Elliot and the Goblin War (16 page)

“I also need to meet with my royal advisors,” Elliot said, then added, “Do I have any royal advisors?”

“Just Fudd Fartwick, I suppose,” Mr. Willimaker said. “He was Queen Bipsy’s closest advisor.”

“I want to speak with him, then,” Elliot said. “And you as well. You have been my closest advisor.”

Mr. Willimaker bowed very low and then poofed himself gone. While he waited, Elliot sat down on the ground to think about his plan. He hadn’t done so much thinking since learning double-digit multiplication. This thinking was so much work that Elliot didn’t hear the footsteps creep up behind him.

A hand grabbed Elliot’s shoulder. He heard Tubs Lawless snarling at him in his usual mean voice, “Okay, Penster, now you’re gonna get what’s coming to you!”

When Tubs Lawless tells a kid he’s going to get what’s coming to him, that’s usually a sign that the kid will need several bandages. But Elliot’s bandages were somewhere in the blown-up house, so all he could do was turn around slowly and hope he didn’t end up wishing
he
had been in the blown-up house.

Tubs stretched out his hands toward Elliot, but in them was something Elliot hadn’t expected. A lemon pie.

“My mom said that we have to bring this to you, since your house blew up,” Tubs said. “I hope you’re happy. This was supposed to be my dessert tonight.”

“Er, thanks.” Elliot kept waiting for Tubs to do whatever he’d really come to do, like push the pie in Elliot’s face and laugh, or run away when Elliot reached for it.

“Do you want the pie or not?” Tubs asked.

Elliot shrugged and took it. “Smells good.”

“I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been able to smell anything since I was five years old and shoved a bunch of chocolate candies up my nose.”

Maybe the candies had worked their way up to Tubs’s brain. It would explain a lot. But Elliot only said, “Well, tell your mom thanks.”

Tubs began walking away but then turned back and said, “You know, since you just took my family’s dessert, I should probably take something from you too.”

Elliot waved his hand toward the pile of his blown-up house. “Take whatever you want.” It didn’t matter to him.

Tubs kicked around a few wooden boards and then pointed to a trunk. It wasn’t just any trunk. This one had been in Elliot’s room until the other night when it started making noises again. Elliot had dragged it into the hallway so he could sleep. The trunk was dented from the explosion and one of the handles had come off, but it was still in one piece. “I’m going to take that.”

It had been making noise because it still had three Goblins in it. “Not that trunk,” Elliot said, jumping up. “I meant you could take anything else.”

Tubs held up a fist. Elliot had seen that fist up close plenty of times and stopped in place.

“Don’t tell me what I can or can’t take of yours,” Tubs said. “Enjoy my mom’s pie—or else!” With that, he picked up the trunk and dragged it behind him, huffing and puffing.

Elliot started to go after him but was stopped by Mr. Willimaker returning with Fudd Fartwick.

“Will the Goblins hurt Tubs?” Elliot asked.

Mr. Willimaker stared after Tubs. “Hard to say. They’ll either be so happy to get out of the trunk that they’ll barely hurt him at all. Or they’ll be so mad about having been locked in the trunk that they’ll chew his arms off.” Mr. Willimaker shrugged. “He’ll probably be fine.”

“I hope so,” Elliot said. “Or else everyone will call him Tubs Armless instead. Ha! Now tell me about the Brownies. Did you talk to them?”

Mr. Willimaker nodded. It hadn’t gone well at first. It had started with him poofing to the center of Burrowsville and announcing that the Brownies were in danger. The Brownies only laughed at him and asked if it was another field mouse invasion.

Then Mr. Willimaker did something so extreme, so out of his usual character that all the Brownies had to listen: he loosened his bow tie.

He loosened his bow tie to make it easier to jump up and down, which messed up his neatly combed hair. Then he yelled, “Burrowsville needs you! Your king needs you! You will listen to me because for once in our lives the Brownies are going to fight back!”

Now, as he faced Elliot, Mr. Willimaker couldn’t help but smile with pride. He bowed low and said, “I did it, Your Highness. The Brownies are coming.”

“I knew you could do it.” Elliot turned to Fudd. “I’m glad you’re here too.”

Fudd looked at Elliot, then at the house. Then back at Elliot. Of course, Fudd had known that the Goblins were going to blow up Elliot’s house. He didn’t realize Elliot would survive the explosion, though.

Fudd’s eyes got so wide they almost popped out of his head. “This is crazy! Couldn’t they even blow up your house correctly?”

“What?” Elliot and Mr. Willimaker both asked.

Fudd paused and then said, “I meant, the Goblins must’ve been crazy to blow up your house. I assume you have a plan for revenge. Perhaps to throw that lemon pie you’re holding at them.”

Elliot set the pie down and shook his head. “Revenge never makes things better. I just want to stop this war.” He turned to Mr. Willimaker. “Get all the Brownies to dig a big circle in the clearing in the forest. Leave an island in the center.” Mr. Willimaker bowed and scampered off.

“What’s the island for?” Fudd asked.

“I’m going to lure all the Goblins to that island.” Elliot pointed to a clump of trees at the edge of the woods. “I’ll hide alone beside those trees. When the Goblins arrive, I’ll trap them.”

Fudd nodded. “Very clever. What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to go to the Goblins. Tell them they can surrender now and stop this war against me and the Brownies. If they don’t, then I’ll stop them myself.”

A sly smile crossed Fudd’s face. “You’ll stop them? Waiting all alone beside those trees?”

“That’s right.”

“Really? Just sitting there? Like you’ve got nothing better to do than wait for a bunch of angry Goblins?”

Elliot shrugged. “I don’t have anything better to do.” He really didn’t.

Fudd gave his most evil laugh. He had put a lot of practice into his laugh, so for an evil Brownie, it was very impressive.

“What was that?” Elliot asked.

Fudd coughed. “Er, I meant to laugh like this.” Then he gave a little giggle. “What about that one?”

“Your other laugh was better. Use that one with the Goblins and they’re sure to give up.” Elliot picked up the lemon pie. “By the way, do you want to have this?”

“Your pie?”

“Sure. It’s not payment for helping me, because I know Brownies don’t like that. So it’s a gift. Not from a king to an advisor. Just friend to friend.”

Fudd took the pie and sniffed it deeply. “Are you sure? This whole pie for me?”

“It’s all yours,” Elliot said. “Lemons give me the sniffles anyway.”

A tear welled up in Fudd’s eye. He thought way back to his childhood, to the girl who had laughed when he had asked for a turn on the swing, even after he said “please.” He’d never had a real friend since that day. Now there was someone who did want to be Fudd’s friend, and of all the bad luck, it just happened to be someone Fudd was trying to kill. “Look at that. Your pie is giving me the sniffles too.” He pushed it toward Elliot. “I can’t accept this. You should give it to Mr. Willimaker. He’s been a much better friend to you than I have.”

“But you’re one of the Brownies, which makes you my friend too.” Elliot looked back to the woods, then said to Fudd, “You’d better hurry to go talk to the Goblins. I’m almost ready for them here.”

“Thank you, King Elliot. I want you to know that if the Goblins ever do succeed in killing you, I’ll always feel a little bad about that.” With his arms around the pie, Fudd bowed and poofed himself away.

“What else do you need?” Mr. Willimaker said, running up to Elliot. “The circle digging has begun.”

Elliot explained the rest of his plan to Mr. Willimaker and then put a hand on his shoulder and said, “I haven’t forgotten about Patches. We’ll get her back, okay?”

Mr. Willimaker bowed gratefully. “I trust you, King Elliot. But how will you get the Goblins to come here?”

Elliot pointed to Reed’s very large jar of pickle relish. “Didn’t you tell me that Goblins love pickles?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What about pickle relish? I bet they love it too.”

Mr. Willimaker grinned. The jar was as tall as he was, a little bit wider, and far more see-through. Somewhere in Flog were hundreds of Goblins who had, in their wildest and craziest dreams, hoped to find a treasure like this one day. Every Goblin in Flog would come to eat as much as they could. They loved pickles more than anything else, and now pickles were going to be their downfall.

What’s that around your mouth?” Grissel asked Fudd. “It’s yellow.”

“Lemon pie.” Fudd smeared his mouth across his sleeve. He’d stopped before entering Flog to eat the lemon pie King Elliot had given him. He thought he’d feel less guilty about working with the Goblins if he couldn’t see the pie anymore, but for some reason, eating it had only made things worse. His stomach growled at him in a rather accusing way. Fudd tapped his foot on the ground and silently ordered his stomach to be quiet. He had bigger worries than an upset tummy.

“So let me make sure I understand,” Grissel said. “You’re telling me that King Elliot is just going to wait, all by himself, in some trees to catch us Goblins? Doesn’t he know how much stronger we are than he is?”

Fudd threw up his hands. “He thinks he can get all of you into his forest and trap you there.” He noticed a little lemon pudding on one of his fingers and licked it. Every lick sent a shock of guilt through him. Sweet, delicious guilt.