Arrrrgh! Slimosaur!
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Contents
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Long, long ago . . .
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Chapter 1: Boulderball
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Chapter 2: Who Dung It?
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Chapter 3: Tongue Tied
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Chapter 4: ‘If You Go Down to the Woods’
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Chapter 5: Sticky!
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Chapter 6:A Bone to Pick
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Chapter 7: We All Have to Make Sacrifices
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Chapter 8: Saving Umily
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Chapter 9: Lair of the Slimosaur
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Chapter 10: A Long Way Down
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Chapter 11: Heads, You Lose
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Imprint
Long, long ago...
Really ages ago. The world was a wild and barren place. There were no houses or shops, no schools or teachers, no cars, flushing toilets or peanut-butter sandwiches. So many things didn’t exist that to write them all down would fill every page of this book and leave no room for the story.
If you want to imagine how the world was, imagine an endless landscape of mountains, forests, rocks and stones. In fact, stones lay everywhere, because this was . . .
In the forests lived savage beasts – bears, snaggle-toothed tigers and woolly mammoths, which looked like elephants badly in need of a haircut. People generally avoided the forests. They lived together in tribes because it was safer that way and easier on the cooking. One such tribe was the Urks.
The Urks were a warlike race with bushy beards and hairy legs – especially some of the women. Their clothes were made of animal skins and they lived in caves high on a hill, overlooking the Valley of Urk and the river winding through it. In one of these caves lived a boy called Iggy. He wasn’t the tallest or the hairiest in his tribe, but what he did have was imagination, and this got him into a whole heap of trouble. That of course is another story . . . Luckily it’s the story that’s about to begin . . .
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Chapter 1
Boulderball
Iggy crouched down and rubbed dirt into the palms of his hands.
He’d been looking forward to this day for weeks, imagining it, dreaming of it: the Junior Tribal Boulderball Tournament with his team, the Elks, as champions.
Now they were minutes away from the final, and only one thing stood in his way: the Rhinos. The Rhinos were Junior Champions and their captain was Snark, who happened to be Iggy’s least favourite person in the world. Snark made no secret of the fact that he regarded Iggy as an annoying little pimple. Maybe it was because Iggy’s uncle happened to be High Chief of the Urks, or maybe it was because he had what his dad called ‘too many brains’; either way Snark hated him with a vengeance. That’s why the game they were about to play wasn’t just important, it was a chance to settle an old score.
Borg was waiting for the two captains at the boulder-off spot. It was typical, thought Iggy, that the referee for the final was Snark’s dad. The ugpire was selected by the tribal elders, and Borg just happened to be Chief Elder.
Iggy glanced over at the crowd gathered at the edge of the pitch. It looked as if the whole tribe had turned out. Some of them had climbed trees to get a better view. It was a perfect day for boulderball, with heavy black clouds and a steady drizzle. Iggy could see his mum and dad in the crowd, standing behind Chief Hammerhead and his daughter, Umily. In front of Umily was the boulderball trophy, carved in the shape of a boulder. Iggy wondered if Umily was supporting the Elks today. He wondered too if this time he would win the toss. In boulderball, everything depended on it.
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BOULDERBALL: A BEGINNER’S GUIDE
The Urks claim they invented the sport of boulderball, though the Bludmug tribe play a similar game using the severed heads of their enemies. The rules, like most of the players, are pretty simple . . .
1. Two teams of six players attempt to roll the BOULDER into the opposing team’s goal. The first team to score is the winner.
2. The boulder can be rolled by pushing, kicking or belting it with long wooden clubs called YOMPERS.
3. Goals are marked by two upright mammoth tusks called BONEPOSTS, spaced ten to twenty paces apart (depending on who is doing the pacing).
4. Players are permitted to BLOCK a moving boulder by putting their yomper or their body in its path. This can result in injury – or even death.
(Dead players must be removed from the pitch before play may continue.)
5. There are no FOULS in boulderball.
6. Team captains TOSS THE LIZARD to decide who has choice of ends. This can prove decisive (see point 8).
7. BOULDER OFF! A game starts with both teams standing behind their own boneposts. On the ugpire’s signal, both teams run for the boulder and try to push it towards their opponent’s goal.
8. PITCH – Boulderball is played on a hill, giving the team who has the slope a big advantage. Records from the 50,001–50,000 bc season show that teams playing uphill lost 99 per cent of all matches.
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Borg opened his hand to show them the small, blood-red lizard wriggling to escape.
‘Call,’ he said, tossing it high. Three pairs of eyes followed the red blob as it spun in the air.
‘Heads!’ shouted Snark.
The lizard hit the mud, landing on its back with its legs waggling helplessly. Snark nudged it with his foot, flipping the creature over on to its belly.
‘Heads it is!’ he cried triumphantly.
Iggy stared in disbelief. ‘What? It was tails!’
Borg shook his head. ‘Heads.’
‘He cheated!’ complained Iggy.
Borg picked up the lizard and pushed it under his nose.
‘You questioning the ugpire’s decision?’ he growled.
Iggy swallowed. ‘No, I just –’
‘Good. Heads it is. Snark gets choice of ends.’
Snark tested the wind with his finger, pretending to think about it.
‘We’ll take the slope,’ he said, grinning smugly.
Borg nodded. ‘What boulder?’
Snark looked Iggy in the eyes. ‘Hulka.’
There were three sizes of boulder used in tournaments – pebble, rubble and hulka. Hulka was the biggest and heaviest and as a rule only men risked playing with it. Iggy watched three burly Urks roll the boulderball into position. It was big enough to flatten an entire village. He turned and walked back down the hill to where his team-mates were waiting anxiously.
‘You won the toss?’ asked Hubba.
Iggy shook his head. ‘Not exactly. Snark cheated.’
Hubba groaned. ‘We’re dead.’
‘No, we’re not! Just remember what we talked about,’ said Iggy. ‘Speed and teamwork. Look at them – they think this is going to be a walkover.’
‘It is,’ muttered Hubba as they trudged back to take up their positions behind the boneposts. Iggy’s heart was pounding. Teams playing uphill never won, certainly not against the Rhinos. But there was always a first time. He glanced over at Umily, who was whispering something to her father. A hush had fallen over the crowd. Borg stepped out on to the pitch holding a long curved horn and raised it to his lips. The two teams crouched, ready to run, yompers clutched in sweaty hands, the air thick with tension and drizzly rain.
BAWOOOOOOM!
The horn sounded. Iggy tore up the hill, knowing their onl
y chance was to reach the boulder first.
‘PUSH!’ he yelled as he got there, using his yomper as a lever. Looking round, he realised he was talking to himself. Hubba and the others were a mile behind, still puffing up the hill. For the Rhinos, Snark had arrived, closely followed by the solid backing of Tug and Mauler. It was three against one. Snark levered the boulder with his yomper while the other two pushed, grunting and roaring with the effort. Iggy felt the boulder move – any second it was going to roll. Swiftly changing tactics, he dropped back to join the rest of his team.
‘Make a wall!’ he yelled.
Hubba looked at him. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘Come on! We can block it!’
Iggy held his yomper upright in front of him to take the impact. Hubba and the others did the same, linking arms to form a human wall. The Rhinos gave a last grunt as they pushed the massive boulder down the slope. It rolled over and over, rumbling towards them like a giant black pudding.
‘ARGHHH!’ cried Hubba, panicking.
‘DON’T MOVE!’ yelled Iggy.
The wall broke at the last moment, scattering right and left. Iggy might have seen this if his eyes hadn’t been closed. He was still heroically blocking the way when the boulderball flattened him. The crowd winced and looked away as Iggy’s yomper splintered and he disappeared from sight. The boulderball sped on down the hill, rolling and bouncing over bumps, before finally crashing into the goal, demolishing one of the boneposts. The crowd rose to their feet as one.
‘BOULDERRRR!’
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Iggy didn’t remember too much after that – only the worried faces of his mum and dad looking down on him and the sucking sound as they pulled him out of the mud.
Later he joined the crowd that had gathered to watch Snark collect the trophy.
‘We was unlucky, that’s all,’ said Hubba, patting him on the shoulder. Iggy groaned. Just about every part of him ached – his head, shoulders, knees and elbows. It would be easier to say which parts of him didn’t ache.
Chief Hammerhead was congratulating Snark, who made a short speech, mainly in praise of himself. Finally Umily stepped forward to present him with the boulder-shaped trophy. Snark took it and leaned down to plant a kiss on her cheek. The crowd hooted and cheered while Umily pushed back her hair and flushed bright pink.
‘UGH!’ said Hubba. ‘You see that?’
‘Yes.’ Iggy sighed.
‘He kissed her!’
‘I saw, OK?’
‘Imagine that, bein’ kissed by Snark! It’d be like kissing a warthog . . .’
Hubba found he was talking to himself. He stared in surprise after Iggy, who had stormed off up the hill, limping slightly.
The chants rang out across the valley as Snark lifted the knobbly trophy above his head.
‘RHINOS! RHINOS! RHINOS!’
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Chapter 2
Who Dung It?
The following day Iggy found his dad waiting for him impatiently outside the cave.
‘Get your spear,’ he grunted. ‘We’re going hunting.’
‘Deadly!’ said Iggy.
Dad had been promising to take him hunting for ages. Now he was a ‘Son of Urk’ he was old enough to accompany the men on their trips into the forest. Iggy hurried to fetch his spear and jawbone catapult.
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An hour later they had crossed the river and were deep in the woods. Hubba had joined them, along with Chief Hammerhead, who insisted on giving his nephew the benefit of his experience. It was rare these days for the grizzled old Chief to set foot in the forest, but Iggy knew that no one was better at tracking and hunting. It was often said that the Chief had killed seven bears before he was old enough to grow a beard. (It was Hammerhead who often said it.)
It was nearing dusk as the four of them threaded their way through the forest. The trees cast long shadows that to Iggy looked like many-headed monsters. He tried to listen to what his dad was telling him about tracking animals.
‘Remember, a tracker don’t talk, he uses his eyes and ears.’
‘And nose,’ added Hammerhead, tapping his own large nose. ‘See that, boys? A hunter’s nose, that is. Runs in the family.’ He sniffed loudly.
‘And another thing,’ said Dad, ‘when you’re hunting, never make a noise.’
‘No – or you’ll frighten off all the beasties,’ agreed Hammerhead as he crashed through the undergrowth like a rhinoceros. He stopped and wiped his brow. ‘Whew! I’m frazzled! Shall us go back now?’
‘Back?’ said Dad. ‘We only just come out!’
They rested awhile, the Chief propping himself against a tree. Dad wandered off by himself. Iggy saw him squat down in the mud and examine the ground. He beckoned them over.
‘See them?’ he said, pointing. ‘Tracks.’
Iggy crouched beside him eagerly. There were enormous footprints in the mud.
‘What are they?’ he asked.
‘Bear tracks,’ said Hammerhead, coming over to join them.
Dad ignored him. ‘You got to learn how to read ’em. Look close. What d’you see?’
‘Footprints,’ said Iggy. ‘Big ones.’
‘What else?’
Iggy traced the outline of the footprint with his hand. It was huge. Bigger than a human head – even his uncle’s head.
‘It’s sort of round,’ he said. ‘And there are four little marks.’
‘Bear claws.’ Hammerhead nodded. ‘I were about your age when I killed my first bear. Woke up and found this whopping great grizzler about to eat me. Know what I did?’
Iggy and Hubba shook their heads.
‘Tickled him. Bears can’t abide tickling. Especially not their feet.’
Dad rolled his eyes. ‘For Urk’s sake! I’m trying to learn ’em something!’
‘I am learning ’em,’ said Hammerhead.
‘It’s not a bear, Hammy, it’s too big! How many footprints you see?’
Hammerhead got down on his knees to count. ‘Two,’ he said eventually.
‘Two,’ said Dad. ‘Which means he’s walking on two legs.’
Hammerhead tapped his nose wisely. ‘Ah. Bears is clever like that.’
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They followed the tracks through the forest. It wasn’t difficult since whatever-it-was had trampled down the plants and bushes in its path. At last they came to a clearing where flies buzzed and there was a strong, pungent smell. Iggy and Hubba hung back while Dad crouched over a gigantic brown splodge, prodding it with a stick.
‘Droppings,’ he muttered. ‘You can tell a lot from droppings. Take a look, boys.’
Iggy reluctantly went closer. No one had warned him that learning to hunt involved poking around in piles of poo. He hoped he wouldn’t be asked to pick it up. Dad explained that you could identify an animal from the size, shape and texture of its droppings.
Dad looked at Hammerhead and raised his eyebrows. ‘You still say it’s a bear?’
‘Could be,’ said the Chief. ‘Or a mammoth.’
‘Mammoths eat leaves. Whatever this ate, it weren’t no leaf. There’s scabby bits of bone in it.’
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1 Rabbits/Hares
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2 Bears, hyenas, racoons
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3 Deer
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4 Snaggle-toothed tiger
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5 Woolly mammoth
Iggy glanced at Hubba, whose eyes were darting around like tadpoles. The light was fading fast and the air had grown cooler.
Hammerhead pulled at his thick red beard. ‘Maybe we should head back,’ he said. ‘I mean, if the boys are scared like.’
‘I’m not scared,’ said Hubba quickly.
‘Nor m
e,’ said Iggy. This wasn’t strictly true, but he didn’t want to return empty-handed from his first hunting trip.
Dad nodded. ‘Let me go first then. Quiet mind, and keep your eyes skinned.’
‘Not a sound,’ agreed Hammerhead. ‘Quiet as bats. Or snakes, which is quieter.’
They crept forward in single file, pushing their way through giant ferns which towered over their heads. A fly crawled up Iggy’s neck and he brushed it away with his hand. Behind him he could hear Hubba breathing heavily. Iggy reminded himself that nothing bad could happen, not while they were with Dad and the Chief. Besides, he wanted to find out what kind of creature had made the tracks. If it wasn’t a bear or a mammoth, it had to be something pretty huge. Dad halted suddenly and raised a hand.
‘Are we stopping?’ boomed Hammerhead.
‘Shhh!’ Dad crouched down and signalled for them to follow his example. He was peering through the branches at something ahead. Iggy crept forward to join him, his heart racing. A low drone hummed in his ears. In a patch of sunlight flies were swarming in a dark cloud, buzzing over something that lay on the ground. Dad stole out from the bushes and Iggy followed him, gripping his spear tightly. Whatever it was, there wasn’t much of it left – just a pile of bones and flesh with no sign of the head. Strangest of all, the carcass was covered in a sticky green slime – as if a giant had sneezed over it.
Iggy heard a noise and turned in time to see his uncle throwing up in the bushes.
‘Sorry,’ said the Chief, wiping his mouth. ‘Swallowed a fly.’
Dad crouched down to examine the sticky pile of bones.
‘What do you think it was, Dad?’ asked Iggy.
‘Hard to say.’ Dad stood up and frowned. ‘Maybe we should get back.’
‘But what about the tracks?’ persisted Iggy.
‘Leave ’em. Too dark now anyhow,’ said Dad.
They hurried back through the forest, Iggy and Hubba having to run to keep up. Nobody spoke much, not even Hammerhead, who was too out of breath. Iggy’s head was bursting with questions, but he had the feeling they would have to wait for another day. Whatever had eaten the something-or-other back there, it wasn’t a bear or a mammoth.