Pwf & The Goblins' Revenge pdf (13 page)

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! MY SOFA! MINE! STOP THIEF!"

Flustered night birds rose flapping from the trees as the outraged squawk echoed

through the woods.

The Mummies instantly recognised who it was, and broke into a panicky run. They did quite

well. It's no easy thing to run through a wood with a stolen sofa if you're swathed in

bandages and completely blind. They managed at least three steps before Xotindis (the one

at the back) caught his toe in a root. Both fell down with a crash and began to unravel.

"Are you all right, Otto?" asked Xstufitu in a muffled voice.

"Not sure yet. What about you, Stufi?" came the reply.

"I think I'm okay. Come on, let's crawl for it!"

"Not so fast, you!"

Pongwiffy placed her foot firmly on the end of Xstufitu's bandage. "Move an inch,

and you're unwound!"

"It's a fair cop," said Xstufitu, sitting up and rubbing his elbow. "Get your foot off my

bandage, Pongwiffy. It isn't funny to mess with a Mummy's bandages."

"It's not a fair cop, Stufi,” objected Xotindis. "We paid good money to get this sofa.

It's ours now, Pongwiffy."

"Do you hear that?" remarked Pongwiffy to Hugo and Woody. "Can you believe a

walking strip of old rag could tell such shocking lies?"

"Watch it," snapped Xotindis. "We were Pharaohs once, you know. You should

mind how you address royalty, Pongwiffy."

"I don't know about addressing royalty," said Pongwiffy grimly. "But I know how to

undress
royalty. I'm going to sit on MY sofa and listen while you two talk. You've got two

minutes to tell me exactly what's been going on behind my back. Otherwise, consider

yourself unravelled."

Xotindis and Xstufitu looked at each other, and shrugged.

"Weellll,'' began Xotindis slowly. “There's this Genie..."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN – The Reunion

"Talk about a muck up," said Stinkwart, shaking his head. "One of our worst flops, that."

"I fink I've lost my hat," said Lardo. He had been vainly searching his head for the last

five minutes, and was pretty sure that the hat wasn't there. But the rest of the Goblins

weren't especially interested.

They were huddled in the bushes bordering the empty Broom park, eating humbugs

and arguing about what had gone wrong. The quarrel had started immediately after the

botched raid, and was still continuing. (Goblin rows can ramble on forever, because Goblins

repeat themselves so much.)

"I still say it wuz all Plugugly's fault," said Slop-bucket meanly, for the hundredth

time.

"’Ere, ’ere," agreed Stinkwart, Hog, Slopbucket, Eyesore and Sproggit, also for the

hundredth time.

"The fing is, wuz I wearin’ it when I come out tonight?" pondered Lardo.

"Plugugly's a failure," observed Eyesore. "You're a failure, Plugugly."

"I said I wuz sorry," mumbled Plugugly sulkily. He was slumped dejectedly under a

blackberry bush, gnawing at his thumbnail in a crestfallen manner. "It were the stress."

"We shoulda chopped it up," insisted young Sproggit. "Chopped it up, like I said in

the first place. Shouldn't we, Lardo?"

But Lardo was still concerned about his hat. He had a horrible feeling it had fallen off

in the Broom park and was even now lying there in the moonlight for anyone to see. (It was.

One of the essential parts of any failed undercover Goblin mission is the leaving of at least

one whacking great clue.)

"I'm fed up wiv sittin’ ’ere," said Slopbucket suddenly. "I'm cold. I wanna go ’ome."

"I'm cold too. No hat, see," remarked Lardo, pointing to his lumpy bare head.

Everyone ignored him. So Lardo snatched Sproggit's hat and put it on his own head.

Sproggit, of course, objected, and a brief fight followed. Everyone joined in out of habit, but

nobody's heart was really in it.

Hog broke up the fight by passing around the humbugs, and for a short time the

Goblins sat in silence, blowing hot, humbuggy breath on their cold fingers and trying not to

think about the long walk home.

That was when Macabre (following a hunch) arrived at the Broom park for the first

time. She was so shocked to find it deserted that she didn't notice the Goblins in the bushes.

She did notice Lardo's hat, though. She swooped down on it with a cry of triumph and bore

it away at full gallop.

"What were that?" asked Hog. "I fort I ’eard a noise. Sounded like gallopin’ hooves."

"Probably a squirrel," said Eyesore knowledgeably. "’Ave a look, Sproggit."

Sproggit crawled off into the bushes. He lost his way and was gone quite a long time.

When he finally crawled back, the rest of the Goblins had dozed off. Sproggit shrugged, then

joined them.

When Macabre returned to the Broom park to hunt for clues more thoroughly, she

wondered how she missed them the first time. There they were, only a few yards from the

scene of the crime, all snoring like mad, and reeking of peppermint. Scattered all around

them was the evidence of a full scale broom-napping attempt. Of the Brooms there was still

no sign.

Macabre hugged herself with excitement. She dismounted from Rory and tiptoed

over to the sleeping Goblins. Then:

"Wakey wakey!" screeched Macabre, and treated them to a deafening blast on her

bagpipes. At the same time Rory let fire with a malicious moo. The Goblins stirred, sat up

and blearily knuckled their eyes.

"Stand and deliver! Surrender! Hands oop!" Macabre had a bossy sort of nature, and

loved arresting people. In fact, she always carried a pair of handcuffs in her sporran, in case

she ever got the chance to use them. Delightedly, she clapped them on Plugugly then tied

up the rest of the Goblins with rope whilst they were still half asleep. She then frogmarched

them away from the Broom park, down the hill and into the enemy camp.

"Now look what ah got! Goblins!" bellowed Macabre importantly. "Caught napping

at the scene o’ the crime, they were. Skulking in yon bushes. Aye. Broomnappers. Every last

one."

Seven sleepy, surly Goblins were rudely thrust forward. The assembled Witches gave

them the usual charming Witch welcome: they pulled rude faces, jeered, and pelted the

captives with bread rolls. Ratsnappy stuck her foot out to trip up Lardo and Bendyshanks

poked Eyesore in the leg with a stick. Sludgegooey dabbled her fingers in her mug of tepid

bogwater and flicked some in Plugugly's eye. Sproggit got jostled. Stinkwart got hit in the

ear with a piece of ham. The Witches were having a wonderful time. What a night it had

been. First, the business of Pongwiffy's Broom. That was closely followed by the excitement

of the Broomnapping. Then there was the discovery that their Magic wasn't working prop-

erly and the State Of Emergency and everything. Now, just when things were beginning to

get dull, hey presto! The Broomnappers themselves turn up! The sandwiches were getting

low, but the Witches’ spirits were running high.

"Boo!"

"Go home, Plugugly!"

“Stand up straight. Slopbucket, you'll trip over your knuckles!"

"What you lot done with our Brooms then, maggot face?"

"Let me through! Let me at ’em! I'm Grandwitch, I get to ask the questions!" shouted

Sourmuddle, pushing her way through the crowd to where the Goblins stood in a truculent

huddle. Macabre stood to attention and saluted proudly as the boss hobbled up.

"Well done, Macabre. Glad to see somebody's got their wits about them. Right, you

Goblins. What have you got to say for yourselves? Caught red-handed, eh?" Sourmuddle

cackled, wiggling her fingers in front of their noses in traditional Witch fashion.

"We din do nuffin’," chanted the Goblins automatically.

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course you did."

"Indubitably!" agreed Greymatter. "Place them in detention! Incarcerate them!"

"Make ’em walk the plank!" (Dead Eye Dudley, ex-pirate cat.)

"Guilty! Guilty!" (Everybody else.)

"We din do nuffin’!" chorused the Goblins again. It was what they always said when

they were caught red-handed. It was a response guaranteed to irritate, particularly when

they kept saying it. A lot of hissing and growling and gnashing of teeth and so on came from

the crowd. Barry the vulture flapped up to a tree, hunched his shoulders and adopted what

he liked to think of as his Threatening Pose. Snoop the Demon tested his pitchfork for

sharpness. Gaga's bats jostled and squeaked angrily. There was the ominous sound of claw

sharpening.

The Goblins shrugged it off. They'd seen it all before.

"Oh, come now," hissed Sourmuddle, enjoying herself. "Of course you've got our

Brooms. You've hidden them somewhere. You're at our mercy, you might as well tell us

where they are. Come along, come along."

"We ain't got yer stoopid Brooms," muttered Sproggit. "If you must know, they

flewed off on their own. We din do nuffin’."

"Oooh, what a fibber!"

"Just fly off, did he say? Our Brooms? A likely story!"

"Turn ’im into a frog, Sourmuddle, make example of ’im!"

Sproggit shrugged and looked like he didn't care much – which indeed he didn't. Frog

spells always wore off in time. Sooner or later he'd end up a Goblin again, so who cared?

What were a few days of forced swimming and mayflies for breakfast in the great scheme of

things? But it didn't come to that anyway because:

"Hold it, girls! Do you see what I see?" said Bendyshanks suddenly, through a

mouthful of Witches’ Pride and wartleberry jam. And she pointed upwards. Everyone —

Witches, Familiars and Goblins — turned their attention on the sky. All mouths dropped

open.

The sky was full of Brooms! They whizzed about overhead, obviously preparing for

touch-down.

"They're back!" went up the surprised cry. "Our Brooms are back!"

"That's funny," said Sourmuddle. "I wonder where they've been? Looks like you

Goblins didn't have ’em after all. You arrested ’em for nothing, Macabre. What a pity, eh?"

Macabre was lying full length on the ground pummelling it with her fists, and didn't

reply.

"Told you," chorused the Goblins. "We din do nuffin’. Told you." And Plugugly added,

"Dey runned away, like Sproggit said. So yah boo sucks to you, Macabre."

Just at that moment, Sharkadder came hurrying up. After spending virtually the

whole of this book on bad terms with Pongwiffy, she was finally beginning to come around.

It was the look on Pongwiffy's face when she flew off all on her own. All hurt and forlorn.

Sharkadder had almost called her back and said she'd go with her, but she'd had an egg roll

in her mouth at the time and couldn't. Now she felt bad. Pongwiffy was awful, but best

friends were best friends.

"Where's Pong?" asked Sharkadder, scanning the sky. "Why isn't she with them?"

"Who knows?" said Sourmuddle, unconcerned. "Who cares? I tell you what, there's

something funny about those Brooms."

She was right. Just at that moment, the Brooms touched-down. It wasn't a neat,

orderly touch-down. As touch-downs go, it was a mess. There was a hasty, hysterical quality

about it. There was a lot of flurried skidding and bumping and misjudgement. And you only

had to look at the Brooms’ stricken expressions to know that they were upset about

something. They jiggled up and down and pointed urgently to the sky.

"Oh dear," groaned Sourmuddle. "Not again. It's like an ’orrible recurring nightmare.

They're trying to warn us about something. I don't suppose anyone..?"

No. No one was prepared to speak Wood.

"Not even for the sake of National Security?" coaxed Sourmuddle.

Not even for that. As one, the Witches folded their arms, tapped their feet and

suddenly became fascinated by their own dirty fingernails.

Meanwhile, the Brooms ran around in small circles, wringing their hands helplessly

and getting in a terrible tizzy.

"Well, someone's got to find out what they're on about, and it won't be me," insisted

Sourmuddle. "Because I'm boss. Come along. A volunteer to speak Wood. I'm not sitting