Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5 BARON VON GRUMP HAD NOT slept in days. He thought that maybe with Baroness Von Grumpier spending most of her time in the village (doing whatever it is she was doing— he hadn't bothered to ask), he might finally have some peace and quiet, but no. All the beeping, and hammering, and digging, and sawing had kept him tossing and turning at night and pacing back and forth during the day. He'd paced so much, he'd worn holes in his socks! He had tried plugging his ears with cotton. He tried wearing earmuffs. He tried covering his ears with pillows. But none of these things worked. Even Edgar

had had enough. He'd left the windmill to sleep in the Gloomy Woods. It was much quieter there. And so Baron Von Grump did one of his least favorite things. He marched straight to the village, earmuffs, pillows, and all. He was going to find whoever was responsible and demand that they stop. And as much as he hated noise, he was going to make himself heard LOUD and clear! He passed the waving villagers without waving back. He ignored their "Good morning"s and their "How do you do this

day?"s. He did not return their smiles, and he paid no mind to their kite flying, or gum chewing, or Snurgle Ball matches. He strode right into the middle of the construction, took a deep breath, and hollered as loud as he could: "Who is responsible for all this noise?" "Why, hello, dear cousin," said Baroness Von Grumpier. "Isn't it wonderful?" "You?" asked Baron Von Grump. "You're behind all of… this?" "I am," she said. "You're looking at the village's brand-new cheese factory!" Baron Von Grump's eyes widened. His toes curled. His nostrils flared. A factory meant workers, and trucks, and packages, and parcels. Workers and trucks and packages and parcels from morning to night, day in and day out. He might never sleep again. He might never hear his beloved

violin. Why, he might never even hear himself think again! Baron Von Grump turned a light shade of red, kind of like a pale tomato. Then a little more red, like a rose. And finally, toes curled and nostrils flaring, he turned as red as a fire truck. But before he could say anything, Cleo landed beside him. She was very interested in the construction, but there was one thing Cleo loved even more than construction: riddles. Sphinxes love riddles. They love riddles so much, and here she was, right next to people she had never met and who had never heard her riddles. She was so excited to ask her riddles that she just blurted one out to the first person she saw (it was hard to miss him —he was as red as a fire truck)—Baron Von Grump.

"What has a head and a tail but no body?" she asked. Baron Von Grump jumped back four feet (and seven inches, to be exact). He had no idea who this creature was, or where she had come from, or even what she was talking about. And he certainly had no answer for her question. "I don't know and I don't care!" he shouted. But if Baron Von Grump had known he was speaking with a sphinx, he might have tried a little harder to know, and he

definitely would have cared. You see, the thing about a sphinx's riddle is that if you don't answer correctly, the sphinx won't say "try again," or tell you you're getting warmer, or stick its tongue out at you and make silly faces. Oh no, that would be too easy! Where's the sport in that? No, the sphinx will turn you to stone! But wait, you might be thinking. You said that sphinxes weren't dangerous! You said they were harmless. Well, yes, I did, but… sphinxes can't really control this. They don't want to turn anyone to stone, but that's what happens when you can't answer their riddle. And they can't stop themselves from asking riddles. It's very tricky business. I don't know and I don't care was not the answer to the riddle. "Incorrect," said Cleo. Baron Von Grump's curled toes were the first things to turn to stone. Then his legs,