Elliot and the Goblin War (5 page)

“Hail King Elliot!” the Brownies cheered. “Long live King Elliot!”

Mr. Willimaker became so excited by their cheers that he began to believe he’d done the right thing after all. What he failed to notice was the one Brownie in the entire cavern who was not cheering.

Fudd Fartwick sat back on his chair and folded his arms. The cheer was wrong. King Elliot would not live long. He might not even live until the end of the week.

He needed the Goblins for this. They’d be happy to help. As much as they liked killing any Brownie, they’d like to kill the human king of the Brownies most of all.

Elliot wasn’t the type to wake up suddenly in the middle of the night, bathed in sweat and afraid for his safety. But his room had never been secretly invaded by creatures from the Underworld before.

“Who’s there?” he called out into the darkness. His brother Reed, who shared his room, would’ve normally answered by tossing a pillow at Elliot and telling him to stop asking strange questions in the middle of the night. But Reed was working at the Quack Shack late tonight. And it wasn’t a strange question.

“Are you Elliot Penster?” The voice was higher in pitch than he was used to, as if someone had sucked helium from a balloon before speaking.

“That’s me. Who are you?” Elliot switched on the light beside his bed and then jumped back. Two small
things
were on his floor staring up at him, a younger girl and a boy
thing
that might have been her dad, if things had fathers. They were dressed like something out of a fairy tale book and stared at him with wide, hopeful eyes. He didn’t think they were trying to be scary, but the fact that they were standing in his room was scary enough.

The boy thing stepped forward. He was dressed in a little suit, and his hair stood out in fewer directions than the girl’s. A large pair of glasses slid up and down his nose with the movement of his head. He pushed the glasses up and said, “We’re Brownies. Not like the dessert that you eat, but Brownies, the creatures that we hope you don’t eat.”

Elliot shook his head. “The only brownies I’ve ever eaten don’t talk to me.”

Mr. Willimaker smiled at that as the girl nudged him and whispered, “See? I told you he wouldn’t eat us.”

Mr. Willimaker turned back to Elliot. “We were sent here on behalf of all Brownies. We’re friends to you. Do you believe in Brownies?”

“I do now.” Earlier that night Elliot would’ve given a different answer, but it’s hard to deny the existence of something that’s staring you in the face.

“My name is Mr. Willimaker.”

“Oh, well, it’s nice to meet you,” said Elliot.

Mr. Willimaker pointed to the girl beside him. “This is my daughter, Patches.”

Elliot squinted as he looked at her. “I remember you. Halloween three years ago, right?”

“Yes!” Patches seemed pleased to be remembered. At least her ears perked up slightly.

“We live in the Underworld, miles and miles below where we now stand. Not just Brownies there, of course, but also Dwarves and Elves and Pixies—many different creatures. Mostly we keep to ourselves, but I can introduce you around if you’d like.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Elliot waited for the Brownies to say something else, but they didn’t. So finally he said, “Is there something I can do to help you?”

The Brownies laughed at that. Elliot pinched his lips together, wondering what the joke was. Then he said, “I don’t think that was funny. You came to my room in the middle of the night. I think it’s fair for me to ask why.”

“Oh, yes,” Mr. Willimaker said. “You can ask why, and I’m glad you did. We’ve come to tell you the good news.”

Elliot was suspicious. He didn’t know much about Brownies. Maybe their idea of good news was, “Congratulations, your life is about to get a whole lot worse!”

That wasn’t exactly it. Mr. Willimaker bowed low. “Congratulations, you are the new king of the Brownies.”

It was Elliot’s turn to laugh. “Me? That’s crazy!”

Mr. Willimaker pressed his thick eyebrows together. “Why? Are you already a king for another Underworld race? The Leprechauns maybe? If it’s gold you want—”

“I’m not anyone’s king! I’m just a kid. I didn’t even know there were Underworld races. Why me?”

Patches stepped forward. “All we know is that right before she died, Queen Bipsy gave my father your name.”

“Bipsy? Silly name for a queen.”

“You can’t pronounce her full name without a lot of spitting and a hard slap to your face,” Patches said. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Bipsy’s fine,” Elliot said quickly and then added, “But I don’t want to be king. I’ve got school tomorrow.”

“Just consider being king a sort of homework assignment,” Mr. Willimaker said. “There’s math homework and English homework. Being our king is like Underworld mythical creature homework.”

Elliot folded his arms. “What would I have to do?”

“It’s simple. You’ll solve whatever little problems come up, such as who gets the potato if it grows across two garden patches.”

“You’ll sentence prisoners to hard time,” Patches said.

“And drink all the turnip juice you want,” Mr. Willimaker said.

“And end the war with the—” Patches began before her father clamped a hand over her mouth.

Elliot tilted his head. “What’s that last one?”

Mr. Willimaker looked at his feet and mumbled, “Oh, nothing, there’s just this little…”

“I can’t hear you,” Elliot said. “Could you speak louder?”

Mr. Willimaker coughed. “There is this small matter of a war, between the Goblins and Brownies. Well, it’s not really a war, since we don’t know how to fight back. So it’s more like we just wait around to get killed. Most of us are tired of waiting around to be killed, so we hope as king you’ll help us end all of that trouble.”

Elliot looked at Patches. “Those kids in the Goblin suits three years ago—”

She nodded. “Yep. Real Goblins.”

“Figures. They ruined all my candy, you know.” Elliot scratched his chin and asked, “Aren’t Brownies the creatures that have to do nice things for humans, like if we leave you a job to do?”

“We don’t
have
to do anything,” Patches said. “We choose to help
if
we like the gift the human leaves for us.”

“Yes, but if I were your king, you’d have to do a job just because I ordered you to, right?”

The two Brownies looked at each other. “Well, yes. But we only work at night,” Mr. Willimaker said.

Elliot looked over at the clock in his room but then remembered there was no clock in his room, because his family had sold it last week to buy bread. So instead he looked out the window. “Night’s almost over, so you’ll have to hurry. I’ll make you a deal. My Uncle Rufus is getting out of jail tomorrow, and we’re having a welcome home dinner. If you can have a nice dinner ready for my family, then I’ll be your king.”

Uncle Rufus was the oldest man in town who still had all his teeth. He stayed young by eating healthy, taking walks along Main Street, and unfortunately, by stealing shiny things. He claimed he always meant to buy the items, but he had memory problems. The police didn’t believe that, but Elliot did. After all, Uncle Rufus often forgot Elliot was a boy and brought him shiny earrings every birthday.

The Brownies smiled. Mr. Willimaker said, “That’s it? Make your family dinner? But it’s so simple.”

“You say that now. Wait until you see my family’s empty cupboards.” Elliot figured he’d win no matter what. Either he’d get a nice meal tomorrow night or else he wouldn’t have to be the Brownie king and end a war with the Goblins. And even if he were king, he’d just do what they wanted for a few weeks and then give the job to someone else.

“Your wish is our command,” Patches said, bowing.

“There’s one more thing,” Mr. Willimaker said. “We have one simple but very important rule. You can’t tell anyone that we exist. If you do, you’ll never see us again.”

“Never?”

Patches nodded. “We don’t appear to humans who tell our secrets.”

“I won’t tell,” Elliot said. He was pretty good with secrets. His parents still didn’t know where he had buried the glass vase he’d accidentally broken over the summer.

After the Brownies left, Elliot lay back on his bed, wondering what would happen tomorrow. Him, a king? He had holes in the knees of most of his pants. The fanciest thing he owned was the rusty horn on his bike (not counting the earrings Uncle Rufus stole for him). And he still had to take orders from his sister when she said to eat his vegetables, no matter what color they were. Somehow he didn’t feel like a king. But Mr. Willimaker seemed sure that Queen Bipsy had chosen him, so he fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Most readers of this story agree that Elliot probably wouldn’t have fallen asleep if he knew that hiding in the corner was a third Brownie named Fudd Fartwick. And Fudd Fartwick was watching the sleeping boy, deciding it wouldn’t be hard at all for a small band of Goblins to kill him.

By the time the first morning rays peeked over the horizon, Fudd Fartwick had thought of at least fourteen ways in which he might kill Elliot. Fifteen ways, if he counted making Elliot play out in the warm autumn sunshine for a few hours. On second thought, perhaps that was only deadly to a Brownie. Brownies could tolerate a little sun, but they didn’t like it, which is why they did their work at night.

Fudd snapped his fingers to take him back to the Underworld, vanishing from Elliot’s bedroom only about twenty seconds before Elliot awoke. Elliot awoke because he smelled something unusual in his home: hot breakfast. Unless his ears were playing a cruel joke on him, that was definitely bacon sizzling downstairs, and he was certain he detected the quiet
thup
of toast popping up. He’d asked the Brownies to provide his family with dinner. Was it possible they would provide food for the entire day? He jumped out of bed and ran from his room so quickly that he didn’t notice the tiny dart stuck into his bed, not four inches from where his head had been.