A Wedding for Wiglaf? (5 page)

Wiglaf did as he was told.

“Cucumbers take away puffiness.” She pressed two big slices over his eyes.

Wiglaf felt the juice trickling into his ears.

“And for your lips,” Lobelia added, “pepper paste.” She smeared some on.

“Yow!” Wiglaf yelped. “It stings!”

“That’s what brings out the nice rosy color,” Lobelia explained. “Try not to lick your lips.”

Wiglaf wanted to ask how long he must have all this disgusting stuff on him. But he was afraid to open his mouth.

“You know your ears stick out, don’t you, Wiglaf?” Lobelia went on. “Well, I’m told that half an onion will draw the ear closer to the head.” She hung half an onion from a string on each of Wiglaf’s ears.

“Now hold still while I work on your fingernails,” Lobelia said. “Rough hands are the sign of a peasant. Maybe you should wear gloves.”

When she finished his nails, Lobelia began wrapping strands of Wiglaf’s hair around a red-hot curling iron.

Wiglaf had faced two fire-breathing dragons. They had not killed him. But he thought Lobelia might. Certainly she was skilled at torture.

It seemed to Wiglaf that his makeover took forever. But at last he found his way back to the dorm room. He had a nasty rash on his cheeks from the swamp clay. His lips burned a fiery red. Carrot-colored ringlets danced on his forehead.

“Wiglaf!” Erica exclaimed when she saw him. “Have you caught the plague?”

“I wish,” Wiglaf moaned. “Death by plague must be better than a makeover!” He flopped down on his cot. “And the worst is yet to come. Belcheena arrives tomorrow.”

“We have to help him, Angus,” Erica said.

“We do,” Angus agreed. “But how?”

“How indeed.” Erica tapped her foot as she thought. “I do have one idea,” she said at last. “The Bag-o-Laughs Kit I ordered from
Junior Jester Magazine.
That should do the trick!”

“Oh, I think I saw some of the stuff you got...like the flower that squirts water?” Angus said. “And the black gum that makes one’s teeth appear to be missing? And the hand buzzer? And the fake doggie poo?”

“Yes!” Erica answered with a smile. “We shall give Belcheena a very special welcome indeed!”

O
n Saturday morning, Wiglaf opened his eyes. He checked his ring. It was blue now. But surely it would soon turn orange. For this was the day Belcheena was coming!

After breakfast, Wiglaf slowly made his way to Lobelia’s chamber. He had just raised his hand to knock on the door, when a bright light flashed before him.

“Egad!” cried Wiglaf, jumping back.

In the spot where the light had been, Zelnoc shimmered into being.

“How do you like my new entrance?” the wizard asked. “I call it ‘The Flash.’ Beats the smoke, yes sir! I’m on a roll now, Waglop! I invented Bunnies-B-Gone. And poof! No more rabbits!”

“That’s nice,” Wiglaf said. “Did you bring me the loathing stuff?”

“Do bats have wings?” the wizard said. “Of course I did!” He reached up his sleeve and pulled out a bottle of bright red liquid.

“Are you sure it will work?” Wiglaf asked.

Zelnoc scowled down at Wiglaf. “Would I bring you something that didn’t work?”

“Well...” Wiglaf didn’t know how to put it. Zelnoc’s spells had a way of turning out badly.

Just then, Lobelia opened her door.

“Hello, Wiglaf,” she said. Then she looked at Zelnoc. “A wizard!” she exclaimed. “But why are you dressed in that old robe?”

Zelnoc frowned. “What’s wrong with it?”

“That star pattern is so last year,” Lobelia said. “Wizards nowadays go in for comets, meteor showers, shooting stars. They want a powerful image. But come in, both of you.” She smiled. “I have a surprise for Wiglaf.”

A surprise? Wiglaf had had more than enough of those. But he followed Zelnoc into Lobelia’s chamber. And there was Daisy.

Wiglaf stared. His pig wore a pink silk cape. A crown of tiny rosebuds sat on her head.

“Why are you dressed up?” Zelnoc asked.

“Iglaf-way’s edding-way,” Daisy said.

“Ah, yes. The wedding.” Zelnoc winked at Wiglaf. “That’s why I’m here, too, in a way.”

Lobelia gasped. “Wiglaf, that’s brilliant!” she cried. “A wizard in your wedding!”

“No, no, no,” Zelnoc said. “Wizard Rule #45 clearly states
no wizards in weddings.
Funerals, sometimes. But weddings? Never.”

“Oh, rules were made to be broken,” Lobelia scoffed. She began circling Zelnoc. “I’ll trim your beard and find you a new robe. One that will make you
look
powerful, even if your powers aren’t up to scratch.”

“What?” Zelnoc cried. “My powers are just fine, thank you very much.”

“Don’t get huffy,” Lobelia said.

“Huffy?” Zelnoc exclaimed. “Wizards don’t get huffy! Wizards get
angry!
Wizards get
even!
Especially mighty, powerful wizards, like me!”

“Oh, puh-leeze!” Lobelia exclaimed.

Zelnoc popped the cork on the bottle of red potion.

“Doubt my powers, will you?” Zelnoc snarled. “Well, let’s have a little test.”

He waved the bottle under Lobelia’s nose.

Wiglaf watched in horror as Lobelia’s violet eyes began rolling around in circles.

“What have you done?” Wiglaf cried.

Lobelia’s eyes closed. Then they popped open. Lobelia stared at Zelnoc.

“Well?” the wizard said eagerly. “You hate me with all your heart, don’t you?”

She clasped her hands to her chest and cried,

“Uh-oh,” said Zelnoc.

Lobelia went on:

“E-shay oves-lay ou-yay!” Daisy sang happily.

“This is worse than rabbits!” Zelnoc cried.

Lobelia continued:

Wiglaf grabbed the bottle of red liquid from Zelnoc’s hand. He read the tiny printing on the label: “Oil of Rhymes-o-Love.”

“Oops,” Zelnoc said. “I picked up the wrong bottle. But it works, Wuglop. You can see that, can’t you? My spells do work!”

Lobelia took Zelnoc’s hand in hers.

Zelnoc pulled his hand away. “Wizard Rule #498—
no dancing.
I’m getting out of here!”

Lobelia cried,

Zelnoc turned to Wiglaf. “I’m gone,” he said. And with a bright flash of light, he was.

Tears streamed down Lobelia’s cheeks.

“You don’t really love him, my lady,” Wiglaf said weakly. “It’s a spell. It will wear off.”

But Lobelia would not be comforted. She cried and sobbed and carried on. At last she threw her velvet cloak around her shoulders.

“Where are you going?” Wiglaf asked.

Lobelia cried miserably:

W
iglaf sank onto Lobelia’s couch. He should have known better than to call Zelnoc. Whiff of Loathing indeed!

“Oor-pay Obelia-lay!” Daisy exclaimed.

“Lobelia’s spell will wear off,” Wiglaf said. “But Belcheena will be mine forever!”

Mordred stuck his head in the door.

“Ah, here you are, Wiglaf!” he exclaimed. “Yorick has just spotted Princess Belcheena! She and her party are starting up Huntsman’s Path. They will be here within the hour!”

“Woe is me!” Wiglaf groaned.

“Why are you not dressed?” Mordred asked. “And where is my sister?”

“Opping-shay,” Daisy said.

“Shopping?” Mordred cried. “At a time like this? She must have gotten wind of that bodice sale over in Ratswhiskers. Well, never mind. Now where did she put that new outfit she ordered for you, Wiglaf? Ah, here it is!” Mordred picked up a package tied up with string. He thrust it into Wiglaf’s hands.

Instantly, Wiglaf’s ring begin to flash a bright orange warning.

“Go put it on!” Mordred roared.

Wiglaf shook as he ducked behind the tapestry. He was in danger! But what could he do? He took off his DSA uniform. He put on his new outfit.

“Don’t dillydally, boy!” Mordred yelled.

Wiglaf quickly fastened the squirting flower that Erica had given him to the collar of his new tunic. He stuck the tooth-black gum into his pocket. He slipped the hand buzzer onto his palm. Then he stepped out from behind the tapestry.

Wiglaf yelped as he beheld himself in Lobelia’s looking glass. No wonder his ring had signaled danger! For he wore a swamp-green velvet tunic. His skinny legs, in matching tights, looked like toothpicks. His shoes had long, curled-up toes!

Mordred set a swamp-green mushroom-shaped hat on top of Wiglaf’s ringlets. “There!” he said. “The hat gives you a lordly look.”

“Ery-vay oble-nay!” Daisy exclaimed.

Wiglaf didn’t think “noble” was quite the right word. The right word was “ninny.” He looked like some half-witted elf!

Wiglaf stared at himself. And then he smiled. Surely Princess Belcheena would never marry anyone who looked this foolish!

“Come!” Mordred said. “It is time for you to go to the castle yard to greet your bride!”

Wiglaf’s shoes flapped as he followed Mordred outside.

Every DSA student stood in the castle yard, waiting to see the East Armpittsian princess.

Wiglaf heard giggles as he passed by.

“Look at mushroom head!” called a boy.

“Hey, string bean legs!” called another.

But Wiglaf walked with his head held high. So what if they laughed? If the silly outfit saved him from marrying Belcheena, he would gladly wear it for the rest of his life.

Wiglaf spotted Angus and Erica in the crowd. But he could only wave to them and walk on.

Suddenly trumpets sounded. And Yorick cried, “Her Royal Highness, Princess Belcheena!”

Then through the castle gates marched a juggler juggling oranges. He was followed by two jesters turning cartwheels. Three minstrels strolled in next, strumming their lutes and singing. Four ladies-in-waiting were followed by five servants. The last one held the leash of a fierce-looking wild boar with golden tips on his tusks.

Wiglaf had never seen such a glorious parade. If only he did not know who was at the end of it.

Now a team of six horses pulled a golden carriage through the gate. And waving from the window was none other than Princess Belcheena.

“Welcome to Dragon Slayers’ Academy!” Mordred boomed. He nodded to the DSA band. The boys struck up a squeaky tune.

Wiglaf watched with growing dread as the servants opened the carriage door. The ladies-in-waiting helped Princess Belcheena out.

Belcheena was a large princess. Much larger than Wiglaf had expected. A pointed hat sat on her head. A long lacy scarf trailed down from its tip. Her braided yellow hair hung down nearly to her knees.

“Welcome, Princess!” Mordred said. “As headmaster of this fine academy, I welcome—”

“Stop!” Princess Belcheena cried.

Mordred stopped midspeech.

“Well, where is he?” the princess said loudly. “Where is this Wiglaf of Pinwick?”

“Right here, your loadedness!” Mordred said. “I mean, your loveliness! Go on, boy!” He gave Wiglaf a push. “Do as I taught you.”

Wiglaf lurched forward.

“Look, Gretta,” Belcheena said to the lady-in-waiting at her side. “His hair is not really red at all. I would call it orange.”

Yes!
Wiglaf thought. Belcheena wanted a truly redheaded husband. And he did not fill the bill!

“It is indeed orange,” Wiglaf agreed.

To his surprise, the princess smiled. “My long-lost love had red-orange hair,” she said. She plucked up a locket she wore on a chain around her neck. She opened it and sighed. “This is all I have left of him. A curl of his carroty hair!”

Wiglaf’s face fell. This was not working out at all. She liked his stupid hair! But he wasn’t giving up yet.

“Go on, Wiglaf. Compliment her,” Mordred whispered.

Wiglaf stepped toward the princess.

“Beautiful Belcheena,” he said. “You smell as sweet as the flower I wear on my tunic!”

Belcheena leaned forward to smell the flower. Wiglaf pushed a little bulb in his pocket.
Spuuuurt!
The flower squirted Belcheena’s face.

“Aaack!” cried the surprised princess.

“My lady!” screamed Gretta. She began patting Belcheena’s cheeks dry with her handkerchief.