The Griffin's Riddle

“Unauthorized human secured,” the nasal voice announced from the speaker. “Emergency code deactivated.”

  “Woo-hoo!” Pearl cried. “He caught her!”

  The elevator made a grinding sound, and the panel lit up again as the elevator descended. Floor two. Floor one. Ben and Pearl waited, both shuffling anxiously as if they had to go to the bathroom. The doors opened.

  Mr. Tabby stood inside. A few strands of hair were out of place. He must have run up the back staircase. He held tightly to Victoria’s arm. She looked mostly the same—her frizzy hair, her thick glasses perched on her nose. Except she was as pale as the moon.

  “B… b… b…” Victoria mumbled as Mr. Tabby led her into the lobby. “B… b… b…”

  “She looks scared,” Ben whispered to Pearl.

  “She looks weird,” Pearl said. “What’s the matter with her face?” Under normal circumstances, that particular question would be considered rude. But Victoria did look weird. Not only had her face turned as pale as the moon, but it was almost as round as well. And getting rounder by the second.

  “B… b… b…” Victoria stammered. Her neck began to swell.

  “Ewww. What’s wrong with her?” Pearl asked.

  “I shall explain momentarily,” Mr. Tabby said. “In the meantime, I will escort her back to her mother.” Keeping a firm grip on Victoria’s arm, he led her outside. Ben and Pearl followed down the long driveway.

  Mrs. Mulberry was waiting behind the gate. “What happened?” she called. “Did you meet Dr. Woo? What’s she like? Tell me everything!”

  Mr. Tabby unlocked the gate and gently, but insistently, pushed Victoria onto the sidewalk, next to her mother. Mrs. Mulberry shrieked. “What the matter with my baby? What’s the matter with her face?”

  After smoothing a few wrinkles from his vest, Mr. Tabby looked at Mrs. Mulberry with a sneer of disapproval. “Your daughter was trespassing. Trespassing can lead to all sorts of unpleasant outcomes.”

  “Unpleasant?” Mrs. Mulberry jabbed a finger at Mr. Tabby. “Why is her head so round? I demand an explanation!”

  Ben shuffled nervously, wondering what sort of story Mr. Tabby would come up with. The assistant cleared his throat and stood very straight. He stared down his nose and spoke in a calm manner, as if having one’s head expand was nothing to worry about. “It would appear that your daughter is ill. I suggest you take her home and put her to bed.”

  “B… b… big,” Victoria said, finally forming a word. “F… f… furry.”

  Ben cringed. Big and furry could only mean one thing. She’d seen the sasquatch. But what was happening to her? Both he and Pearl gasped and took a step back as Victoria’s neck got even bigger. Victoria tried to talk, but no more words came out. Ben couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Even after everything he’d been exposed to at Dr. Woo’s hospital and in the Imaginary World, Victoria’s swollen head was the weirdest yet.

  “She’s blowing up like a balloon!” Mrs. Mulberry cried.

  “The swelling is most unfortunate.” Mr. Tabby’s pupils flashed. “However, all good things must come to an end. Our business is now concluded.”

  “We’d better get you to the doctor,” Mrs. Mulberry said. “The real doctor, not some fake worm doctor.” She pushed Victoria into the red wagon, then began pulling it up the street toward town.

  “Good day,” Mr. Tabby said with a wave of his hand.

  “Something happened inside your hospital!” Mrs. Mulberry yelled over her shoulder. “And as soon as Victoria’s face deflates, I’m going to find out what!”

  Once the Mulberrys were out of earshot, Pearl broke into a string of questions. “Did she see the sasquatch? Did it chase her up a tree? What will happen if she tells everyone? How come her face looks like that? Will she be that way forever? She was the Princess of Buttons in last year’s parade, and I don’t think she can be princess again if her head is as big as a balloon. What do you think?”

  Mr. Tabby held up a hand to silence Pearl. Both she and Ben were quiet, waiting for his answer. “Whether or not Victoria is a princess in a parade is the least of our worries,” he replied. “There is another matter to which we must attend. For when that human child stepped out of the elevator and into the Forest Suite, she entered an area that is currently under quarantine.”

  “Quarantine?” Ben’s stomach tightened. “That means it’s off limits because someone is sick. Is the sasquatch sick? Does it have the same thing that Dr. Woo has? Is it bad?”

  Mr. Tabby nodded. “The sasquatch and Dr. Woo are both ill with Troll Tonsillitis. Your acquaintance is showing early symptoms. Unfortunately, the infection is not only unpleasant, it is also highly contagious.” The next thing he said made Ben shudder. “I predict that Troll Tonsillitis will spread throughout Buttonville in a matter of hours.”

  7

  Troll Tonsillitis?” Pearl furrowed her brow. “I didn’t know trolls had tonsils. Well, actually, I don’t know anything about trolls.”

  Ben put a hand to his throat. “Is it anything like regular tonsillitis? I had that a lot when I was little.”

  “Me too,” Pearl said.

  Mr. Tabby explained, “While the human version of tonsillitis is not contagious, the troll version spreads with the inhalation of a single stray germ. The victim’s face and neck puff up, giving the individual a troll-like appearance. Trolls are not attractive creatures.”

  Ben had never seen a troll, but Victoria had certainly looked gruesome.

  “Is Victoria’s head going to explode?” Pearl asked. “I may not like her very much, but I wouldn’t want anyone’s head to explode. That would be terrible.”

  “There will be no exploding,” Mr. Tabby said. “But she will not return to normal unless we administer the proper medication. Nor will Dr. Woo or the sasquatch.”

  Ben suddenly remembered something very important. “Metalmouth is sick, too!”

  “Oh dear.” Mr. Tabby made a tsk-tsk sound. “This shall prove most difficult. Dragons do not like taking medicine.”

  “He sneezed all over us,” Ben added. “We definitely inhaled some of those germs.”

  Mr. Tabby looked worriedly at Ben, then at Pearl. “Do either of you possess tonsils?”

  “I had to go to the hospital and get mine taken out,” Ben said.

  “Me too. See.” Pearl opened her mouth real wide as evidence. Ben stood on tiptoe and peeked past her molars. Sure enough, no tonsils. Along with being Dr. Woo’s apprentices and sharing all sorts of secrets, this was another amazing thing he and Pearl had in common.

  “If you do not possess tonsils, then you will not catch Troll Tonsillitis,” Mr. Tabby said. Ben sighed with relief. That was excellent news. Mr. Tabby continued. “I do not possess them, either. So it would appear that we three will escape the epidemic.”

  “Poor Dr. Woo,” Pearl said with a frown. “I don’t want her to look like a troll.”

  Ben agreed. Even with the scars that ran across her cheek and her neck, Dr. Woo was one of the prettiest people he’d ever known. He couldn’t imagine her with a puffy face and a thick troll neck. Even though the sasquatch wasn’t attractive, except maybe to another sasquatch, Ben had spent enough time with the furry beast to care about its wellbeing. And Metalmouth was his friend, so of course he didn’t want the dragon to be sick. “What about Dr. Woo’s special soup?” Ben asked. Last week, both he and Pearl had caught a cold from a leprechaun, and the soup had instantly cured them. “Won’t that work?”

  “The special soup has no effect on Troll Tonsillitis,” Mr. Tabby said. “The only cure is ground griffin feather.”

  “What’s a griffin?” Pearl asked.

  Ben knew this answer because the emblem on one of his father’s fancy cars was a griffin. “It’s a beast that’s half eagle and half lion.”

  Mr. Tabby raised his eyebrows as if impressed by Ben’s level of knowledge. “That is correct. Unfortunately, after an extensive search of Dr. Woo’s medicine cabinet, I have found not a single speck of ground
griffin feather.” He pulled a pocket watch from his vest. “I must make haste. It is time for me to check the doctor’s temperature.” He ushered them onto the sidewalk.

  “You want us to leave?” Pearl asked. “But aren’t we going to help you?”

  “Today is Tuesday. You do not apprentice on Tuesday.”

  “But what about tomorrow?” Ben said. “Is our apprenticeship still canceled?”

  “Hmmm. I must think about that for a moment.” Mr. Tabby tapped a finger to his chin. “Seeing as you do not possess tonsils and are, therefore, not in danger of catching Troll Tonsillitis, I am uncanceling.”

  “Yay!” Pearl shouted.

  Ben was also excited, though he couldn’t help but imagine his grandfather and the other seniors with big balloon heads. It would be pretty difficult to play board games at the senior center if everyone kept tipping over. “What are we going to do if there’s no griffin feather?”

  “We shall have to get one,” Mr. Tabby said.

  “Did you say we? You mean we’re going to the Imaginary World?” Pearl started bouncing on her toes. “Seriously? You, me, and Ben? All three of us?”

  Ben chewed on his lower lip. Another trip to the Imaginary World? Perhaps they’d misheard Mr. Tabby. Maybe he’d mixed up his pronouns, saying we by accident. Pearl kept bouncing, as if the sidewalk were made of rubber. Ben, however, stood perfectly still.

  Mr. Tabby released a long, exasperated sigh. “It distresses me greatly to admit that I cannot accomplish this task on my own.” He closed the gate, then locked it. With the key ring dangling from his long fingertips, he began to walk back up the driveway, toward the hospital.

  Ben and Pearl watched from the other side of the gate. Was that it? “Mr. Tabby?” Ben called. “What are we supposed to do in the meantime? What if people start getting sick?”

  Mr. Tabby didn’t answer those questions. “Arrive tomorrow at eight thirty AM precisely,” he said over his shoulder. “And wear your fanciest clothes. One must always look nice when meeting a griffin.”

  8

  Ben and Pearl hurried down Fir Street, heading into town. “I can hardly wait for tomorrow,” Pearl said, her ponytail bouncing. “I love going to the Imaginary World.”

  “Me too,” Ben mumbled, because only half of him was excited. The other half, mostly his stomach, was filled with flutters, as if a butterfly had been swallowed and trapped.

  “Why do you have that weird look on your face?” Pearl asked. “Are you worried?”

  “No,” Ben said. He didn’t want Pearl to think he was scared. Meeting a half-lion, half-eagle creature would be totally cool, of course. It was the getting there that made him nervous. Traveling to another dimension was fraught with all sorts of dangers, such as the possibility of falling between dimensions and getting lost forever! But Pearl didn’t seem to fret about stuff like that.

  There was another danger—the possibility of coming face-to-face with a certain bad guy named Maximus Steele, a poacher who’d somehow gotten himself into the Imaginary World. He’d stolen the rain dragon’s horn and had tried to trap a unicorn foal. He was pure evil, and Ben didn’t want to run into him.

  “Why do you think we have to wear our fanciest clothes?” Pearl asked. “I don’t have anything fancy.” To Ben, this statement seemed true because Pearl wore the same thing every day—a pair of basketball shorts, a plain T-shirt, and sneakers. He’d never seen her in a dress, tights, or jewelry. She did, however, own a pair of magical pink shoes, given to her by the same leprechaun who’d given them each a cold. “Oh, wait, I have one skirt. Mom made me wear it to my cousin’s wedding. I hate it, but I’ll wear it if it means I get to go to the Imaginary World again.”

  Ben was used to nice clothes. His mom ordered from all the trendiest catalogs. Before he’d left for Buttonville, she’d packed him a suit, just in case something special came up. She’d probably imagined a town picnic or a block party—not a meeting with a griffin.

  Ben and Pearl took a right turn onto Main Street. Although Buttonville didn’t have the excitement of a big city, it did have its small charms. Like a diner that made the entire town smell like hamburgers and a cinema that played old black-and-white movies. And the colorful buttons that could be found here and there, blown by wind and collected by pigeons—like little pieces of treasure.

  “Hello, Ms. Nod,” Pearl said. Ms. Nod, the owner of the Buttonville Bookstore, was taping a CLOSED sign to its door. “How come you’re closing in the middle of the day?” When Ms. Nod turned around, both Ben and Pearl discovered the reason.

  Beneath her red-framed glasses, her face was all puffy and much rounder than usual.

  “Uh-oh,” Ben said. Right before their eyes, her neck began to swell. Ben didn’t mean to stare, but it was like watching a bullfrog puff out its face.

  “S… s… sick,” she whispered. Then, purse in hand, she hurried away, teetering beneath her oversize head.

  “I’m so glad I don’t have tonsils,” Pearl said. “But how’d Ms. Nod catch Troll Tonsillitis already?”

  Ben looked around. “Mrs. Mulberry and Victoria must have walked past the bookstore. Or maybe the wind blew Metalmouth’s germs onto Main Street.” It only took one germ, according to Mr. Tabby. “Mr. Tabby’s right. It’s going to spread all over.” If everyone started to look like trolls, would Buttonville become Trollville?

  “I sure hope my parents don’t have tonsils,” Pearl said as she pushed open the Dollar Store door. “Well, I gotta unpack boxes. See you tomorrow. It’s gonna be great!” She waved good-bye.

  “I hope you’re right.” Great would be way better than dangerous.

  Ben darted past a couple more people with bloated faces. A woman shrieked when she spied her reflection in a store window. “What’s happening?” she cried.

  Ben might have stopped to explain the situation, but that would have meant breaking the contract of secrecy he and Pearl had signed. “I don’t know,” he told her, then quickened his pace.

  Even if the journey to the Imaginary World was riddled with danger, Ben knew he couldn’t chicken out. Dr. Woo, the sasquatch, Metalmouth, and all the sick residents of Buttonville needed a special feather. And he and Pearl were going to get it.

  But why did they have to dress up?

  9

  The next day, Ben’s grandfather dropped Ben off at Dr. Woo’s Worm Hospital at 8:18 AM, a little early because he wanted to get to the Food 4 Less Market to buy more matzo ball mix. Word of the mysterious epidemic was spreading as fast as the disease itself. “Give this soup to Dr. Woo to keep her healthy,” Grandpa Abe said, handing Ben a small plaid thermos. “Tell her it’s an old family recipe. I’ll send more as soon as I make it.” Luckily, Grandpa Abe’s tonsils had been removed sometime during the last century, so he’d woken up with a normal-sized head.

  Ben didn’t have the heart to tell his grandfather that matzo ball soup wouldn’t help the doctor. It might taste delicious, but it couldn’t cure a disease from the Imaginary World.

  When Pearl arrived at the hospital gate at 8:22 AM, Ben almost didn’t recognize her. Her long blond hair hung loose, and she’d tied an oversize yellow bow to the top of her head. Ben thought this made her look like a birthday present.

  “Don’t say anything about my skirt,” she told him with a roll of her eyes. “I already know it looks like a lace factory exploded all over me.” Then she smiled slyly. “I’m wearing my basketball shorts underneath. I want to be comfortable, don’t I?”

  Ben wasn’t comfortable. He was sweating something fierce. His shirt was buttoned all the way to his chin, and his tie felt like a noose. He’d completed the outfit with a pair of pressed pants and brand-new, stiff black dress shoes.

  “This might be the most important trip we take to the Imaginary World,” Pearl said as she fiddled with her bow. “Both my mom and dad woke up with Troll Tonsillitis. Their faces are so round they look like Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head. There’s already a long line in front of the doctor’s office, but
what’s he going to do? He doesn’t have a griffin feather.”

  Ben thought it was odd that Buttonville had only one doctor for people. There were doctors all over Los Angeles—five in his neighborhood alone. If you strained your elbow during a tennis game, you could see a sports-injury doctor. If you got a sunburn at the beach, you could go to a skin doctor. And if you wanted to freeze your face so you didn’t have any wrinkles, you had your choice of about a zillion plastic surgeons. “Don’t worry,” Ben said. “We’ll get a feather, and then your parents will be back to normal.”

  At precisely 8:30, Mr. Tabby opened the gate and led them toward the hospital. He looked particularly dashing in a metallic gold vest. “Are we fancy enough?” Pearl asked.

  “It would appear that you actually followed my instructions,” Mr. Tabby replied with an approving nod. “Well done.”

  Ben smiled. It was rare to get a compliment from Mr. Tabby.

  As they walked, Pearl launched a round of questions. “How long will it take to get there? Does the griffin live in the mountains or in a forest? Does it eat lion food or eagle food? Is it old? Do its babies hatch from eggs or are they born? Where does it—?”

  “Questions are cheap and easy to find,” Mr. Tabby interrupted, his voice stern. “Answers are like treasures, waiting to be revealed.”

  “Huh?” Pearl scrunched up her face. Then she shrugged.

  As soon as they were inside, Ben closed the hospital’s front door and slid the five dead bolts in place. The bolts had been installed to provide extra security against anyone who might want to sneak into Dr. Woo’s hospital and uncover secrets—or worse, steal them!

  “My grandpa sent some soup for Dr. Woo, to keep her healthy,” Ben said, holding out the thermos. “I didn’t tell him she was already sick.” Ben hoped Dr. Woo wasn’t feeling too bad with her face and neck all puffed up like a blowfish. “There’s enough soup for the sasquatch, too, but I’m not sure if there’s enough for Metalmouth.” Ben guessed that two or three gallons of soup would be considered a single serving for a dragon.