Free Doctor Proctor's Fart Powder by Jo Nesbø, mike lowery

you think that sounds brillll-yant, Trym?”
    â€œIt sounds like gobbledygook,” said another voice, which may possibly have been even closer.
    Nilly and Lisa slowly turned around. They’d been so excited that they’d forgotten to stop and see if the coast was clear before they walked by the house where Trym and Truls lived. And now the two enormous boys were standing there. They were sporting big sneers, each of them chewing on a matchstick, their jaws moving up and down in their enormous, barrel-shaped heads.
    â€œGood morning, boys,” Nilly said. “Sorry, but wehave to hurry. Mrs. Strobe doesn’t like her geniuses to be late to class.”
    He tried to say it offhandedly and casually, but Lisa could hear in his voice that Nilly wasn’t all that confident. He grasped Lisa by the hand and was about to pull her along after him, but Trym was blocking their way.
    Truls was leaning against the picket fence, rolling the matchstick from one corner of his mouth to the other. “We didn’t get any powder yesterday,” he said menacingly.
    â€œYou guys must have gotten in line too late,” Nilly said, and gulped. “You can try again this afternoon.”
    Truls laughed. “Did you hear that, Trym? Get in
line
?”
    Trym hurriedly started laughing.
    â€œListen up, you freckly anteater,” Truls said quietly, grabbing Nilly by the collar. “We’re not going to be standing in any line or paying you anything for thatfake powder of yours, you catch my drift? We want that powder right here, right now. Or else …” The matchstick flipped up and down in the corner of his mouth as he stared at Nilly grimly.
    â€œOr else what?” Nilly whispered.
    Truls looked like he was thinking.
    â€œOr else what?” Lisa repeated dully.
    â€œCome on, Truls,” Trym said. “Tell them.”
    â€œShut up!” Truls yelled. “Let me concentrate …” He concentrated. Then his face lit up. “Yeah, or else we’ll smear honey all over you and tie you to the top of this here oak tree. Then the crows will peck you to pieces.”
    Truls pointed to an oak tree with a trunk that was as big around as four men the size of Lisa’s father. And as big around as two men the size of Truls and Trym’s father.
    They all looked up.
    â€œOh,” Nilly said.
    â€œOh,” Lisa said.
    â€œUh-oh indeed,” Trym said.
    Because the oak tree was so tall, it looked like the top branches were brushing against the white cloud that was sweeping past up in the sky.
    â€œIn that case,” Nilly said, “we’ll have to see if we can find some kind of a solution. If you could just let me go for a second …”
    Truls released his grasp, and Nilly started rummaging around in his pockets. When he was done with all six of the pockets he had in his pants, he started on the six in his jacket.
    Truls was getting impatient. “Well?” he said.
    â€œI’m almost certain I have a bag here somewhere,” Nilly muttered.
    â€œWe don’t have time for fakers,” Truls said. “Trym, get the honey and the rope.”
    â€œWait!” Nilly yelled desperately.
    â€œLet’s get the little girl first,” Truls said, grabbing Lisa by the arm.
    â€œHere,” Nilly said, holding out a bag of grayish powder. “That’ll be fifty cents.”
    â€œFifty cents!” Truls grabbed Nilly’s wrist, snatched the bag, and spit his half-chewed matchstick into the palm of Nilly’s hand. “Here, you can have this. Now you can go home and set yourself on fire.”
    â€œHa, ha,” Trym laughed.
    Truls eyed the bag suspiciously. “What does this say here?” he said. “D-O-C-T-O-R. P-R-O-C—”
    â€œDoctor Proctor’s Fart Powder,” Lisa said quickly.
    â€œShut up, I can read!” Truls yelled.
    â€œWell, excuse me,” Lisa said, sounding