Dr. Critchlore's School for Minions Read online

  “How am I gonna turn them into an awesome display of minion power?” I had to do something impressive, with or without Coach Foley’s help. My future as a junior henchman depended on it. Everyone knew junior henchmen were rated on the performance of their minions.

  I stood up and raised my hands for attention. “Attack the Cyclops!” I said, pointing to the Cyclops at the end of the field.

  The zombies didn’t move.

  “Okay, follow me,” I said. I led the way, but they didn’t follow. I was getting really frustrated, so I practically whined, “You have to follow me.”

  And they did.

  They followed me to the Cyclops.

  “Attack!” I ordered, pointing at the Cyclops.

  They stood there.

  “Attack!” I said, with more vigorous pointing motions.

  Nothing.

  “Come onnnnnn,” I said. “You have to attack.”

  They moved forward. They pulled the Cyclops apart, tearing and ripping and biting. Pismo laughed and joined them. I felt like crying, I was so proud of them. They were doing it.

  The bell rang, ending first period, and there was still no sign of Coach Foley.

  “Okay, good work, guys. Um, you’re dismissed. I have to go to my second period, History of Henchmen class, so I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, Pismo.”

  “See ya.”

  “Bye, zombies,” I said.

  “Higginsbrains,” they moaned, shuffling after me.

  “No, zombies. Stay!” I blew my whistle and backed away.

  “Higginsbrains,” they moaned, a little softer.

  “Stay,” I said again, both hands raised. They stopped chanting “Higginsbrains.” I took a deep breath, turned around, and ran for my next class.

  And then I heard Pismo yell, “Bye, Higginsbrains!”—and the chanting started up again.

  Critchlore minions: They’re not just for evil overlords anymore.

  —ADVERTISEMENT IN MINIONS TODAY

  I headed back to the castle, edging around the fountain in the middle of the circular drive. The water sparkled and the castle itself seemed to glow in the morning light. It was massive, looking much taller than its three stories, castellated as it was with turrets and battlements, and anchored by a tower on each side, one wide and round, the other tall and slim.

  I thought about how quickly things had changed for me. I’d always dreamed of being a top-notch minion, like I imagined my brother and sister werewolves were. What could be better? Minions do great things, because they work together to achieve a common goal.

  I’d never imagined being anything else, until Dr. Critchlore offered me a spot in the Junior Henchman Training Program. Suddenly it was like a whole new world opened up.

  It’s hard to describe what I felt, but I guess it was like this: You’re at the park, swinging on the swings, happy as a troll with a peanut butter sandwich. Then someone comes up to you and says, “Hey, come with me. On the other side of the hill is an amusement park.” You go on roller coasters and bumper cars. You ride that giant pendulum thing that lifts you so high and fast it makes the swings at the playground seem as thrilling as jumping off a brick.

  It’s so exciting you can barely breathe.

  That’s what being a junior henchman trainee felt like to me.

  “How did Runt get into this class?”

  That was Rufus Spaniel, the alpha werewolf of my grade. He was sitting in the back row of Professor Murphy’s History of Henchmen class with two other werewolves, shaggy-haired Lapso and supersmart Jud.

  “Hey, dog,” Jud said to me, lifting a hand for me to slap as I walked by. I’d spotted an open seat near the front, by the window.

  “’Sup, beast,” Lapso nodded.

  “Hey, guys,” I said.

  I did a quick check of the students on my way in. Besides the werewolves, there were a couple of monkey-men, a hunchback, a Cyclops named Dusty taking up two chairs, Tim the arachno-human, and some regular humans.

  The class was much more crowded than I’d expected. In fact, more kids kept coming in, until all the desks were taken and students had to stand crammed in by the wall.

  At last Professor Murphy entered the room. He was a short, round man with thick black-and-gray hair. His glasses rested on a nose that looked like a strawberry, red and spotted with pores.

  Professor Murphy took one look around, shook his head, and sighed heavily. “I see our esteemed Dr. Critchlore has offered junior henchman positions to too many kids yet again.” He sighed again. “I told him I could take five students in the program. We have”—he began counting—“twenty-seven. Oy vey!”

  Nervous whispering spread through the room. I’m sure we all wondered the same thing—were we going to be kicked out of the Junior Henchman Training Program? Would we have to go back to regular minion training?

  “Why don’t we fight it out for the five spots?” Rufus said. He looked at me and sneered. “I call Higgins.”

  After the laughter died down, someone pointed out the window. I turned my head and saw that the first-year zombies were crashing through the bushes, heading right for my window. They were moaning, “Higgins, Higgins, brains, Higgins, brains.”

  “What is going on out there?” Professor Murphy said.

  “They want Higgins’s brain, sir,” Rufus said. “They must be dieting.”

  More laughter. I chuckled at that one myself. I had to admit, that was pretty funny.

  “Higgins, brains, Higgins, brains.”

  “Higgins? Dogsbody Higgins is in this class?” Professor Murphy said, looking around. Kids snickered at my old nickname, but I ignored it and raised my hand so that Professor Murphy could see me.

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “I’m sorry, sir, I was assigned to Coach Foley this morning, but he, uh, left. I did my best with them, sir.”

  “Did you feed them?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I answered. “It was the only way to get them to take the potion.”

  “So, they’re potion-controlled,” he said, raising his eyebrows and nodding, like he was impressed. “Very well, just order them to report to the necromancer.”

  I opened the window. The zombies seemed excited to see me. They moved a fraction faster as they crashed their bodies into the wall. They moaned a bit faster too. “HigginsbrainsHigginsbrains.”

  “Report to the necromancer,” I said in my most commanding voice.

  “HigginsbrainsHigginsbrains,” they kept saying.

  “Please, report to the necromancer,” I said a little quieter. “Please.”

  “HigginsbrainsHigginsbrains.”

  I heard some giggles. A few comments, like “Not really henchman material,” floated through the air in my direction. My skin felt hot, and I think my lower lip might have trembled. I really, really wanted the zombies to obey.

  I practically whispered, “You have to go to the necromancer.” It came out squeaky, which almost made me cry from embarrassment.

  They stopped moaning, turned around, and left.

  I nearly collapsed with relief. But then I wondered: Why did it take so long for them to obey a command?

  “All right, then,” Professor Murphy said. “If nobody else’s first-year minions have followed them to class, we can get to business.”

  I went back to my seat, but someone had taken it. So I stood by the window.

  “As I said, I have only five positions available,” Professor Murphy continued. “Dr. Critchlore is, apparently, somewhat distracted at the moment. I’m sorry for the lot of you who will have to return to the regular minion program, but that’s the way it is.

  “This happened last year, when I had seven candidates for the five openings. We decided who’d stay based on a series of tests. I don’t know if I can do that with twenty-seven students. Part of me wants to throw the lot of you out and skip the program this year altogether. But I know that wouldn’t be fair.

  “So, if any of you would like to volunteer to exit the program now, I’d appreciate it. Any
volunteers?”

  Nobody raised a hand.

  I thought I should probably bow out. There was no way I was as good as any of these guys. I looked at them and they all seemed to scream “junior henchman”: smart, resourceful, strong. If I were an evil overlord, I’d take any one of them over me.

  I sighed. I felt my arm inch up, but something held it down. I looked over and saw Janet Desmarais, another third-year. Her gaze was on the teacher, but her hand was wrapped around my wrist in a grip so tight I couldn’t move my arm.

  “Don’t you dare raise the other one,” she whispered.

  As if I could. I was too shocked. Janet Desmarais was holding my hand! My chest felt squeezed and floaty at the same time. She kept her gaze forward, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her—those playful brown eyes, the way a smile danced on her lips. She tucked her hair behind her ears and glanced at me, and I had to look away.

  Despite my shock, I felt someone’s stare on me, probably because of my enhanced werewolf senses. In the back of the room, Rufus sat scowling at me. His gaze traveled down to my hand, clutched in Janet’s grip. Then back up to my face. If those eyes could have shot flaming balls of fire, I’d have been nothing but a pile of smoking ashes.

  I looked back at Professor Murphy and tried not to think about Janet holding my hand. Janet Desmarais is holding my hand! I felt like howling.

  I’d had a few classes with Janet in the past, but I’d never talked to her, not once. She hung around with the other girls, most of them part-sirens like her, able to lure men to their death with their beautiful singing. Their world seemed off-limits and mysterious, like the Forbidden Quarry.

  “Right, then,” Professor Murphy continued. “Until I can figure out how to pick the five, whether it’s a random draw or a contest of some sort, you’ll all have to take today’s lesson. You’ve all been assigned to a professor mentor, yes?”

  We all nodded.

  “Good. Their evaluation of your performance will have an impact on my choice too.”

  After class I chased after Janet, hypnotized by how perfect her dark hair was—it fell past her shoulders in a shiny wave that shimmered in the sun. She’d taken off her jacket and her arms were smooth and brown, like a perfect mud puddle.

  “Hey,” I said. “Why’d you do that?”

  “I didn’t want you to quit, obviously,” she answered.

  “But why?”

  “Runt, you always give up. Remember last year, at field day? Right before your race, Rufus asked you to go to the other side of the track and tell his mom to watch him. And you went! You missed your own race to do that self-absorbed lump a favor.”

  I remembered. I had a hard time saying no when people asked me to do stuff.

  “I thought you liked Rufus.”

  “Well, he is a good-looking self-absorbed lump—those dimples, those blue eyes.” She sighed. “But I want you to stay in Professor Murphy’s class. And do your best.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  I hadn’t been paying attention to my surroundings as we walked, but when I looked up I saw that Janet had made it to her territory, and I was still standing next to her. Five girls glared at me with raised eyebrows (or, in the case of Frieda, eyebrow—she’s an ogre). I yelped and ran off, their laughter chasing me.

  You’ve Just Been Raised from the Dead. Now What?

  —INTRODUCTORY CLASS FOR ZOMBIES, MUMMIES, AND SKELETONS, TAUGHT BY PROFESSOR VODUM

  I was going to have to compete against twenty-six awesome classmates to get into the Junior Henchman Training Program. This was bad.

  Which got me thinking. I’d already had three bad things: the wrong dorm assignment, the “Epic Minion Fail” video, and the embarrassing zombies. If I had another bad thing, that meant I was cursed.

  Buuuuut … maybe “Epic Minion Fail” didn’t count, because it wasn’t really bad for me, directly. It was bad for the school. So, on my list of bad things, I replaced “Epic Minion Fail” with “Not in Junior Henchman Training Program Yet,” and I was still at three bad things. Not cursed.

  I had Study Hall for third period, which meant I was supposed to report to the library. Uncle Ludwig made us sign in, but then he pretty much ignored us, so we were free to leave—which was what he wanted. Once, while reshelving books, I’d asked him what he was researching, but he wouldn’t tell me. It had to be something important, because he focused every waking minute on it.

  I could have finished reshelving, but something was bothering me. I needed to figure out what was wrong with the zombies—why did I have to repeat myself so many times before they obeyed? I didn’t stand a chance in the Junior Henchman Training Program if I couldn’t keep those zombies under control.

  I had a nagging feeling the zombies were defective, and that made me think about the ogre-men from the video. Could something be causing our minions to fail? Critchlore’s reputation couldn’t take any more defective minions. I really hoped I was wrong.

  Necromancers are experts at dead stuff, so I headed to their building, which was out by the cemetery. To get there I had to pass through the Memorial Courtyard, one of my favorite places on campus. The courtyard was a grassy pitch sprinkled with stone statues and benches, and shaded by a variety of trees. A curving wall of polished granite called the Wall of Heroes separated the courtyard from the cemetery. It was about fifty meters long. The Critchlore family had trained a lot of heroes.

  Normally, it was a peaceful place, but as I approached I kept hearing the shrill sound of a whistle and a lady screaming. I ran into the courtyard and saw Professor Zaida standing on a stump, trying to teach her Literature class. (We took Literature because most evil overlords enjoy a good bedtime story. Who doesn’t?)

  Professor Zaida, who is a little person, often teaches her class outside. She can really make stories come alive—and I mean that literally. She does this thing with animated clay that’s amazing. She’s one of the most popular teachers in the school.

  Tweet! “Zombie Seven, sit back down!” she commanded. Tim, the arachno-human, was her junior henchman assistant, but he was taking a nap in a web he’d spun in the oak tree. It looked like I wouldn’t have to worry about beating Tim into the junior henchman class. He’d already given up.

  When Zombie Seven sat down, Professor Zaida continued reading the creation story, “Jolki and the First Monsters.”

  I loved this story. Jolki, the God of Transmutable Species, was hungry and tired after having spent the day creating the fire-bellied toad. He asked three women to bring him food. Intelligent, brave Laru brought him a steak, cooked to perfection, with a side of mashed potatoes and asparagus. Jolki was pleased, and he rewarded her by giving her the power to turn into a wolf.

  The second woman, graceful and observant Eglenta, prepared a hearty chicken stew with vegetables from her garden. It was delicious. Jolki rewarded her with the ability to turn into an eagle.

  The third woman was the pretty but dim-witted Marvis. Jolki knew that cooking was beyond her ability, so he asked her to bring him some oysters, since the ocean was just a straight walk down the road, and there was a woman there who would give her the oysters. It was an easy job.

  Unfortunately, Marvis got lost, fell into the ocean, and unwittingly insulted the oyster woman. Eventually, she got the oysters, but on the way back she grew hungry and ate half of them. At last, she returned to Jolki and gave him his meal.

  Jolki was not pleased. “You bring me half a meal,” he raged, “so I will make you half a fish.”

  And thus the first mermaid was created from a very stupid girl.

  The zombies weren’t listening. Zombie Seven sat, but then Zombies Four and Eleven got up. They all had numbers on their backs, like on a sports uniform.

  Tweet! Tweet! Tweeeeeet!

  I wanted to help, but I didn’t have time. I waved at Pismo, who, I noticed, was chewing gum.

  Hmm. Where’d he get the gum?

  Uh-oh. I checked my pocket.

  My exploding gum was gone.
/>   Pismo rocked with silent laughter. Then he plucked the gum out of his mouth. I shook my head at him. He smiled wider and wiggled his eyebrows. I shook my head more vigorously. He tossed the gum over his shoulder. I winced. It exploded behind his back.

  “Hey! Ouch!” Pismo cried.

  Professor Zaida stopped whistling and called the students together.

  “He did it,” Pismo said, pointing at me. “That kid over there. He threw something at me, and it exploded.”

  Professor Zaida frowned at me. My mouth hung open in shock.

  I frowned hard at Pismo, who fell backward, holding his stomach as he rolled on the grass with more silent laughter. When Professor Zaida turned around to see if he was okay, his fake laughs turned into moans.

  “I think I need to see the nurse,” he said.

  “That’s fine. Do you know how to find her?”

  “Yes, Professor Zaida. Owwww.”

  Pismo took off, showing absolutely no sign of injury. He didn’t run for the infirmary, which was located back by the castle. He sprinted in the opposite direction, the direction I was heading, toward the Necromancy Building.

  I took off after him. I was going to pound that little twerp, but Professor Zaida’s whistle stopped me cold.

  Tweet! “Runt Higgins!” I turned around. “As if I’m not having enough trouble! I was supposed to have a class of ogre-men. They love that story. But no, I’m stuck with uncontrollable zombies. It is not the day to play pranks.”

  “It wasn’t me, Professor Zaida,” I said.

  “Enough!” She held up a hand to stop me from talking. “You will report to detention after school.”

  “Yes, Professor Zaida,” I said. Aw, man. I’d never gotten a detention. Stupid Pismo.

  I kicked a rock and continued on my way, now with a sore toe.

  Professor Vodum sat at his desk, beneath a wall covered with diplomas, newspaper clippings, and photographs of him with famous people who looked bored. His wall seemed to be saying, “Look at this man, he’s important.”

  I wondered how long he would last in Necromancy. He’d started at the school teaching Weather Control, but Dr. Critchlore had canceled the class when a freak lightning storm set fire to the stables. Professor Vodum bounced around a bit after that, teaching Stealth Techniques (his students were caught sneaking into the Evil Overlord Council Building), Hand-to-Paw Battle (the paws always won), and Poetry (only one person signed up for the class: Frieda, the ogre).