Class Trip to the Cave of Doom by Kate McMullan Page A

brown pageboy wig blew in the breeze as he counted jumping jacks. “Ninety-one ! Ninety-two! Exercise will make you manly men, like me!”
    Wiglaf had never done so many jumping jacks. His arms were ready to drop off.
    But Coach kept counting. “One hundred three!” he cried. “Jumping is a manly way to warm up on a chilly morning!”
    The boys had stumbled into the castle yard before sunup. Coach Plungett put them into groups. Coach was the leader of the Bloodhounds. Wiglaf was a Bloodhound. Angus and Erica were Bloodhounds, too. So were the big Marley brothers: Barley, Charlie, Farley, and Harley.
    Wiglaf looked over at the Marleys doing sloppy jumping jacks. He couldn’t tell one brother from another. They never said much. They were known for playing jokes. Wiglaf was pretty sure the Marleys had thrown Mordred’s boots into the moat.
    “One hundred twenty!” Coach counted.
    “I cannot...do any...more!” Wiglaf gasped.
    “This is nothing,” yelled Erica. She was jumping next to him. “I once did six hundred jumping jacks. And I wasn’t even out of breath.”
    Wiglaf could barely hear what Erica was saying. Her tool belt was clanking too loudly. She had sent away for it from the Sir Lancelot Fan Club catalog. All sorts of fine dragon-slaying equipment hung from the wide silver belt. A canteen. A collapsible goblet. A spyglass. A magnifying glass. A rope. A small copy of The Sir Lancelot Handbook. A mini-torch. A pack of dry sticks for starting fires. A spare sword. A lice comb. And a toothpick.
    All Wiglaf had was a beat-up sword. His lucky rag was tied to the handle. But now, as he did his one hundred eighty-second jumping jack, he was just as glad not to be wearing a heavy tool belt.
    “Where is Mordred anyway?” Erica asked.
    “You know Uncle Mordred hates to get up before noon,” Angus answered.
    Angus moved his arms up and down as Coach counted. But he kept his feet planted on the ground. Since Angus was Mordred’s nephew, Coach Plungett pretended not to notice.
    “Two hundred!” Coach called. “Halt!”
    Wiglaf stopped jumping. He thought halt was the most beautiful word he’d ever heard.
    “Now hit the ground for two hundred push-ups!” Coach called.
    Wiglaf groaned. Was Coach trying to slay them?
    Luckily, at that moment, the castle door opened. Mordred stepped outside. He raised a megaphone to his mouth. He called, “Attennon/”
    The boys snapped up straight and tall.
    “Each group leader has a map of part of the Dark Forest,” Mordred went on. “Each map shows all the caves in that part. Look in every cave, boys. There’s gold in one of them!”
    “The Bloodhounds shall find it!” Erica cried.
    “Nay!” a boy called out. “The Bulldogs!”
    “No! The Wolfhounds!” called another boy.
    “Wrong!” another piped up. “The Poodles!”
    “That’s the spirit, boys!” Mordred cried. He walked down the castle steps. Six skinny DSA student teachers hurried over to him. They carried a large throne-like chair with poles attached to its seat. The student teachers lowered the chair. Mordred sat down in it.
    “They’re going to carry him?” Wiglaf exclaimed.
    “You didn’t think Uncle Mordred would walk to the Dark Forest, did you?” Angus asked.
    “No monkeying around,” Mordred called. “I’ll come check on you from my camp.” He gave a signal. Four student teachers picked up his chair. The others picked up his camping gear. Wiglaf saw that it included pillows, thick blankets, and red pajamas with feet.
    Tweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet! Mordred gave a blast on his silver whistle. They were off!
    Coach led the Bloodhounds across the castle yard. Everyone carried a heavy pack. The big Marley brothers carried theirs with ease. Wiglaf staggered under his as he marched over the DSA drawbridge.

    Wiglaf looked down into the castle moat. How well he remembered Seetha splashing in its waters before she went down for the last time. The secret of where she hid her dragon gold had gone down