Ravenspell Book 2: The Wizard of Ooze by David Farland Page A

added them to the list of mouse friends,” Amber explained, “because I didn’t want any hawks or owls to dive down and kill some poor helpless mouse, then try to get off by saying, ‘Oh, I thought it was a shrew.’”
    “That’s good thinking,” Ben said. “But there are other animals that I like. Are you going to protect moles, too?”
    “What’s a mole?” Amber asked.
    “It’s sort of like a shrew,” Bushmaster said, “but it spends its whole life underground, searching for worms and beetles to eat. Nice folk, moles. Of course, they’re all blind.”
    Amber sighed. “Okay, they can be in our club, too.”
    “I like bunny rabbits,” Ben said. “And squirrels. They don’t eat meat. And I really wouldn’t worry about them stampeding. We can just ask them not to stampede. Are you going to protect them, too?”
    “I guess,” Amber said, too tired to argue.
    “Oh, and birds!” Ben said. “Robins are pretty. So are meadowlarks and hummingbirds. We could use them as lookouts and guards.”
    “Okay,” Amber said.
    “Now, wait a minute,” Thorn objected. “You have to let the predators eat someone. Foxes and hawks need to eat, too. If you don’t let them eat someone, you’ll give them no choice but to start a real war!”

Chapter 11
    MOUSETRAPS
    All you have to do to get richer than rich is figure out how to build a better mousetrap.
—ANONYMOUS

He began to sing softly, so softly that the mice wouldn’t even be aware of his song.
    Far away, Fluke Gutcrawler squirmed through a cavern. As he did, he sang softly to himself, doing his best impression of Frank Sinatra:
I’m not funny, handsome or smart,
but I’ll worm my way into your heart.
’Cause I’m a worm, and that’s what worms doooo . . .
Whether the skies are gray or they’re blue.

I ain’t wealthy; whining’s my art.
So you’d better watch out for your heart.
Cause I’m a worm, all full of gooooo . . .
And I’m going to getcha.

Yeah, I’m willing to betcha.
I said I’m going to do it, to youuuuuu!

    “Quiet!” Sebaceous Ooze hissed softly, his voice full of menace. Fluke Gutcrawler could see his father huddling in a shadowy room at the end of the tunnel, viewing a distant scene of some mice arguing. They must have been the same ones who had been caught spying last night.
    Fluke quietly oozed forward. His father knew how to view enemies from a distance, too, but unlike the stupid mice, Sebaceous wasn’t about to make enough sound to alert them to his presence.
    Sebaceous curled his tail around, letting his magic ring lovingly stroke his side.
    Fluke knew that his father had already laid a trap for the mice on the trail ahead. Now he was leading them into it.
    He began to sing softly, so softly that the mice wouldn’t even be aware of his song on a conscious level, so sweetly that his voice could not be ignored.
Moonlight shines upon the meadow
And upon the garden green.
Come, sweet mice, and taste the harvest,
Come to the garden of your dreams.

Nectar pools in silver flowers,
Sweeter than a winding stream.
Drink and thirst no more forever,
In the wellspring of your dreams.

Weary is the way before you.
Nothing’s as easy as it seems.
Give me your life, your love, your labor.
Abandon now your hopes, your dreams.

    The eyelids of the mouse sorceress drooped just a little, and her eyes got a faraway look.
    The mice were not aware of it, but Sebaceous Ooze smiled a wormy smile and let the vision fade.
    “She’ll do exactly as I ask,” Sebaceous said, peering back toward his son. “And by this time tomorrow, she’ll be dead.”
    * * *
    Latonia Pumpernickel thumped her handbag on the general’s desk, reached inside, pulled out a plastic squeeze-bottle of mustard, and aimed it right at General Crawley’s eyes.
    General Crawley wasn’t a real general, of course. He was the head of a militia called APE—Americans Protecting Earth. For his uniform, he wore a tri-tip hat and a blue waistcoat with golden buttons. He looked