by David Ashby
“Dimple!” came the slightly muffled voice through the glass. The wagging tail and munching stopped for a moment, then carried on. “You ungrateful mutt!” shouted the little man. “You’re anyone’s for a sausage, aren’t you?”
Both Anna and Nils turned to the window, where the little man had two hands above his head resting on the glass, looking for all the world like a wistful child with their nose pressed up against the toyshop window on Christmas Eve. He closed his eyes and knocked his forehead gently against the windowpane.
“Betrayed for a sausage,” he said.
“Ham,” said Nils. “They’re ham sandwiches.”
The little man opened his eyes and sighed, heavily.
Anna and Nils both wondered what they were going to do now, with an unpleasant goblin outside and a quite hungry dog inside, which was gradually becoming more and more visible. This was becoming a most unusual Wednesday.
CHAPTER 13
William Wynn and Jack Broadsword hurried along the path, aware of the sounds of the forest around them. Jack had unsheathed his sword now, and was walking with it in his hand. He still had that strange, uneasy feeling about being late for tea and the name Mandy Musgrave fluttering behind his eyes. The feeling hadn’t been there so much when he was facing the tanglewolf, but now it was stronger again.
“If we cut through Kipkorn’s Clearing it’d be quicker,” said William, looking over at him.
“I want to keep to the path. It shouldn’t take long till we’re at the village.”
William smiled. “You always did like to stick to the rules, Jack.”
“And you never obeyed a single rule in your life,” replied Jack, not looking at the tall man by his side. “What’s this favour you want?”
“Ah,” said William, quickening his step to make sure he kept up with Jack, who was now almost jogging. “That. Yes, well. I need you to break the veil with me and help me find a little something that may have got itself very slightly lost.”
Jack didn’t break his stride, but snorted loudly and gave his walking companion a quick sideways glance. “I don’t break the veil.”
“There are those pesky rules again that you are so fond of. But look at the treasures you can find…” William gestured towards his T-shirt with the bat on (and now also a splattering of the tanglewolf’s blood). “You know that you don’t find this sort of finery at the village on market day.”
“Rules are there for a reason, William,” sighed Jack.
“But just think, my friend—if your parents had stuck to the letter of the law, they would never have taken me in, would they? They couldn’t have. Think how dull your life would have been without me around.”
“My life, William, without you would have been infinitely better. My mother and father…” And here Jack stumbled with his words, as once more he had that bump inside him about a mother fretting over him being home late, about the safety and security of a home and the wide-open terror of a world full of Mandy Musgraves. As he stumbled over his words, his body too stumbled a little.
“Jack?…” William looked over with concern. “There’s something about you today. There’s magic in the air, which I suppose isn’t that surprising.”
The lights of the village could now be seen, glinting softly through the edge of the forest.
Jack composed himself, but William was right: there was something in the air. And there was something about him too. Something in him, even.
“I don’t break the veil,” he repeated, and broke into a run—away from those thoughts, away from William, away from the dark.
CHAPTER 14
By the time the dog that wasn’t there had made sure to nearly lick the pattern off the plate and snaffled up every last tiny piece of crumb and crackling from the floor, its tail, hind legs and lower back were visible. It seemed Dimple was an interesting shade of tawny brown, with a very waggy and fluffy tail.
“His tail doesn’t look as mean as he sounded when we couldn’t see him,” said Nils, and Anna nodded in agreement. Leaving the cleanly licked plate behind him, the dog that wasn’t entirely there contentedly trotted over to the children and sniffed the air in front of them.
“I think he must still be a bit hungry,” said Anna, “as we can’t see all of him yet.”
Suddenly there was a rat-a-tat-tat on the windowpane and the little man called out to them as he knocked on the glass.
“Now you’ve stolen my book AND my dog. You two humans are a right pair of thieves, aren’t you? I’m surprised you’re not wearing masks and carrying those guns you lot like so much.”
“I didn’t want your stupid book,” yelled back Nils. “It came off on my fingers. I didn’t do anything!”
“Oh no, of course not. Not you—not some butter-tongued thumbjabber. You wouldn’t have DREAMT of stealing my book, would you? Just like you wouldn’t have tempted my dog with a plate of sausages!”
Nils looked at Anna and said very softly to her, “Why does he keep saying sausages? They were ham sandwiches.”
“WHASSAT?” shouted the little man. “What did you say? Jam hand witches? What do you two know about jam hand witches?”
“I think there must be something a little wrong with him,” said Nils to Anna. “Unless all goblins are like this. Even the pleasant ones.”
“Pheasant buns?” shouted the little man through the glass again. “Don’t you dare give Dimple pheasant buns! They’ll give him wind and, trust me, you don’t want that.”
The dog that was starting to be there woofed a very quiet woof and went lolloping over to the door.
“It is his dog,” said Anna, “and we don’t want it anyway, but I’m afraid of opening the door in case he tries to rush in again.” Even though they couldn’t see it, they could hear the dog that was halfway there start to paw at the door with his still-famished front leg.
“Good dog, Dimple,” called the little man. “No pheasant buns for you today.”
Nils was looking at his hand again, at the text spooling across his fingers.
“Maybe he can help us get rid of this silly magic all over my fingers. Maybe we can put it back in his book and he can leave us alone?”
Anna thought for a second or two, then nodded firmly. She walked over to the window and bent down close to the glass so that she could look at the little man nose to nose, and so that he could hear everything she said properly.
“What a huge, human, smelly face you have,” said the little man.
“Be quiet,” said Anna, “and stop saying that I’m smelly, or else I won’t do what I was going to do, which is open the door and let you in so that we can have a civilized, un-rude conversation. We can talk about you getting your dog back and us getting all that writing back in your book of unpleasant goblins.” She leant back and folded her arms, looking at the little man.
He was quiet for a few seconds, but then nodded curtly. “Very well. Let me in, then, and I won’t mention how much you smell again.”
Anna bristled and wagged her finger at him. “Do you want to go in the rose bush again?”
“You caught me by surprise last time. You wouldn’t catch me unawares again.”
Anna went quiet and stared at him. “Don’t test me. It isn’t only goblins who can be unpleasant, you know.”
“Let me in, then,” he repeated, softer this time.
And so she did.
CHAPTER 15
Jack liked being in this dark corner of The Shaken Sheep, the smallest and least illuminated inn in the village. He liked the hardwood chair he was sitting on. He liked the feel of it against his back. He liked the old, stained table with the dips and cuts in the wood. He ran one hand over the uneven surface, slowly, feeling the wood rough on his skin. He could feel the faint warmth from the fire reach his cheek. All these things reinforced who he was. Jack Broadsword. Those other, odd whispers faded when he concentrated on reality.
The table was set with a willowing candle, a plate of chickenbread and two tankards of foaming
ale. William sat facing him, with his back to the wall, noticing the odd wary look he was getting. Jack tore off a strip of chickenbread to dunk in his ale. William looked at him aghast.
“You’re not actually going to dip that in your drink?”
Jack did just that, and then bit into the soggy morsel before staring straight at the disgusted William, who could only shake his head.
“You’re an odd man, Jack Broadsword, and there’s no mistake.”
“Says the man who still has the taste of tanglewolf blood in his mouth,” replied Jack, tearing off another strip of chickenbread.
“Okay, okay,” said William, putting up his hands in an attempt to quieten Jack. “No need to tell the world and his uncle.” Jack dunked another piece of chickenbread and William looked away.
“I’m not breaking the veil,” said Jack, after he had eaten the second piece, sliding the plate towards William, who shook his head and slid it back.
“You say that,” said William, pausing to take a mouthful of his ale, “and I can respect you saying that. I can understand why you are saying that, but”—and here he took another sip of his drink—“when you hear what it is that has gone missing, you might change your mind.”
There was a rush of colder air through the inn and both men looked to the heavy door as a smallish cloaked figure entered, carrying a wicker basket of dark-crimson mushrooms.
“Bloodshrooms,” called the figure, in a hard-to-identify voice, neither man nor woman, boy nor girl. “Freshly picked bloodshrooms, two crowns apiece.”
“Now there’s a proper snack for a Wednesday. ‘Little Saturday’ they call it, you know.” William smiled and raised his hand. “Here!”
The cloaked figure made his or her way through the inn to the dark corner where the two men were sitting and proffered the basket to them.
“Mmm, how good they look. I think I’ll take this one, and that one, and maybe those two…” William helped himself to a selection of the sticky-looking bloodshrooms, before grinning over at Jack and saying, “My friend’ll pay.”
Jack sighed and reached into the pocket of his jacket for some coins. He counted them over, and the shroom-seller dipped his/her cloaked head and moved away, calling again, “Bloodshrooms! Freshly picked, two crowns apiece.”
William had already begun eating the shrooms, and a trickle of red juice was trailing from his mouth. “Mmgood,” he mumbled.
“I’d offer you one, Jack, but I’m afraid you’d just dunk it.”
Jack leant back in his chair and raised his eyes to the smoke-and damp-stained wooden ceiling.
“You never change, William. You still act exactly like the little boy I first met.”
William wiped the juice from his chin on his sleeve and winked at Jack.
“Ah, you’re only jealous of my boyish charm. That and my supernatural good looks, of course.” He chuckled and popped another shroom in his mouth.
Jack shook his head. “Tell me what’s gone missing and why it should bother me and why you’re looking for it,” he said.
William finished chewing and his bright, smiling expression changed. He leant forward, and in a whisper he said: “The Book of All Tomorrow’s Dreams.”
Jack sat up iron-straight and his eyes widened. “But…”
“Exactly,” said William, and put another bloodshroom into his mouth.
CHAPTER 16
The little man was sitting on the floor, stroking the head they couldn’t see of the dog that wasn’t quite there, whose tail was wagging happily.
“Good dog, Dimple,” he said softly. “What a good, good dog you are.”
Anna and Nils were back sitting at the table, observing the, in its own way, touching scene.
“We didn’t actually steal him, you know,” said Nils, “and he was only in here on his own for a few minutes.”
The little man looked up at Nils with a sad expression on his face. “Shadowdogs and their owners should never get separated. Ever. It’s the baddest luck and the worstest feeling.” He went back to stroking his dog.
Nils looked at Anna, who shrugged and, after a second, said: “So, can we talk in a civilized way about your book and what’s the matter with my brother’s hand and who you are, and just everything?”
The little man nodded, finished patting the not-altogether-there dog and stood up. He put his hand to his waist and dipped his head very, very slightly.
“My name is Robert Gribble. Pleased to meet you.”
“Robert Gribble!” echoed the children in unison.
“Yes, Robert Gribble. Esquire. Why?” asked the little man—or, apparently, Robert Gribble—looking none too pleased.
“It’s just…” started Nils, before trailing off.
“You don’t look much like a Robert Gribble,” finished Anna, her hand round her mug of hot chocolate (which was now more medium chocolate).
“Oh,” said the little man, pulling himself up to his full height. “And extractly how is a Robert Gribble supposed to look?”
Nils and Anna looked at each other again, and then back at the little man.
“Well, less like a goblin,” said Anna.
“Yes,” jumped in Nils, “you look much more like that name on your book. Gribblebob.”
“Ah, yes. Well, yes—you see…” The little man started to get flustered and pulled at the neck of his shirt with one hand and adjusted his retrieved baseball cap with the other. “Well, Gribblebob is sort of my name too, but, uh, I don’t use it here, you see. No, here it is Robert Gribble. Just plain, simple Robert Gribble. It’s in the phone book and everything.”
“What’s a phone book?” asked Nils.
“They had them in the olden days,” said Anna, “before the internet.”
“I like phone books,” muttered the little man. “You know where you are with a phone book.”
Anna looked like she was contemplating something, which in fact she was.
“When you say ‘here’, what do you mean? Do you mean ‘here’ as in Uppington Down, or ‘here’ as in Sussex or England or the United Kingdom or Europe or… or what?”
There was a slight pause, and the little man bent down to start patting the unseen head of his dog once more. From the sound of it, the dog licked the little man’s hand.
“Hmm. Well, I suppose if we’re going to talk about my book and your hand then you need to know, but I’m still not sure if it’s a good idea.”
“What?” asked Nils, looking very confused indeed.
The little man made a deep sigh, took off his baseball cap, smoothed his hair and put the cap back on again.
“This side of the veil I am Robert Gribble, Esquire, normal, run-of-the-mill person about town, but on the other side of the veil I am Gribblebob,” he paused a beat, “goblin.”
“Unpleasant?” questioned Anna.
The little man’s eyes narrowed. “When necessary, very.”
There was a moment’s silence as that sunk in, then Anna asked: “What do you mean ‘the veil’? This side of the veil, that side of the veil—what does that mean?”
The little man sighed and seemed to ruffle the back of the neck of the not-all-there dog. “Do you believe in goblins and fairies and dragons and all that malarkey?”
“No,” replied Anna and “Yes,” said Nils, both at the same time. They looked at each other and grinned.
“Well, I’m starting to believe a bit more after today,” Anna added, and the little man nodded.
“Yes, well, that’s very typical of your lot; you can’t take something on faith, you have to see it for yourself before you know it to be true. But then you spend so much time looking down at your thumbjabbering machines that you never see anything for yourself anyway. You’re too busy looking through someone else’s window. And how often is that cleaned, hmm?”
Anna and Nils didn’t really get what he meant, so they stayed quiet. The little man shrugged and carried on.
“So, let me tell you. Let me make it clear. I am a goblin, and my
name is Gribblebob. This is my shadowdog, Dimple. However, I live here in your village, and here I’m Robert Gribble of Webstone Cottage, Blacksmith’s Lane. I’ve lived here about three years now. Kept myself to myself. Not made a fuss. I buy the odd pint of ale, read the local paper, watch your footyball on the television and enjoy everything being so, so, well… ungobliny, if you see what I mean.”
“No,” said Nils, and Anna shook her head.
“I say I’ve lived here about three years, and that’s true. But it’s also true to say that I’ve lived here all my life, and that’s a very long time. Isn’t it, Dimple?” He played with the fully invisible ears of his partly invisible dog.
“You’re not really being very clear,” said Anna.
“Hmm. Well, okay. Let’s see, then. Here, where we are now… this village, this house, this floor” and he stamped loudly on the floor with one little foot, making them all jump, “is all very solid and real. But there’s more to a tree than what you see.”
He looked at them knowingly.
“Um, you’re still not being very clear,” Anna said quietly.
“A tree. You look at a tree and you see this big piece of wood sticking out of the ground. That’s what you see. But you don’t see the roots, do you? Oh, sometimes bumpy bits stick up and you trip up on them, but most times you don’t see the roots, even though they’re there. And the leaves reaching up, reaching out. Do you really look at them? Do you sit and watch them change colour? Do you see where the tree meets the sky? Where the tree reaches deep into the soil? Do you see the rings of the tree? All those years? Do you heck-as-like!”
Nils and Anna looked at him in silence again, so he sighed and carried on.
“This place”—and he stamped again—“is like a tree. You see what you see. But you don’t see any more. You don’t see the roots of your world. You don’t see all those hundreds and hundreds of years that have passed. All those years of stories and fables and tales and secrets. You don’t see where your world touches the sky and hides the deeper meanings. If you follow the roots, if you see the years, if you touch the sky… then you find yourself somewhere else. The world within your world. The world of goblins and fairies and dragons and all those things that you think are only stories. That’s my world. That’s where I come from. It’s the world that your world is built upon. Here, but not here. Real, but not real. Seen, but not seen.”