Chapter Seven

Ben stepped forward. “I’ll play. Leave the others out of it. I broke the bridge.”

The troll looked him up and down. “Well, well, ain’t you the little hero?” he sneered. The troll wasn’t much taller than Ben, but he was wider by far. He loomed over the boy, the foul stench of his breath whistling in and out of Ben’s nostrils. “All right then, hero. You think you can beat me at Burp or Death? You’re on.”

“If I win, you’ll let us go?”

The troll nodded. “An’ if you lose, I gobble you up.”

Wesley leaned in. “Just to clarify – by ‘gobble you up’ do you mean just him, or all of us?”

The troll smirked. “All of you.”

Wesley’s face went pale. “That’s a pity.” He patted Ben on the shoulder. “Please don’t let me die.”

“So…” said Ben. “How do we play?”

“The rules of Burp or Death is simple,” the troll growled. He gulped down some air, opened his mouth, then let out a short, sharp belch. “Right. Your turn. Is you gonna choose to burp, or is you gonna choose death? An’ if you choose to burp, it has to be louder than mine was.”

“So … what? My choices are to burp or die?”

“That’s it,” the troll nodded. “Burp or Death?”

Ben glanced back at the others. “Burp,” suggested Wesley, as if Ben couldn’t have figured that out for himself.

“Yeah, I’ll choose to burp,” Ben said.

The troll looked a little disappointed. “Oh. Right. Will you?” he said. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Really?” asked the troll. “That your final answer, is it?”

Ben opened his mouth and burped. It was long and loud, and tasted faintly of chicken. “Final answer,” he grinned.

“Right, can we go now?” Paradise sighed. “His was louder.”

“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.”