“That you fell in a stinky compost heap?” asked Melanie.

  “No, that I went missing while looking for the beast of the swamp,” said Friday.

  “All right,” said Melanie. “I’ll write myself a little note before I go to bed so I won’t forget.”

  Melanie’s head disappeared over the side of the roof, and Friday was left alone in the darkness and the chicken poo.

  Friday climbed out of the stinky brown pile of gunk; scraped off the biggest, stinkiest pieces; and quietly crept to the edge of the building, where she carefully peered around. To the left there was no one. To the right, in the distance, she could see Miss Finnegan, the assistant librarian, but her back was turned.

  Friday decided to risk it. She dashed across the yard to the cover of the bushes beyond. As soon as she started running, Friday realized she had made a terrible mistake. The distance between the building and the bushes was only about fifty yards. But Friday was not good at running. She had forgotten just how bad she was. She pumped her legs as fast as she could, but her body did not seem to be aerodynamic or coordinated. Running for her did not work in the same way it did for the athletes she had seen on television. And the backpack full of what she had thought were essential supplies was now a major encumbrance as it wobbled back and forth, making it even harder for her to retain her balance.

  Friday glanced across at Miss Finnegan, who was starting to turn, but the bushes were still twenty yards away. Friday pushed forward, trying to run harder. But Miss Finnegan was sure to see her.

  What Friday had not allowed for was Miss Finnegan’s motives. As she turned to dutifully continue her patrol, Miss Finnegan had indeed caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. But Miss Finnegan was very tired from a long day of stamping books and arguing with students about library fines. She was also wearing a very nice pair of patent leather shoes, and on an assistant librarian’s salary she could not afford an unlimited supply of patent leather shoes. So tiredness combined with the attractiveness of her footwear meant that the last thing Miss Finnegan wanted to do on her patrol of the school grounds was actually catch a student. She certainly didn’t want to have to chase one into the swamp.

  When she saw the movement in the corner of her eye, she immediately stopped patrolling and bent down to tie her shoelace. She wasn’t wearing shoes that had laces but she was very good at playing charades, so she took her time pretending to do double knots on both shoes and adjusting them for comfort. All of which meant that by the time she did stand up and look around, there was nothing to be seen because Friday had collapsed in a dense rhododendron bush, gasping for breath.

  When Friday saw Miss Finnegan continue on her patrol and disappear around the far corner of the dormitory building, she got up and started making her way deeper into the swamp. There was a full moon, so she did not need the headlamp she had strapped to her scalp. She was easily able to make her way through the bogs and bushes, although not quite silently because she did occasionally fall down and have to yelp “Ow” or “Oomph,” depending on how much she hurt herself.

  She had been struggling forward into the ever boggier swamp for a full ten minutes when she heard a rustling in the bushes up ahead. Friday instinctively crouched down, then realized she would never catch the beast if she was crouching in a bush, so she stood up and started to creep forward. There was no sound ahead of her now. She stealthily made her way through the undergrowth, toward the place where she’d last heard movement.

  Friday emerged into a clearing. It was about fifteen feet around and covered in grass, with wildflowers everywhere. Friday absentmindedly thought to herself, What a lovely spot for a picnic, when suddenly there was a crash and a loud rustle in the bushes and a beast leaped out in front of her, arms raised, gnashing his horrible pointed teeth and screaming, “Yaaaagggghhhhh!”

  Friday whipped her autographed baseball bat out of her backpack, held it high above her head, and did what the book on kendo had instructed. She screamed with terrifying vehemence, “Hiiiiiyaaaahhhh!!!”

  As she lunged forward, the beast stumbled back and Friday froze in her tracks. She peered through the inky gloom. “Ian Wainscott, is that you?”

  The beast dropped his arms, pulled off his mask, and asked petulantly, “How could you tell?”

  “Your costume,” said Friday. “I can see a name tag sewn into the waistband.”

  Ian checked his hem and saw that Friday was correct. “My mother,” grumbled Ian. “She sews name tags into everything.”

  “You’re lucky,” said Friday. “My mother can calculate the precise movement of the planets, but she can’t sew, and even if she could, it would never occur to her to sew a name tag on for me.”

  “Thank you for the invitation to your own personal pity party,” said Ian sarcastically. “I’d rather not attend.”

  “Nevertheless,” said Friday, “you’re coming with me to make a full confession to the Headmaster.”

  “I will not,” said Ian.

  “Fine, I’ll report you, then,” said Friday.

  “You’d rat?” asked Ian. “Of course you would. Why would you care if you ruined my life?”

  “You just tried to scare the living daylights out of me by jumping out and pretending you were a wild beast,” objected Friday.

  “There’s always an excuse,” muttered Ian.

  “I’m going to go and wake up the Headmaster now,” said Friday. “Unless you can give me a good reason why I shouldn’t.”

  “Because I’m not the beast,” sulked Ian.

  “Really?” said Friday. “Because the head-to-toe hairy beast outfit does seem to contradict your statement.”

  “Well, yes, I’m dressed as a beast now,” conceded Ian. “But it wasn’t me the last two nights.”

  “Then why on earth have you dressed up like this tonight?” asked Friday.

  “Because I overheard you talking to Melanie in woodwork,” said Ian. “I knew you would be down here in the swamp after dark, and I wanted to scare you.”

  “Why?” asked Friday.

  “None of your business,” said Ian.

  “Clearly it’s my business,” said Friday. “I’m the one you’re trying to frighten.”

  “Well then, I’m not telling,” said Ian.

  “I never realized boys could be so complicated and hard to understand,” said Friday, shaking her head. “I’m going to have to reread Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus.”

  Just then they heard a crash in the bushes, about a hundred yards away, then a lot of shhh-shh-shhing followed by a lot of giggling.

  “What was that?” asked Ian.

  “Let’s find out,” said Friday, and started making her way toward the new noise.

  “Why should I?” asked Ian.

  “What’s the alternative?” asked Friday. “Go back to your dorm and fall asleep? Where’s the fun in that?”

  Friday kept making her way through the scrub, and soon Ian followed.

  It was pretty easy to track them because whoever they were, they were making a lot of noise.

  “That sounds like more than one beast,” said Ian.

  “I don’t think it is a beast,” said Friday. “From everything I’ve read about beasts, they don’t giggle that much.”

  Friday and Ian pushed through a few more bushes, clambered over a mossy log, and then spotted them up ahead—seven girls sneaking through the swamp and giggling. When one of the girls suddenly screamed, Friday recognized Mirabella’s voice.

  “Aaaaaaghh!” said Mirabella.

  “Shhhh, be quiet, you’ll wake up the beast,” shushed the other girls.

  “I got some cobweb in my hair,” complained Mirabella.

  “Ew, gross,” squealed the other girls before giggling some more.

  “Come on, we’ve got to find that beast,” said Mirabella.

  “I hope he’s cute,” said another girl.

  “Of course he’s cute. When have you ever heard of a man who’s been raised in the wild being unattractive?” said Mirabella.

  More giggling.

  “I hope he falls in love with me,” said a third girl. “It would totally annoy my dad.”

  “I know,” agreed Mirabella. “My dad practically would have an aneurysm if I had a boyfriend with an earring. So his head would totally explode if I went out with a wild ape-man who lived in a swamp.”

  The girls giggled some more.

  Friday whispered to Ian. “I can’t believe they are risking expulsion, not to mention spider bites and ankle injuries, just for the chance of meeting a handsome beast.”

  Ian shrugged. “Girls are stupid.”

  Friday turned and looked at Ian through the darkness. “You don’t really mean that,” she said. “You’re just being provocative.”

  “You don’t count as a girl,” said Ian spitefully, “because you’re so—”

  At that moment Ian’s insult was cut short by horrendous screaming.

  The seven girls ahead of them clearly were not enjoying being scared, because there in front of them stood a hideous, terrifying, real monster. And unlike Ian in his pantomime attempt to scare Friday, this beast did not shriek or threaten to suck their blood. It bared its grizzled claws and hissed a low and menacing hiss. The girls screamed some more and then ran as fast as they could (which was a lot faster than Friday) back toward the school.

  The beast pounded its fists on its chest and roared, then turned and disappeared into the depths of the swamp.

  “Wow!” said Ian. “There really is a beast!”

  KABOOM! came a loud crack of thunder.

  Friday and Ian flinched.

  “Of course there is,” said Friday. “And now I know exactly who it is. Come on, let’s go back to the school so we can wake up the Headmaster.”

  Rain started to fall in great heavy drops.

  “Okay,” said Ian. He did not want to dally any longer in this suddenly ominous place.

  Ian and Friday turned back toward the now wet path.

  “Let’s hurry,” said Ian. “I don’t like this.” He rushed forward.

  “Watch out for the tr—” Friday began.

  But she couldn’t get the words out before Ian tripped over a tree root.

  “My ankle!” complained Ian.

  “Is it sprained?” asked Friday.

  “I don’t know,” said Ian. “I don’t have a medical degree.”

  “There’s no need to take that tone with me,” said Friday.

  “Oh, just shut up,” said Ian.

  And Friday did.

  And so did Ian.

  Because they were both grabbed from behind and had sacks roughly shoved over their heads.

  Chapter

  25

  The Great Escape

  Five minutes later, Friday and Ian were tied to chairs and locked in a shed. At least they thought they were. They couldn’t be entirely sure because they still had sacks over their heads. But it felt like they were tied to chairs. And from the smell of fertilizer and the echoey closeness of a small room, they guessed that they were locked inside the groundskeeper’s storage shed down by the edge of the swamp. It was still raining, which was deafeningly loud on the tin roof.

  “Great,” said Ian. “How are we going to get out of this?”

  “Just hold on a second,” said Friday. “Give me a moment to consider our resources and I will come up with something.”

  Ian was silent for a full seventy-four seconds. “Come up with anything yet?” he asked.

  “No,” admitted Friday. “I can’t believe I wasted all afternoon learning kendo. I should have been reading up on escapology. These ropes are really tight.”

  “They’re not ropes—they’re plastic zip ties,” said Ian.

  “Oh,” said Friday.

  “Police use them when they haven’t got enough handcuffs to go around,” said Ian.

  “It must be three in the morning,” said Friday. “In another five hours people will begin to notice that we’re missing. And by nine they’re sure to send out a search party. We’ll just have to wait.”

  “I am not going to sit here zip-tied to a chair with a stinky sack over my head, listening to the most unpleasant girl on the planet for six hours,” said Ian.

  “That’s a bit harsh,” complained Friday. “There are a lot more unpleasant girls than me. Apart from the psychopaths and serial killers, there’s Ursula in eighth grade, who is very rude.”

  “Shut up, I’m trying to concentrate,” said Ian.

  “Sorry,” said Friday. Now it was her turn to fall silent.

  Ian was quiet for a while. Then Friday could hear him rocking back and forth on his chair.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’ve got an idea,” said Ian. “Give me a sec.”

  There was silence for a second. Friday heard Ian grunt with strain as his chair creaked. There was the breeze of movement and suddenly a loud smash as she heard Ian land hard and the chair splinter beneath him.

  A second later the sack was ripped off her head and she felt Ian’s hand fumbling with her zip ties.

  “What did you do?” asked Friday.

  “A front flip,” said Ian.

  “But you were tied to a chair,” said Friday.

  “That’s why the chair broke,” said Ian, as he finally managed to cut off her zip ties with an old pair of pliers. “It was rickety to start with. Spinning 360 degrees and landing on it with my body weight was enough to finish it off.”

  “Wow, that’s impressive,” said Friday.

  “I know,” said Ian. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “All right,” said Friday, walking over to the door. But when she tried the handle the door was locked.

  “Stand aside,” said Ian.

  Friday took a step back.

  Ian lifted his leg and delivered a kick that would have made a donkey proud, to the door just below the handle.

  Then he collapsed on the floor, clutching his foot and writhing in pain.

  “The door opens inward,” said Friday. “To kick the door open, you’d have to kick the whole frame out.”

  “Why didn’t you say so before I kicked it!” demanded Ian.

  “I didn’t expect you to kick it!” exclaimed Friday. “I thought that was obviously a stupid thing to do when there is a window over there we could easily smash through.”

  “Well, I’m not kicking that out,” said Ian. “First, I sprained my ankle on a tree root. Now I’ve done goodness knows how much damage to ligaments in my knee because it didn’t occur to you to mention that the door opened inward.”

  “And yet you managed to do a front flip, blindfolded and zip-tied to a chair,” observed Friday. “You really are a strange and complicated boy.”

  Friday picked up the leg of the broken chair and used it to smash the windowpane out. Then she carried her unbroken chair over to the window, stepped up on it, and started to climb through.

  “Hey!” cried Ian. “Aren’t you going to help me?”

  “In a second,” said Friday as her bottom then her legs disappeared out the window, immediately followed by the sound of a thud as she hit the ground below.

  “I can’t follow you,” protested Ian. “I’ve got injuries!” He tried struggling onto the chair. But he only toppled over onto a bag of poultry fertilizer (chicken poo), breaking the only previously unbroken chair.

  Then there was a loud crunch and the door flew inward. Friday strode into the room. “You see?” she said. “That is how you kick open a door. What are you doing lying on the floor?”

  “Just help me up,” snapped Ian.

  Friday pulled Ian to his feet. Then he put his arm heavily about her shoulder as she helped him limp to the doorway.

  “This is just like a Tarzan movie,” said Friday. “You’re Jane with a sprained ankle—”

  “Yes, I got the reference,” said Ian through gritted teeth. He was clearly in a great deal of pain.

  “At least you’re not crying or screaming all the time,” said Friday, trying to be nice, which was not a great strength of hers.

  “Just shut up and let’s get out of here as quickly as possible so we can get to the part where I never have to speak to you again,” said Ian.

  They hobbled out of the shed and into the drenching rain, where they were blinded by a bright light being shone straight into their faces.

  “There they are!” declared Miss Harrow.

  “You two have a lot of explaining to do,” said the Headmaster.

  Chapter

  26

  The Reckoning

  Twenty minutes later, Friday and Ian, as well as Miss Harrow, Mirabella, her giggling friends, the Headmaster, and even Melanie (although she didn’t really count because she kept drifting off to sleep), were gathered in the Headmaster’s office. They all had towels draped around their shoulders. Even the Headmaster looked significantly less dignified than usual, wearing a raincoat over his pajamas.

  “What on earth have you been up to?” demanded the Headmaster as he glared accusingly at Friday.

  “I don’t know why you’re cross with me,” said Friday. “You asked me to investigate, and that’s exactly what I did.”

  “I specifically said I did not want to have to go traipsing around the swamp in the middle of the night myself,” said the Headmaster. “And look at this!” He held his foot in the air for Friday to examine. “My beautiful handmade Italian leather slippers are ruined!”

  Friday leaned in and sniffed the shoe.

  “Don’t be disgusting!” denounced the Headmaster.

  “They’re not handmade Italian leather,” said Friday. “They’re a Chinese knockoff. You can tell because they’re made of pig leather, not cow leather.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” accused the Headmaster. “My wife gave me these for my birthday.”

  “Perhaps she was angry with you,” said Friday. “Maybe about the gambling debts.”

  The Headmaster was turning red with anger.

  “Go on,” said Ian. “Keep talking. Then maybe he won’t expel you; he’ll murder you instead.”

  “What is going on?” demanded the Headmaster. “I was awoken by Miss Harrow to be informed that seven dripping-wet hysterical girls had turned up in the lobby, that there is a great big hole in the dormitory roof where someone had cut out a ventilator, causing rainwater to pour into Miss Van Der Porten’s art class—”