in turn, then he waved. “Well, lovely to have met you,” he said, turning on his heels. “I’ll just be off.”

  “Oh. Right. Bye then,” said Ben, unable to hide his disappointment. “If you do run into the monster, just shout.”

  Wesley froze.

  “We probably won’t be close enough to reach him in time,” Paradise pointed out to Ben. “Before he gets eaten.”

  “You never know,” Ben said with a shrug. “We might manage to get to him before he’s torn to bits. If we’re lucky.”

  “Torn to b-bits?” Wesley’s eyes scanned the forest ahead of him. Anything could be lurking out there in those shadowy nooks and crannies. He swallowed nervously.

  “Change of plan,” he chirped, turning back and clapping his hands together. “Tell me about this monster.”

  “It’s been lurking outside my village for weeks,” Paradise explained. “Sheep have been snatched. Whole cows have been eaten alive.”

  Wesley gulped. “Eaten … alive?”

  “People were getting scared.”

  “The cowards,” Wesley squeaked.

  “Today it attacked. It destroyed the village and took the mayor.”

  “What does it look like?” asked the wizard.

  “It’s a real mess,” Ben said. “All the buildings are wrecked, the people are hiding down a well, and someone put a hat on a donkey.”

  “He means the monster, not the village,” Paradise sighed. “It has the head of a shark and the body of a bear.”

  “And the tail of a bunny,” Ben added helpfully.

  Wesley tapped his finger against his chin. “Head of a shark,” he muttered. “Body of a bear.”

  The cuffs of his sleeves were wide and hung down from his wrists. He reached his right hand inside his left sleeve and rummaged around. After a moment, he pulled out a huge battered-looking hardback book and – with great effort – held it up for the others to see.

  “Here we are,” he announced. “Who’s Who, What’s What, and Why They Do Such Horrible Things to One Another by Lunt Bingwood.”

  Paradise shrugged. “So?”

  “So Lunt Bingwood was one of the greatest adventurers in history. He travelled the world, battling monsters and writing about them.”

  Ben’s eyes widened. He had never heard of Lunt Bingwood until that moment, but already he was Ben’s new number one hero.

  “This book details every species of monster he ever encountered – and not just the run-of-the-mill stuff like ogres and goblins and what have you – the more unusual types, too. It tells you everything about them,” Wesley explained. He set the book down on a tree stump and began flipping through the pages. “Let me see, head of shark… Body of bear…”

  He stopped at a page somewhere near the middle and let out a cry of triumph. “Aha! Here we are – head of a shark, body of a bear.”

  Wesley turned the book so the others could see it. There was a black and white illustration of the monster showing it chewing through a slab of solid rock.

  “So what is it?” Paradise asked.

  “According to Lunt Bingwood,” Wesley said, reading the entry next to the picture, “it’s a Shark-Headed Bear-Thing.”

  Paradise tutted. “And that’s the best he could come up with, is it?”

  “Yes, names weren’t really his strong point,” Wesley admitted. He flipped through a few pages at random. “He’s got the Owl-Headed Horse-Thing. The Mouse-Headed Sheep-Thing. The Dog-Headed Dog-Thing.” He peered at the illustration more closely. “Although, I’m fairly sure that’s just a dog.”

  “What does it say about our monster?” Ben asked. “Does it tell you anything?”

  Wesley flipped back to the correct page. “Aha, yes, here we are. Shark-Headed Bear-Thing,” he read. “Avoid.”

  Ben frowned. “Is that it?”

  “Yes, that’s all the advice it has to offer,” Wesley nodded. “Avoid.”

  “Not an option,” Paradise said. “It has the mayor. We have to get him back.”

  “But the book,” Wesley protested. “Lunt Bingwood knows his stuff. Avoid, he says.”

  “The mayor’s her sort-of-dad,” Ben explained.

  “And that’s why we have to catch that monster,” Paradise added.

  “But that’s the exact opposite of avoiding,” said Wesley. “This is Lunt Bingwood we’re talking about. Lunt Bingwood!”

  “I don’t care,” Paradise told him. She pointed into the darkening woods. “Now I’m going after the Shark-Headed Bear-Thing before it eats the mayor. Are you two coming, or are you too chicken?”

  Ben raised his hand. “Coming.”

>   Wesley raised his hand. “Chicken.” He glanced sideways at Ben, then let out a sigh. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll come. But be warned – if I get eaten alive, I’ll be holding you two personally responsible.”

  Paradise led them through the woods, weaving and zig-zagging all over the place. Once or twice she stopped, looked around, then set off in a completely different direction. Ben had begun to suspect she might be lost.

  “I thought you said you could find anything,” he said.

  “I can.”

  “Then why haven’t you found it?”

  Paradise turned on him sharply. “Because sometimes it isn’t easy. Sometimes the signal goes all wonky, like when it was supposed to be guiding me to a great warrior and it took me to you instead.”

  “Hey, I am a great warrior,” Ben protested.

  “Oh sure,” said Paradise. “The way the mayor’s feet knocked you over like that – really tough.”

  “It caught me by surprise, that’s all!”

  “What, like the toast did?”

  “I saved your life,” Ben reminded her. “It would’ve splattered you if I hadn’t stopped you running at it!”

  “I would’ve been fine!”

  “You would’ve been lunch!”

  “Well, at least I didn’t almost run right off a cliff,” she said, then she about-turned and carried on walking. It was all Ben and Wesley could do to keep up with her as she weaved her way through the woods.

  As they walked, Ben studied his gauntlet. When he’d stopped Wesley falling earlier he’d felt it tingle with power, almost as if it were somehow alive. Now it felt cold and still against his skin. He picked up a rock and tried crushing it, to see if the glove would make him strong like it had back at the bridge. The rock remained intact, though. Whatever magic the glove might possess, it wasn’t doing anything now.

  They trudged on some more through the tangled undergrowth, and parts of the forest soon began to look very familiar.

  “I’ve seen that tree before,” announced Wesley, as if reading Ben’s thoughts. They were striding through a small clearing, where the trees weren’t so tightly packed together.

  “No you haven’t,” Paradise insisted.

  “I have,” Wesley said. “Look, I carved my name on it when Ben stopped for a wee earlier.”

  They looked at the tree. There, just below head height, was Wesley’s name.

  “Someone else could have done that,” Paradise said.

  “Why would someone else carve ‘Wesley Chant’ into a tree?” Wesley frowned.

  “Oh … loads of reasons,” Paradise said.

  Wesley looked at her. “Such as…?”

  With a loud sigh, Paradise sank down on to the forest floor. “Fine,” she said, her voice suddenly small. “We’re lost. There, I said it. Happy now?”

  “Ha, I knew it!” Wesley laughed, before Ben nudged him in the ribs.

  They looked down at Paradise, but she turned away from them.

  “Are you OK?” asked Ben.

  “I’m fine,” she sniffed.

  “Are you crying?”

  “Of course I’m not crying,” she said, so sharply that both Ben and Wesley jumped back in fright. “I’ve got something in my eye, that’s all.”

  “Perhaps I can help us find our way,” Wesley said. He rummaged around inside a sleeve until he found what he was looking for. The fading daylight glinted off a pair of circular glass lenses. “These belonged to my grandfather,” he explained, holding up what looked like two short telescopes attached together side by side. They were made of battered leather with two large lenses at one end, and two smaller ones at the other. “They’re called Peepsees.”

  “What do they do?” Ben asked.

  “Watch.”

  Wesley pressed the smaller end of the Peepsees against his eyes, then turned two small brass cogs that were attached to the leather on either side. With a soft creaking, the end that housed the wider lenses began to rise. Each turn of the cogs raised them higher and higher, closer to the canopy of leaves above them.

  Ben and Paradise watched in wonder as the Peepsees pushed through the treetops and vanished out of sight. Wesley stopped turning the dials, and instead began slowly turning himself on the spot. Ben could imagine the Peepsee lenses up there above the forest, their gaze sweeping the area in every direction.

  “See anything?” asked Ben.

  “No, not really,” Wesley said. He continued to turn, then he stopped suddenly. “Wait!” he whispered. “I do. There’s … something.”

  “The Shark-Headed Bear-Thing?” asked Ben.

  “The mayor?” asked Paradise.

  Wesley shook his head. “N-no. It’s… something else. Something big. Really big. With eight huge hairy legs and … argh! Its eyes. So many eyes! It’s…”

  Ben tensed. “Yes?”

  “It’s…”

  “What?” hissed Paradise.

  “It’s… It’s…” Wesley blinked rapidly then pressed his eyes back to the lenses. “Oh, wait. It’s gone. Thank goodness.”

  He pushed in both cogs and the Peepsees’ lenses quickly retracted down from the treetops. As the device clicked back together, Wesley saw that there, perched on one of the lenses, was a creature with eight hairy legs and more eyes than he could count.

  “Oh, I see. It was a spider,” he realised, before remembering that he was absolutely terrified of spiders. With a shriek, he hurled the Peepsees off into the trees. There was a thud and a crash and a musical tinkling of glass.

  “Well,” said Ben, as the last of the tinkling died away. “That’s the end of the Peepsees.”

  Wesley blushed. “I should probably try to find them,” he said, taking a step in the direction they’d flown. “They were my grandfather’s, after all.”

  “Yeah. It’s going to be getting dark soon,” Ben said.

  Wesley froze. “Actually, I think I’ll just leave them. My granddad wouldn’t have minded,” he said. He gulped and took a backward step towards Ben. “And I feel I should probably warn you – I’m not a big fan of the dark.”

  “You’re a wizard,” Ben said. “What have you got to be scared of? Aren’t you supposed to be all-powerful and everything?”

  Wesley puffed out his narrow chest. “Oh yes. Yes, very powerful,” he said, then the air left him in one big breath and he seemed to deflate. “Actually, no,” he admitted. “Not really. I’m just a trainee. Was a trainee, I mean. Level one. I got kicked out.”

  “How come?” asked Ben.

  “You’re only supposed to remain a level-one trainee for the first few weeks.”

  “How long has it taken you?” asked Paradise. “Six years,” replied Wesley, forcing a smile, “eight months, two weeks, five days. Give or take an hour or so.”

  “Trolls’ teeth,” whistled Ben.

  “Professor Daniels said I was the the most un-magical living creature he’d ever met. He said he’s seen sandwiches with more magical ability than me.” Wesley looked down at his feet. “So I probably won’t be much help to you, I’m afraid. Sorry.”

  “You told us what the monster’s called,” Ben reminded him. “That was a help.”

  Wesley shrugged, then slumped down with his back against a tree.

  Ben looked up. The glimpses of sky visible through the trees were turning purple. Soon the night would draw in, bringing the darkness with it.

  “We should camp here,” Ben said.

  Paradise and Wesley both raised their heads. “Camp?” squeaked Wesley. “What, outside?”

  “We can’t, we have to save the mayor,” Paradise said. “If I can just concentrate, I can find him. I know I can.”

  “We’ll look again in the morning,” Ben said. “I know you’re worried about him, but anything could happen in the dark. We could fall in a hole, get attacked by wolves, trip over an ogre…”

  “Right, yes, thank you!” Wesley said. “We get the idea.”

  Paradise wriggled uncomfortably. She hated to admit it, but
what Ben said made sense. Still, she didn’t like the idea of abandoning the search.

  “He found me when I was about a year old,” she said, her voice barely more than a hushed whisper. “I was wandering in the woods, lost and alone. And he found me. I couldn’t tell him where I came from, or how I came to be in the forest. All I could tell him was my name. Paradise.”

  “So what happened then?” asked Wesley.

  “He took me back to Loosh,” Paradise said. “He looked after me and brought me up. He gave me a home, food, clothes… So yeah, he might not be my dad, but he’s the closest I’ve got to one.”

  “Like Tavish,” said Ben.

  Paradise nodded. “That’s why we can’t sit around here, why we have to find him. And I don’t understand why we haven’t. It should be easy! I can find anything.”

  “Yeah, I still don’t really understand that,” said Ben. “How do you find things?”

  “When you’re at home,” Paradise said. “How do you know where your bathroom is?”

  “Because I’ve been there before.”

  “Yes, but you don’t retrace your steps every time, do you? Once you know where it is, you know where it is. You can find it again. Well, I can do that, but with places I’ve never been to before. With things I’ve never seen.”

  “Really, though?” asked Ben. “I mean … couldn’t it just be luck when you find things?” He looked across to Wesley. “Have you ever heard of a magical finding ability?”

  Wesley shook his head.

  “Yes, really and no, it isn’t luck,” Paradise snapped. She crossed her arms, signalling the conversation was over.

  They all sat in silence for a while, listening to the sound of night creeping over the forest. The birds had fallen silent, replaced by the chirping of crickets. From somewhere nearby there came a loud hoot, which made Wesley let out a little yelp of fright.

  “It’s just an owl,” Ben said. “Don’t worry.”

  “I’m well aware it’s just an owl,” Wesley whispered. “Just an owl with its hooked claws and razor-sharp beak and big, staring eyes! They can turn their heads right around, you know? Right the way around.”