Till Ellie och Astrid.
– K.S.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-948931-06-9
Text copyright © 2019 Kyle Sullivan
Illustrations copyright © 2019 Derek Sullivan
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information and storage retrieval system, without prior written consent from the publisher.
First edition: September 2019
Published by Hazy Dell Press, LLC
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Find all Hazy Dell Press books at hazydellpress.com.
1
PROLOGUE
FIDDLEFART RAISES A STINK
nce upon a time in the stinky land of Rancidia, it was very good to smell bad and very bad to smell good. Everyone smelled awful, but that’s the way they liked it.
Rancidians took great pride in their personal flavors of stink. But their deepest pride came from the sick symphony of funk they created when their odors blended together.
This pungent country was divided into seven
2
uniquely smelly districts: Tooterville, Pootonia, Morassia, Methania, Lousyana, Fungalo, and Cryptonia. Each district elected an official to rep-resent its citizens at Rancidia’s capital building—the Onion Palace above downtown Tooterville.
These elected officials, known as the Seven Stinkers of Rancidia, worked hard to ensure all Rancidians enjoyed equality and stinking freedom, regardless of their particular scent.
But that was once upon a time, before a horrible ogre named Fiddlefart stormed the Onion Palace, kicked out the Seven Stinkers, and took over Rancidia. Just like that, a healthy democracy became a wicked kingdom.
And while democracies are supposed to celebrate everyone, wicked kingdoms celebrate only one: the person in charge. In Rancidia, Fiddlefart was in charge. So, naturally, his first order of business was to give himself the made-up title of Grossest Smelling in the Land. He had a trophy made and everything.
Fiddlefart protected this made-up title with a passion that was all too real. Whenever the ogre caught a whiff of competition, he would wipe it out by ordering a scrubbing, which was by far his
3
favorite punishment.
That’s right: Fiddlefart would disgrace his poor, smelly enemies with a bath. The thought of it alone was enough to send a shiver down any Rancidian spine.
The ogre king’s next move was to make sure only he received the spotlight—or, for that matter, any light at all. He cut Rancidians off from sulfide gas, their only power source. Rancidians adored this potent, yellow gas, and not only because it smelled like rotten eggs. Without it, they struggled to keep their homes warm, brightly lit, and at maximum stink.
4
For many years, Fiddlefart’s cruelty left everyone feeling gasless and miserable. They all longed for the days when they lived free and together as a musky medley of diverse and disgusting smells.
So, Rancidians began to whisper. They exchanged secret plans and rebellious words. They met quietly in the shadows where the king could not see or hear—or smell. In their darkest moment, Rancidians could sniff a faint scent of hope.
But whispers weren’t enough. They needed a hero, or perhaps a handful of heroes, to help the hopeful scent blossom into a full-on stench of freedom.
And heroes do have a way of emerging in even the stinkiest situations. In fact, at this very moment, one such hero is dozing in the muck on a bean farm in the Unincorporated Mucklands.
He maybe doesn’t look like a hero, and he definitely doesn’t know he’s a hero. But to stinky creatures every-where, he smells exactly as a hero should: dreadful.
While some heroes wear capes or glittery spandex, and others carry magic wands or sport bulging muscles, some heroes don’t fit into pre-existing molds. Some heroes emerge unexpectedly to solve unexpected problems.
5
Some heroes aren’t really that brave, nor all that smart. Some heroes are hobgoblins who smell like a fart.
7
CHAPTER 1
THE SCRUBBING ORDER
obgoblin!?” bellowed King Fiddlefart. “The bean farmer!?”
A trio of startled stinkbirds flapped away from the Onion Palace’s chamber window and into the moonlit sky. The ogre king, in his black mold vest and corpse flower crown, leaned out of the window. He scowled down at the dark, gloomy buildings of downtown Tooterville.
Bright light and sulfide gas swirled into the night around the edges of the ogre’s enormous body. He
8
was quite upset, but he gained a small measure of joy by sneering at the dim and sorrowful community beneath him.
With a dismissive snort, he twirled away from the window and stomped across his chamber like a gigantic mutant toddler.
Piles of rotten garbage and spoiled food cluttered the chamber’s every surface. Mold and decaying matter burst out of every shelf, drawer, nook, and cranny. Several pipes released thin wisps of sulfide gas that drifted around the mounds of filth. The dried corpses of piranhas, tarantulas, lizards, and bats were strung together and draped across the walls and ceiling.
Fiddlefart grabbed a handful of dripping purple fungus off a table and rubbed it feverishly on his face and under his arms.
9
“This can’t be right! He’s just a farmer in the Unincorporated Mucklands! He’s not even a Rancidian citizen! And I’m the KING OF RANCIDIA!” he screamed. “I must smell grosser than him! My self-image depends on it!”
From a platform jutting out from a hole in the wall, the Burping Bullfrog watched without expres-sion. He was old and withered, with a frail white beard and warts covering his body. “I can smell anything and everything at once,”