The Spoon in the Bathroom Wall by Tony Johnston

Author:Tony Johnston
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

XII

In the science room there was a telephone. And a red baboon. And a picture of—George Washington. And there were three antbears sitting on chairs. And two little lizards. And a pair of gizzards. And a unicorn brush. And a sink full of mush.

“Good night!” cried Dr. Klunk, jostling past some early pupils. “What a room!” The griffin was enjoying its morning ration of figs. It statued itself immediately when Klunk blammed in. Klunk shoved the griffin aside and roared up to Ferlin.

Marthur tore in after him. “Ferlin! They’re coming! Hide the—”

Pwoff! She plowed into Dr. Klunk, nearly knocking off his shades.

“Hide the what?” Klunk growled.

Marthur thought fast. “Onions!”

“Yeah, right,” snarled Rufus. He stood glued to the principal, like a nasty little shadow.

“Hide the onions!” proclaimed Ferlin. “The slightest exposure to light might utterly spoil our class experiment!”

“Never mind onions! My sources say you have fire-breathing dragons in your possession!” Klunk stated like the gasbag he was. “I’m confiscating them! No more flaming around! No more scorching! I can keep things as shipshape as anybody. The king may be coming, but I don’t need him!”

“Dragons?” said Ferlin. “Amazing.”

“She’s faking,” rasped Rufus. “I saw ’em. They burnt my pants. Look!”

Rufus always wore the same pair of jeans. He knew the proof was there, right on his rear. Klunk checked that and roared, “What singe, you little rodent?”

Rufus pretzeled himself to look. Marthur giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Your jeans just turned plaid.”

Rufus’s eyes flared like matches. His face got splotchy with fury. “My singe! My jeans!” he screamed. “Turn ’em back!”

He jostled Marthur and hissed, “This ain’t over yet, Miss Special Class. Me an’ the guys’ll be outside...” The threat hung in the air like a bunched fist. Then Rufus bolted, muttering, “Plaid!” Like it was the worst curse word in the world.

“Dragons. I don’t recall any,” mused Ferlin, getting back to the larger problem. Klunk didn’t wait for permission. He began ransacking Ferlin’s stuff with gusto. He’d show any king who happened by just who controlled things at Bloggins.

Klunk dug about like a truffle pig. Marthur watched nervously. Uh-oh!—she spotted the dragon-egg carton (still smudged with soot from the night before). Marthur gasped in horror. Dr. Klunk was so close, he could sneeze on the carton! Now Ferlin was really in for it!

Marthur had to distract him. “Hold this,” she said, shoving one of Ferlin’s hedgehogs at him.

Klunk held it gingerly, as if it were a tiny spiny football.

“Hey, little missy!” he shouted at Marthur. “Whaddya think you’re doing?” Then he stopped stock-still. “Go to the bathroom at once!” he yelled.

“But I don’t have to.”

“You do have to! I need paper towels! The KING is coming any minute and look what this—this—creature has done!”

The hedgehog had peed on Dr. Klunk.

Marthur glanced at Ferlin. “Can you do without me?” she asked.

“We will be fine.”

“What about the—” Marthur stared wildly at the egg carton.

“I’ll see to them. After all, you’re going to need them later,” Ferlin said.

Marthur felt stupefied. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what I mean.

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