The Troll's Toe Cheese, page 1
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About the Author and Illustrator
Copyright Page
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For Gary Gygax, Dave Arneson, Larry Elmore, Erol Otis, Zeb Cook, and all the other legendary heroes who came before and inspired so many. May your swords never cease to sparkle.
Dear readers, contained within these pages—the very pages you now possess—is my fascinating story. My vast untapped knowledge. But, believe it or not, I wasn’t always this amazing.
Once upon a time … there was a janitor. Named Kevin.
He wasn’t really a janitor. He was actually a super-talented wizard. But he needed training. And he was humble enough to admit it.
So he went to Krakentop Academy for Heroes. The instructors would see his raw talent. They would notice his limitless potential. They would realize his untapped genius.
They didn’t see, notice, or realize any of that stuff! Because the school was full up. No empty spots.
Stupid Krakentop Academy for Heroes.
But they needed a janitor.
A JANITOR! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? The greatest mind of his generation?
But … if he was only patient, his chance would come.
He took the job. And when he ironed the masters’ robes, he thought wizardly thoughts. When he mopped milk off the cafeteria floors, he dreamed wizardly dreams.
But after two years of this robe-ironing and milk-mopping, he noticed something. New students! Even though he was there first! Hello, people! There’s a little rule called no cuts, no butts, no coconuts!
The headmistress was a noble paladin. The janitor decided that if he pointed out the error, she would correct it. He would finally take his place among the powerful wizards of tomorrow.
He knocked on her door. He explained the mistake that had been made. She listened. And then … she scoffed.
“Do you know what I found on my robes the other day?” she asked. “An iron burn!” He gulped. “Do you know what I found in my garbage can?” she asked. “Recyclables!” He flushed in embarrassment. “You have no attention to detail! You are so busy daydreaming about magic-making that you cannot even clean the floors properly! How can you expect to be a wizard?”
“Now run along,” she said, “but grab the garbage while you’re here. And don’t forget to separate the recycling!”
Fury consumed him. Embarrassed by the headmistress’s words, he thought about running away. Shamed by her scorn, he thought about leaving. But in the grips of seething anger, the janitor resolved that he would do one thing above all else.
He would prove her wrong. He would show her.
So he stayed. He ironed their stupid robes. He mopped their stupid floors. He separated their stupid recyclables.
But, when they weren’t looking, he read their spellbooks. And he learned.
When they weren’t paying attention, he snooped through their journals. And he remembered.
When they thought he wasn’t there, he listened in on their lessons. And he practiced.
Weeks went by, and despite the headmistress’s doubts, the janitor’s knowledge grew great.
Months wore on, and the janitor’s skill grew powerful.
Years passed. And the janitor’s heart grew … vengeful.
And then one day, while snooping through the headmistress’s files, he found it: the secret of a quest gone horribly wrong. A dreadful creature, a manticore, had killed a group of Krakentop students and their master decades earlier on the island of Blackrook Reach.
THIS WAS IT! His chance to show them all! He would find this fearsome creature and slay it. He would succeed where a fancy-pants Krakentop master and her pathetic students had failed! The headmistress would see, once and for all, how cool he really was. And she’d be sorry that she ever doubted him.
He left for Blackrook Reach that very night. But he never found the manticore. Instead he found something far worse on Blackrook Reach.
A creature of darkness. A creature of hate. A creature that cried out in the night with an unquenchable thirst for revenge.
The janitor could relate. And in that dark moment he concocted a new plan. One that would make the headmistress—the entire school!—pay for his mistreatment.
So Kevin the janitor … no … Kevin the WIZARD! No. Kevin, the GREAT AND POWERFUL! He didn’t try to slay the vile creature he discovered that night.
Instead … he made a deal with it.
CHAPTER ONE
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
“Try again, Fart,” Moxie tells me.
Yes, my name is Fart. Long story.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Yes, I’m knocking on the door of a wizard’s tower. And yes, nobody is answering.
A few months ago, my friends and I would have never banged so boldly on a wizard’s front door. Back then we were simple apprentices. Students. But when our masters bit the dust in a goblin attack gone wrong, we had a decision to make. Return to school, tails tucked between our legs? Or venture out into the Fourteen Realms and become the victorious heroes we were always meant to be?
We chose: Victorious Heroes.
We’ve traveled across yeti-infested wastelands. We’ve defeated a dragon. We’ve plumbed the depths of the dragon’s poo pile to obtain a rare and powerful artifact. We’ve commandeered a cool flying airship. And we have returned to this wizard’s tower … triumphant.
* * *
SUPERHEROIC ACHIEVEMENT!
Successfully Summarize Book 3!
(400 Experience Points Awarded)
* * *
But now we face our greatest obstacle yet: the Great and Powerful Kevin’s front door.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
The door flies open midwhack. And there’s the Great and Powerful Kevin. Looking super great. And super powerful. And super annoyed.
“Hey!” he growls at us. “Goobers! I am currently proofreading the single most important piece of nonfiction literature ever created. And all your door-whacking is clogging up my creative flow!”
He looks down at the phibling on the doorstep and a cocky grin spreads across his face.
“Aw, TickTock!” Kevin exclaims. “I had a feeling my little phibling would come crawling back to his old buddy Kevin.”
“TickTock is not Kevin’s phibling!” the phibling insists.
“Sure, pal,” Kevin says, cracking his neck. “I accept your apology. And your timing is perfect! I was just about to turn your old room into a yoga studio. But now you’re back! I admit it … I missed you. There. I said it.”
“TickTock is not apolo—”
“Yeah, yeah,” the wizard says. “Don’t go getting all mushy.”
His eyes scan the rest of us. “So. I send you dudes to get me a little shiny bling-bling from a dragon’s lair, and you crawl back to me in defeat. Well, I guess there’s no shame in it. At least you’re still alive.”
Moxie steps up so she’s nose-to-belt-buckle with him. “Not only are we alive,” she says proudly. “We slayed the dragon.”
“Slayed the dragon!” Kevin laughs. “Sure, guys. Sure, sure. Of course you did.”
“We did!” I cry. “We slayed Glacierbane! WITH CHEESE!”
“Oh, yeah. I know!” he says dramatically. “And I invented oxygen while you were gone. See, I can play this game too!”
“Kevin, it’s true,” Pan begins. “We—”
“You know what?” he says, cutting her off. “Doesn’t matter. I didn’t sign up for the two o’clock matinee of Story Hour with the Little Fibbers Gang. I didn’t send you to slay a dragon. I sent you to retrieve a supercharged magic item from a pile of dragon poo. That’s what I really care about.” He rubs his hands together eagerly. “So … did you accomplish my quest or not?”
Pan huffs in frustration. But she reaches into her tunic and retrieves something sparkly.
The necklace that once belonged to her mom.
The enchanted necklace that draws her close to the memory of her mother.
The necklace that was stolen by Seraphim the sneak thief, swallowed by Glacierbane the dragon, and supercharged by Glacierbane’s übermagical digestive enzymes.
The necklace that we plucked from the dead dragon’s poo pile.
That necklace.
Pan holds it out. “Not only did we slay the dragon,” she says softly. “We accomplished your quest.”
CHAPTER TWO
“You’re sure this came from a dragon’s poo pile?” the wizard asks.
“Believe it, bub,” I tell him. “My nose is still recovering from the smell.”
Kevin goes instantly starry-eyed and snatches the necklace with a grubby hand.
* * *
SUPERHEROIC ACHIEVEMENT!
Deliver the Goods!
(400 Experience Points Awarded)
* * *
He stares at the necklace hungrily and then turns and disappears up a long hall.
“Hey!” cries Moxie. “Hold up there, Mr. Grabby Fingers! Let’s not forget your end of the bargain.”
Kevin’s end of the bargain is simple: We deliver this poop-powered necklace and Kevin lets Pan say a proper goodbye to her mom, who was killed by a manticore more than fifty years ago. He better have some great and powerful spell up his sleeve or else we’re going to have one seriously angry monk on our hands.
But Kevin’s already disappearing through a doorway.
We dash after him, going through the door, down a long winding set of stairs, and into a cavernous underground chamber. Little rat toes scuttle away as we follow.
Moxie enters cautiously, gripping her hammer, her eyes scanning the dark corners for danger. But it’s a huge stone altar that grabs my attention.
Kevin starts lighting candles and adjusting knobs on some weird contraption. He pulls a thick leatherbound journal from the depths of his robes and lays it on the altar before him, giddy with excitement.
“I gotta say, when you three first walked through my door months ago, I had serious doubts,” he says over his shoulder. “But you dudes have proved to be quite the little go-getters.”
He points a finger at the contraption in front of him. “You got me my lamia fart.” He pulls out a pair of safety goggles and pops them onto his head. “You fetched me my bedazzler barf,” he continues, “and now, the pièce de résistance,” he mutters with a grin. “That’s elvish for the third thingy.”
“What is all this?” I ask, staring around in amazement.
“Only the single coolest bit of magical experimentation that’s ever been done!” he says proudly.
“Whoa,” says Moxie, gaping at the ceiling in wonder. “What are those things?” I follow her gaze. Above our heads, several pipes run into some weird oversize fishbowl. Inside it, three glowing eellike creatures swim through a gaseous substance, their eyes pulsing and flickering as they stare down at us.
“Lightning elementals,” says Kevin. “Great power source.”
I just stare, my mouth hanging open. Sometimes that’s all you can do: stare, mouth hanging open.
Kevin shoots me a look of bewilderment. “Hey. Why aren’t you jotting this down?” he asks, shaking his head. “I’m dropping juicy tidbits of magical wisdom here, and you’re just gawking. Kids today. Nobody jots anything down anymore.”
He moves to the dais in the center of the room and holds the thick journal aloft.
“Well, soon you won’t have to,” he says triumphantly, “because I’ve created the definitive work.”
“What is it?” I ask, gazing at the worn leather cover.
“Only my life story,” Kevin says with a sniff. “Plus an appendix that’ll teach those Krakentop know-it-alls a thing or two. It’s chock-full of all the juicy little wizardly stuff they don’t teach you in fancy book-learnin’ schools. Arcane Drain. Staff Synchronicity. Deals with the Undead. Practical stuff. Life skills.” He wiggles his fingers dramatically. “I call it … The Book of Kevin.”
Moxie snorts out a laugh.
“It’s a working title, okay?!” Kevin says with a huff. “GOSH!”
The wizard lays the book open before him. Then he takes a deep breath, yanks the goggles over his eyes, and wraps his fingers around a large dial on a pipe. “Clench up, my peeps,” he says with an excited grin. “This is where things get good.”
And he turns the dial.
Water flows through the pipe and into the fishbowl, dousing the lightning creatures above us. The elementals howl in pain, sending electrical sparks running down wires and tubes and into the contraption below.
“TickTock is not liking this!” cries the phibling.
“Pan is not being so crazy about it either,” says Pan, shielding her eyes from the glare.
Kevin stands before this chaos, arms held high, staff aloft. He begins to utter strange words.
“Corpus collecticus intangibile au ficus!”
“I think he’s having a fit!” cries Moxie over the crackle of electricity. But I recognize the language of magic. I know the beginnings of a spell when I hear it.
“Ghouliermo del toro
Modestico fantasmagoro!”
The crackling intensifies. A blinding orange light fills the room. Our nostrils are overwhelmed by the smells of … cheese farts. And … rotten meat. And something else.
The smell of death.
And then … just when I think I can’t stand it anymore … the room grows still.
* * *
SUPERHEROIC ACHIEVEMENT!
Survive a Weird Magical Ritual!
(400 Experience Points Awarded)
* * *
I carefully open my eyes and turn to look at Moxie. Pan. TickTock.
But they’re all staring at the same thing.
Kevin slowly steps forward. He reaches out a nervous hand and grasps the egglike orb that has materialized under Kevin’s bizarre contraption. It pulsates with a sickly orange glow.
“It worked!” he mutters to himself. “It actually worked.”
CHAPTER THREE
“What is it?” I ask, gaping at the little egg.
Kevin turns to us, holding his tiny creation aloft. “Behold!” he cries. “The Great and Powerful Kevin’s Super-Cool Orb of Magical Awesomeness!”
“Hmm,” murmurs Moxie, eyeballing the orb. “It’s cute.”
“CUTE?” Kevin chokes. “Cute? Do you have any idea what your peepers are peeping at?”
Moxie rolls her eyes. “Fine. It’s super cool. And great and powerful. And whatever.” She huffs impatiently. “You really wanna impress me? Then keep your promise.”
“What promise?” asks Kevin indignantly.
Moxie grips her hammer firmly. “You owe Pan a family reunion.”
“Yes, please,” says Pan. The elf nervously tucks her hair-wispies behind a pointed ear. “I’ve waited patiently, but I believe we had an arrangement. We bring you a supercharged magical item…”
“And you let Pan see her mom one last time,” I finish for her.
“Yeah, yeah. Fine,” mutters Kevin. “Follow me.” He closes his journal, gingerly tucks the orb into a pocket, and disappears through the doorway.
My eyes dart to Pan. One hand fidgets with her bo staff, the other reaching up nervously to smooth her hair. She’s waited a long time for this moment.
When we catch up, Kevin is standing in the tower’s foyer, right by the grand staircase. The one that leads to the second floor. To his mother’s private chambers.
This staircase is off-limits. In fact, the last time one of us tried to go up it, Kevin about pooped in his pantaloons.
“Get down here, you old gasbag!” he hollers up the stairs. “You can finally quit nagging me! I’ve got your orb thingy ready!”
“Dude, try to focus,” I tell him. “You can give your mom her orb of wrinkle reduction later. How about you do some magic and make Pan’s mom appear?”
This stops Kevin cold. His jaw goes slack. “Wait … what?” he splutters. “Back up. My mom? Is that who you guys think is up there? My MOM?”
“Of course,” says Pan. “We’ve heard you talking to her on numerous occasions.”
But the Great and Powerful Kevin has collapsed in a fit of great and powerful giggles.
TickTock looks at us, concerned. “What is being so funny?”
“You!” gasps Kevin, stifling back snorts of laughter. “You think my mom is up there! MY MOM!”
Pan lets out a frustrated sigh. “If it’s not your mother up there, then who is it?”
And that’s when I feel it. Cold. Bone-chilling cold sweeps through the room like a fog. It’s coming from … the top of the stairs.
“Not my mom, goofball,” Kevin tells Pan, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Your mom.”
