Dr. Critchlore's School for Minions Read online

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblanceto actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Grau, Sheila.

  Dr. Critchlore’s School for Minions / by Sheila Grau. pages cm

  Summary: At his boarding school for monsters, a young werewolf learns a devastating truth about his family while uncovering a plot to sabotage the world’s finest training program for aspiring minions to evil overlords.

  ISBN 978-1-4197-1370-5

  [1. Monsters—Fiction. 2. Werewolves—Fiction. 3. Boarding schools—Fiction. 4. Schools—Fiction. 5. Mystery and detective stories.] I. Title. II. Title: Doctor Critchlore’s School for Minions. PZ7.1.G73Dr 2015 [Fic]—dc23 2014029584

  Text copyright © 2015 Sheila Grau

  Illustrations copyright © 2015 Joe Sutphin

  Book design by Jessie Gang

  Published in 2015 by Amulet Books, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the publisher. Amulet Books and Amulet Paperbacks are registered trademarks of Harry N. Abrams, Inc.

  Amulet Books are available at special discounts when purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions as well as fundraising or educational use. Special editions can also be created to specification. For details, contact [email protected] or the address below.

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  FOR JUAN

  A Castle

  B Dorms

  C Necromancy

  D Memorial Courtyard

  E Garden

  F Tootles’s Tree House

  G Dead Man’s Peak

  H Aviary

  I Dragon Stable/Animal Pens

  J Boulderball Field

  K Practice Siege Wall

  L Hedge Maze

  M Sports Fields

  N Mount Curiosity

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Give a man a fish, and he eats for a day.

  Give a man a minion, and the minion will fish for him.

  —ANCIENT MINION PROVERB

  The beast in front of me had the body of a lion, a human face with three rows of very sharp teeth, and a scorpion’s tail tipped with a barb the size of an ice pick. The manticore was a triple threat of maiming, biting, and poisoning—and she was in my way.

  She wasn’t the only one. The courtyard was crowded with bodies jostling to get a look at the list posted on the wall. The manticore reared up on her hind legs, and I had to jump back to avoid her barb.

  “Can you see anything?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, plopping back down. “Those ogres are blocking my view.”

  Most of the students in front of me were first-years, looking for their dorm assignments. I was a third-year, hoping that this time, for once, they had moved me to the right dorm.

  “I’ll probably be in the Monster Minion Dormitory,” the manticore said.

  “The Momido.” I nodded. “Unless it’s full. Sometimes they put monsters in the D-Hum.”

  “The D-Hum?”

  “The Dormitory for Human Minions,” I said. I should know; I’d been stuck there for two years. Last year I’d missed out on some important events because the notices had only been posted in the Momido. And not just the fun stuff like Night Prowls and games of Capture the Human. I was late signing up for the MMA tournament, and that really stung. I loved Mixed Monster Arts.

  “Hey, ogres!” I yelled.

  Three warty faces turned to look down at me, their bottom fangs jutting up like boars’ tusks. They were kids, barely eight feet tall, but honestly, there was only one option for them.

  “Try the Dormitory for Minions of Impressive Size,” I suggested, pointing to the list on the right.

  They waved their clubs in thanks and moved out of the way. I grabbed the manticore’s tail and swung it in front of me like a sword, forcing her to follow me backward. “Excuse me! Third-year, coming through!” We edged past a bunch of kids who looked human, but they could’ve been anything—werewolves, vampires, shape-shifters, or actual humans (their bad luck). I pushed through a couple of monkey-men, a lizard-boy, and some mummies. At last we reached the wall.

  I held my breath, partly because I was nervous, and partly because the mummies smelled like piles of old gym socks with morning breath. I scanned the Momido room assignments. “Runt Higgins,” I whispered. “Come on. Where’s my name?” My heart beat faster as I scrolled down the list.

  It wasn’t there.

  “This has got to be a mistake,” I said, and I started over at the top.

  “There I am,” said the manticore, pointing her barbed tail at the name “Tiffany Smithers-Pendleton.” She reached into her backpack with her tail. When she brought it out, a piece of paper was impaled on the end. “Do you know where I turn in my immunization record?”

  I pointed in the direction of the infirmary. I couldn’t speak. A cold dread filled my body. I didn’t have to check the other lists. I knew I was back in the D-Hum.

  The D-Hum! Oh, the humanity! (And I mean that literally.)

  Slow and steady wins the race, if you have minions to sabotage your opponent.

  —ANCIENT MINION PROVERB

  The D-Hum was a two-story wood-shingled building with peeling white trim. It looked like an unwanted toolshed next to its neighbor, the Dormitory for Minions of Impressive Size (the D-MIS). That immense stone building had a wide portico, giant Ionic columns, and two stone griffins standing guard at the bottom of the steps. Their motto was engraved above the missing front door: “Anything in Our Way Will Be Destroyed.”

  By contrast, the motto above the D-Hum read, “Just Do Your Best.”

  I didn’t belong in the D-Hum. I belonged in the Momido with the other werewolves, but it had been full two years ago, when I was a first-year. It was full last year too, because monster minions are always in high demand. Humans, on the other hand, are not.

  When I returned to the D-Hum, I found my roommate Darthin standing in front of a mirror as he adjusted some fake horns on his head. He’d also painted himself gray.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. Besides the fake horns and gray skin, his blond hair had been slicked flat and he smiled with fake fangs.
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  “I’m gonna be a gargoyle,” he said. “At Mad Scientist Camp, they said gargoyles make the best assistants. Every mad scientist wants one. They’re very protective, really scary, and can turn into stone. I’m not sure why that’s good, but they can do it. And if they have wings, they can reach things on high shelves.”

  “Don’t they sometimes eat people?” I asked.

  “That’s actually another plus,” Darthin said. “Mad scientists need someone to blame for the, ah, accidental deaths.”

  “Why don’t you be a mad scientist yourself?” I asked. “You’re the smartest guy I know.”

  “Too much pressure,” he said. “All those presentations. I hate oral reports, you know that.” He turned back to the mirror, pulling on some gloves that had claws built into the fingers. “I’m just testing out the look. If I like it, I think I can concoct a potion to make the changes more permanent.”

  “Oh … kay.” Poor Darthin. He probably wanted to look like a monster because they terrified him. He rarely left the dorm if he was alone; he was so frightened of bumping into a mummy or an ogre, or anything else nonhuman.

  “I heard you made it into the Junior Henchman Training Program,” he said. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  I stood behind him and checked myself out in the mirror. I felt different, even though I looked the same, wearing the school uniform of black cargo pants, black cross-trainers, and white T-shirt decorated with the school’s symbol, a blue griffin. I zipped up my new jacket, in third-year colors: tan with black down the sides. It had the Critchlore family crest embroidered as a pocket logo on one side, my name on the other.

  The same old me, but now I was one of the elites: a junior henchman trainee. I was on solid footing for a great career.

  As soon as I thought this, the building shook, knocking Darthin and me to the floor.

  Fight sounds tumbled in through the open window. I got up and raced over, Darthin right behind me. Next door at the D-MIS, a bunch of ogres jostled one another as they chased a giant through the entryway.

  It was no surprise, really, that they didn’t have a door.

  The floor shook again. Shouts and curses filled the air. A couple of ogres tackled the giant and sat on him, trying to get him to say “Uncle.”

  “Wally!” I yelled at one of the ogres.

  Darthin slugged me on the shoulder. “What are you doing?” he whispered. “He’ll see us.”

  “Darthin, relax. They’re nice,” I said, for the millionth time. “Wally! What’s going on?”

  Wally turned around to see who was calling. I was right in front of him. From my second-floor window, I was practically at his eye level.

  “Over here, Wally!” I yelled, waving my arms.

  He looked to his left. Then his right.

  “Wally!”

  Finally he spotted me. “Hi, Higgins!” He waved.

  “What’s going on?” I asked again.

  “Knute called ogres sissies,” he said. Then he jumped up and landed on Knute’s belly.

  “Really?” I asked. “Why?”

  “ ’Cause they are!” Knute yelled. Then he lost his breath from another crushing blow. “Didn’t you see the video?”

  “What video?” I yelled, but nobody answered. A few giants came to Knute’s defense, and the ground shook from the giant-ogre scrum.

  “We could look it up on the library computer,” Darthin said, but I didn’t answer. I was watching the size XXXXXXXL minions punch and tackle each other, sometimes drawing blood. It was such a tender scene that I felt a pang of loneliness. I missed my pack. I kissed my medallion, the only thing they’d left me. It was the size of a small coin, and it had a wolf’s head in the center. I wore it always.

  “All that wrestling and chasing and biting reminds me of my family,” I said. I remembered feeling safe, snuggled together at night, the soft feel of their fur, and the musty smell of their bodies. The way Dad used to lead the nightly howling. How Mom licked my face clean. “Haven’t seen them in eight years.”

  “My family’s being held hostage in Upper Worb,” Darthin said.

  “What?”

  “To make sure I return, after I get my education. Our evil overlord, the Exalted Irma Trackno, doesn’t like defectors.”

  I’d heard about hostage families. Some people don’t enjoy the oppression and despair of their life under an evil overlord, and they would leave if they had a chance. The EOs are in a tough spot—they have to send people to Stull, the country with the best schools, but they also have to make sure they return. One way to do this is to keep the students’ family members hostage.

  “She imprisoned them?” I asked.

  “Nope. They’re just watched so they don’t leave. They share an apartment with a nice family of yetis. It’s cold, but they have cable TV.”

  “What happens if you don’t go back?”

  “The Great and Kind Irma will kill my family.”

  “She doesn’t sound very kind, or great,” I said. “I wonder where my family is.” Upper Worb? Bluetorch? Pinnacles? They could be anywhere. At least I knew they weren’t being held hostage. I hadn’t been sent to Stull. I’d been left at the school when I wasn’t able to keep up with my pack. I was the runt of the litter and I should have died, but my family loved me and left me somewhere I’d be safe.

  A giant picked up a chunk of stone that had broken off the facade and threw it. Darthin screamed as it zipped our way. We ducked just as it struck, hitting right above our window and sending splinters of wood on top of us.

  We were brushing off the dust when our other roommate, Frank Twenty-five, stumbled into the room. He looked green, which was not his natural color.

  “What’s the matter, Frankie?” I asked.

  He turned to me, a look of fear on his face. “We have to watch a video.”

  Sometimes, monsters are hard to see.

  —FROM THE TEXTBOOK MINION SPECIES, BY DR. D. CRITCHLORE

  What video?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Frankie said. “But everyone’s saying it could ruin the school.”

  Frankie stood in front of me, frantically twisting one of the bolts in his neck, back and forth, back and forth.

  Frankie was Dr. Frankenhammer’s twenty-fifth attempt to create a superhuman. Even though he was as skinny as a grasshopper, he was faster and stronger than a full-grown man, or even a full-grown ogre. If he’d thrown that chunk of stone, we probably wouldn’t have a wall above our window. He had a flattop of black hair, caveman eyebrows, and bolts on the side of his neck that he fiddled with when he was nervous, which was always.

  The three of us had been roommates for two years. I felt a little guilty for wanting to move out, but I didn’t belong with them. Sometimes I wondered if they’d make it as minions. My foster brother, Pierre, a human, graduated five years ago and wasn’t recruited by a single evil overlord. Now he worked in the kitchen with my foster mother, Cook.

  Frankie and Darthin were both looking at me. I knew what they wanted, but I had to fix my dorm assignment.

  “It’s the only place we can watch it,” Darthin said.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to go see Miss Merrybench,” I said.

  “What if it does ruin the school?” Frankie said. “What will happen to me? I don’t have any other home.”

  I didn’t either, but I thought Frankie was overreacting.

  “Everyone’s talking about it,” Frankie said. “So it’s got to be bad, right?” He started pacing. Twisting his bolts and pacing.

  “Higgins,” Darthin whispered. He nodded at Frankie, and I knew what he meant. Frankie was losing it.

  “Daddy’s already working on a new model,” Frankie went on. He had stopped twisting and was holding the top of his head down, which was a very bad sign. “What if he doesn’t want me anymore?”

  He let go to hug himself, and when he did—

  Pop!

  His head shot up into the air, landed with a thump, and rolled
under his bed. And then, just like a chicken in similar circumstances, Frankie’s body began to race around the room, arms outstretched. Blood spurted out: a fountain of red that almost reached the ceiling before his strong neck muscles contracted to slow the gush to a gurgling trickle.

  “Quick!” I said, slipping in blood as I reached for him. “I’ll grab his body. Darthin, you get his head.”

  I grabbed the squirming, headless body in a tight bear hug. As blood dribbled over me, I thought it was a good thing Frankie didn’t bunk with the vampires. He’d never get his head back on.

  Re-heading Frankie was really a four-person operation: one to hold the head, one the body, and two to peel down the neck skin and hook all the tubes back together. It was risky, but I decided to turn off Frankie’s blood pump, which stopped his body from squirming, making it easier for Darthin and me to reattach his head. Once we got it all hooked up, I flicked the switch back on and Frankie collapsed in my arms.

  “C’mon, buddy,” I said. “Wake up.”

  At last he opened his eyes, blinking a couple of times as he tried to figure out what had happened.

  “We’ll go watch the video, Frankie,” I said, before he could get worked up again.

  “Thanks.”

  The library was located in the West Wing of the castle, on the other side of the foyer from the cafeteria. They were the same size, but where the cafeteria was bright and loud, the library, with its metal bookshelves, heavy carpeting, and thick drapes, was gloomy and quiet. It smelled like neglect: a collection of musty odors that had aged and melded together over decades.

  The library was unappealing for a reason. Uncle Ludwig, the librarian, didn’t like to be bothered while he worked on his own research. He also kept library operating hours short—and changed them every day, so they were impossible to remember.

  I could get us inside, though, even when it was closed.

  We approached the double doors, and I peeked in through one of the decorative glass inserts, tapping lightly.

  “Uncle Ludwig?” I called. He wasn’t really my uncle, but he’d asked me to call him that since forever. “You in there?”

  I heard a scuffling of feet, a lot of mumbling, and then the door opened.